Beijing during the Spring Festival -- Part 2 

The Entrance to Jinshanling

The entrance to the Jinshanling Great Wall resembles a keyhole, and after ascending to the top, we could see multi-level ramparts designed in the Ming Dynasty to check advancing parties already on the Wall. For about 3km towards Shimatai, the ancient battlement remains in good condition. The Wall Fairies have been paying regular visits to this section to keep it looking brand new; this could be evidenced by the newer grey bricks often seen next to old red ones. About every meter or so, there are observation holes and chutes. The chutes, shaped somewhat like toilets, are big enough to fit a man carrying arrows on his back, while the square observation holes are discretely sized for surveying the land and perhaps shooting arrows in the backs of pesky Mongols. The Wall's core of stone and mortar was was fortified with bricks during the 1500's, in response to raids by bow-and-arrow-wielding Mongolian horsemen.

The most significant features of the Jinshanling to Shimatai battlement are the unique watchtowers, thirty non-identical ones. Some of them are simple block shapes and others are more refined two-story edifices with sloped roofs.

After leaving the area frequented by the Wall Fairies, the pavement gradually worsened in condition. Wherever the top layer of grey slate was shattered, white bricks shone through in their naked glory. Considering that the Ming builders liked to use local materials for their projects, the limestone bricks may have been quarried from the Shimatai Reservoir’s banks and cut into blocks nearby.

A String of Towers to Shimatai

David always walked ahead of me, his tall, thin figure cutting a stark silhouette against the snaking wall. I chased him but he was too fast. Whenever I emerged from one tower and looked ahead of me, he was already running towards the next one. I finally did catch up with him though. At one tower, he had stopped to survey the exit – a drop of seven feet where the stairs had collapsed entirely. Faced with this daunting sight, I let the two guys go first, so they could catch me later. It was a steep drop, and I walked along a single row of bricks and then leapt to the ground. Phew. No broken bones.

The next tower was even better. The wall leading up to the tower and away from it was steep and had collapsed on both sides, which made scaling it impossible without climbing equipment. Instead, I followed a trail into the bushes, circumventing the tower completely and then re-mounting the wall at a distance. This hike was turning into something more adventurous than I had expected. Far in the distance, the highest watchtower of Shimatai jutted darkly into the sky, the one I had seen in National Geographic as a child. And though it beckoned me with a voice only I could hear, that road, that way -- I ruefully thought -- were for another day.

As we approached Shimatai, the Great Wall became the Great Slide – no steps, just crumbly limestone bits underfoot. My legs had become rubber, and I felt like I was moon walking. We had been ascending and descending these hills for three hours now. The sky was getting dark. How much further would it be? After dusk, we might not see the path. If the taxi driver left, we wouldn’t make it home! In the darkening indigo light, we quickly walked towards our destination – the way out. I glanced at the far, wild peaks – if we missed the Simatai exit sign, that meant we would head farther towards those distant peaks. I was hungry and had finished the bottle of water I found in a tower two hours ago.

The Way Home from Shimatai

Following my male travel partners was the best way to get home, since most men have an intuitive sense of direction. They told me when we arrived Shimatai. The section of the Wall near Shimatai Reservoir was probably designed by and for paranoid people who have completely lost it. In addition to being shaped like a maze, each multi-levelled rampart has nine observation holes in it. After looping through that maze, I felt more frustrated than ever and wondered if we were really on the right path. Getting off that last hill, we crossed a suspension bridge over the reservoir. On regular days, a suspended chair can be ridden by visitors from one bank to the other for a price.

In the sky, small hard flecks of light looked down at me wordlessly. We finally got onto on a flat, paved path that followed the reservoir -- and to me it seemed to never end. I kept expecting to see the parking lot after the next bend. After another 3 km we approached a field, and there was the much anticipated parking lot.

Despite having kept quiet, I was panicking. It was 7:00pm, one hour past the time I had asked the taxi driver to pick us up. He would be gone by now – gone home to be with his family or cheerfully toast his friends at some warm gathering. I imagined our forlorn group knocking on a farmer’s door, crashing their New Year’s dinner, and asking them for a place to sleep. If they were kind, they might find me a spot in the barn with some warm, woolly animals.

But the situation turned out to be better than I expected. Cheerful blinking lights advertised a restaurant and lodge near the parking lot. As I considered having dinner there, a car’s engine vroomed to life, its headlights lit up, and a man called me from the window. He was our cabbie! I was so happy to see him that I wanted to give him a big hug and kiss. He had been waiting for us quite a long time. What a big relief that was – and the guys opened their windows to solve the problem of the exhaust fumes on our way home.

An hour later, we were happy, warm, and installed around a dinner table in a traditional Beijing restaurant, ordering a feast and toasting each other happiness in the New Year. That was certainly one of the more memorable Chinese New Year's Eves of my life, although each Spring Festival I spent with my family and among Chinese diaspora has been special to me.