As a history enthusiast and a devout sentimentalist, trekking the stone structure privately was a long-time dream. I couldn’t fathom riding a gondola to the top just to be ushered in succession with thousands of other tourists like was done at the more populated sections … the dream did not include little Sally from New Hampshire kicking century-old pebbles into my feet as I stepped over garbage that littered famous tourist destinations in and around Beijing. I wanted a clandestine meeting.Parked outside a house among miles of corn stalks, the Wall eavesdropped from the east as we discussed our plan. We strapped gear to the mount of a “very slow” donkey and walked to the trail head where an entry sign stood: “This portion of the Great Wall is not open to the public.” I felt my exhilaration dilate. We stared up the forbidden mountain for a moment and began our climb.It was the beginning of August and really, very hot—almost 100 degrees during the daytime with humidity so stifling that you feel sick to your stomach hot. Although avid hikers at home, our trek earlier that afternoon up the steep rise of the Huang huacheng section left us weak. I was sweating like a suckling pig, trying my best not to finish the hike on hands and knees. This feeling is not written about in the guidebooks. But with our batteries recharged from a late lunch of dumplings and relief from cooler night air, we were filled with just enough energy to climb again. This time, up the stacked stone of the Jiankou section, built during the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644.) Jiankou translates as “Arrow Nock,” referencing the unique shape of the collapsed ridges. Sprinting the last 100 ft. we jumped onto the wall laughing, and snapped as many photos as possible before the glorious structure swallowed up the rest of the daylight.We set up our tents and met at the square roofless structure that once served as fort for night-watchers guarding China from Mongolian nomads in the north. Our perch overlooked what felt to be all of northern China—it separated us from a substantial drop before and behind us. Carefully, I fingered marinated tofu out of a vacuum packed bag and sipped Chinese rice wine (effervescent and much sourer than elegant Japanese Sake.) Cheney told us about previous groups he had led to this destination, “You two are the most fun” he said. I suspected he had uttered those words many times before, but I appreciated his salesmanship.
The moon fell to the horizon with a golden shield enfolding it as we talked until the wear of the day had completely exhausted us. There would be no sound sleep this night—just a fall into and out of dreams with guest stars from centuries past and rocks denting our backs through the tent floor until we met sunrise with bees swirling around our tents. One more round of photographs and it was time to dismantle our gear and head down the mountain for breakfast. Our descent reminded me of high-school camping trips—stay up late, camp out beside a fire, and head out to feed our hunger while talking about the previous night over a meal. But instead of eating eggs and sipping watered-down coffee with hometown friends, four new friends enjoyed oily chow mein noodles and Coca-Cola made with real sugar sitting next to a trickling fountain made of rock and bamboo. We were tired and filthy—it was total bliss. After all, we weren’t after a good night sleep or omelets, fine Daiginjo Sake or even an award-winning photo. We craved a great adventure and easily found one. The next day in the hotel lobby awaiting our airport taxi, a family in matching black and white “I Climbed the Great Wall” T-shirts entered, filled with contagious enthusiasm. “That was awesome!” the father told the hotel manager. Awesome.....© 2012, World on a Fork. All rights reserved...