<A>Climbing Emei Shan - A Lesson in Steps, Monks, Monkeys & Steps

Arriving at Emei Town

The Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu famously said that a journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step. I always thought I knew what that meant.

A roasting bus journey and we (my friend Shane and I) were dropped unceremoniously in a back street of Emei Town. I’d never seen anything like it, the entire place was being built under our feet: literally. Not only was the main road being resurfaced but the pavements on both sides were being laid. Emei Town was sticky, one great big tar-smelling toffee. Add baking heat, traffic chaos, hundreds of workers laying electricity cables and the odd, crazy chicken (!) and it was with some difficulty that we hopped, skipped and occasionally jumped our way to the hotel.

From the haven of our room we consulted our free map and read up a little on the mountain’s history. Emei Shan is one of the four ancient Buddhist mountains and was designated a Unesco World Heritage Site in 1996. Originally it boasted around 100 monasteries dating from as early as Buddhism’s emergence in China between the 3rd and 6th Centuries AD. Now, the originals are gone but the replicas are still working monasteries and hundreds of thousands of visitors come to worship here every year. For us though, this was no religious odyssey but a desire to see the famed (notoriously fickle) sunrise from the top: a 2-day step-climbing window in our itinerary.

The first steps and monks

Before the sun it began and even finding the start of the climb proved tricky and I tested my Chinese on a nearby local who pointed us confidently onwards. Thus we encountered our first steps and a mesmerising route through tropical undergrowth and bamboo groves whilst a cacophony of insects serenaded our steps, their calls rising and falling in waves of sound. The steps continued and we climbed, up through pine forests that stole the light and out again onto the mountain’s slopes. Here sweet corn crops swung their heads (taller than ours) with precarious abandon and still the steps continued.

It was with relief we came upon our first monastery rising its smoky red bricks under a curved tile roof. Many visitors were gathered there already burning incense and yellow papers (a Chinese tradition to the dead). The air hung thick with scent and we watched endless streams of lit candles and heard the music of murmured prayers. We too paused to explore the subdued splendour of interlocking courtyards, rooms and gardens and watch the occasional monk sweeping past, red-robed and silent.

More steps and the first monkeys

Our route took us through more spectacular scenery, this time groves of hydrangeas waved their white lace caps at us and butterflies exploded in multi-coloured wings. It was impossible to capture them with anything but our eyes, their fleeting lights amongst the shady canopies. Feeling buoyed by our companions, we climbed skywards, stepping up through forests into vast open expanses where waterfalls slicked the nearby cliffs and rushed earthwards.

Out of the midst of peace, the visitor hordes emerged again and we found ourselves in a monkey park. The monkey is part of China’s mythology and an encounter with monkeys is all part of the attraction. A road has been built too and so the majority of visitors can take a coach to the main sites and thus accomplish the mountain in a few comfortable hours. Not that we weren’t comfortable, I reminded myself as a baby monkey leapt like a velociraptor onto my pack and relieved me of a bottle of water and an apple, much to the amusement of nearby crowds.

Sweat and pancakes

At the top of every seemingly endless run of steps are quirky stalls run by enterprising Chinese selling food and drink: lifesavers. After the first couple of hours walking I could wring out my clothes I’d sweated so much and drinking water was a priority. Further up and we reached a tiny hut perched step-side with a wonky sign reading ‘Hard Wok Café’. It’s a bit of a trek but the apple and honey pancakes they served us with friendly smiles might be the best in China.

By now it was late afternoon and there was still no sign of our goal: Elephant Bathing Pool Monastery. For the last 2 hours I was dragging myself up by the railings and arm power alone. My legs had long since given up anything resembling strength and I focussed my mind on Shane’s back. It was starting to get dark and I was beginning to wonder if we were going to make it. If we had gone wrong, it was too late now.

Heaven on Emei Shan

11 hours after we started, we arrived to a wide archway and something resembling habitation, the odd flicker of light in windows and the unmistakeable hum of a television. The last step this day had been climbed and we were in the heavens. Even the lumpy bed was angel-made this night. Heaven is a monastery on the edge of Emei Shan, level with the clouds and where we would sleep with the stars as our companions. In exhausted silence we watched the dusk creeping over the peaks and the trees becoming silhouettes. The mist’s lonely wandering across to blur the view and dampen our hair and move on again.

More monks

If this was Heaven, then God is a monk obsessed with the value of the British pound and American dollar. He gave us a quick tour in the rapidly encroaching darkness of the small but maze-like monastery before showing us to our rooms and then went back to watching TV and sending SMS messages. He had thought of everything, including a bowl and hot water. We sat, soaking our feet and watched as 2 monks tried unsuccessfully to karate chop a red brick.

Over dinner, Shane and I retraced our route. Not exactly as planned, we’d come the longest way possible. We’d walked 30km and were feeling quietly worthy until we enquired about our goal: seeing the sunrise. To reach the summit for sunrise we were informed would require a 2am start and a further 15km. I really couldn’t imagine it, but Shane asked me a single question: would I ever be up this mountain to see the sunrise again ?

Steps at 2am

4 hours (that felt like 4 minutes) later, we stepped out to a sky filled to bursting with stars and a fat moon hanging low and bright. After the first hour of steps when I was as achy and grumpy as I have ever been, I just slipped into a routine. It seemed perfectly natural to be walking ever upwards in the black. All I could hear was my heart and heavy breath thudding and the clump of boot on step, boot on step. The darkness closed in like a box with a lid of stars. Occasionally I wondered why no one else was out making the ascent and the snaps of twigs sent my imagination soaring. It was not reassuring to know the most frightening thing out there was the steps!

We lost our way a few times, well, we’d had enough trouble in daylight. We ended up loosing the steps and following the road until we reached a huge monastery. We were fortunate (at 4am) to encounter a Chinese family who pointed us around the back and, of course, upwards. Thanking them we began once more, this time feeling our way around the stone-dark edges of the monastery until we discovered the steps waiting for us. Time was rushing towards dawn and we gathered our feet and willed them onwards, promising at every bend – just a few more steps.

Reaching the summit

Then, we had reached the summit. 3077m up and maybe 500 people were already there having made the arduous bus journey up – heartbreaking. We found a gap and watched as the perfectly clear night was invaded by heavier and heavier cloud until it became clear that no one would see the sunrise today. We wandered back through the building site of cranes, debris and tourists that is the summit and shared a consolatory pot noodle, huddled against the now fierce cold.

The end of steps

Going down was gruelling. A test of endurance I’d rather not have made, prompting me to admit that the only thing worse than climbing up a million steps is climbing down them! I lost my sense of humour with anything remotely resembling a step.

Reaching the bottom we were overcome with a wave of delirious joy: we’d done it AND in less than 2 days!! The sense of accomplishment was genuine, at least temporarily overcoming all our aches and pains. We would catalogue those later!

Not Lao Tzu’s thousand miles perhaps, but a journey nonetheless and he was right, it all began with a single step.