There are some things in life that seem impossible.
For me, walking up the stairs of the Great Wall, was one of those things.
As a child, I didn’t know I had asthma. After exercise, my lungs caught on fire, my breaths labored, and my chest ached. It wasn’t until a near death experience that I realized how restrictive asthma could be. I honestly thought I would never be strong enough, lung capacity wise, to visit the Great Wall.
But impossible dreams became reality. Over a year ago, we planned a family trip to Asia, and stopped by Beijing en route to Hong Kong. After exploring Gui Jie (簋街) and Tianamen Square, we were ready to embrace the Great Wall.
Long, yellow willow branches swayed in the breeze, like the glory of a woman’s hair. Driving to the Mutianyu section, Chinese pop songs played on the radio. But in my heart, I was glimpsing the serenity of China’s countryside and listening to the serenade of violins. Clusters of Chinese villages lined the road, protected by a bordering village wall. What were the Northeastern Chinese lives like, before the rise of big cities? Had their ancestors used their own blistered hands to lay down the stones of the wall? Did they gain a new hope of protection and security? And for the current residents, were their lives now completely centered around tourism?
Finally, we arrived.
We climbed a few steps and found ourselves facing a ski lift (they call it a cable car, but it looks like a ski lift). We had specifically chosen this section of the wall because it was less strenuous of a climb compared to other sections, riding up via ski lift in lieu of hiking.
My sister-in-law’s eyes widened, in panic.
But it was too late to turn back; the chair swooped her and Dad up and they soared into the mountains. Continue reading
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