July 24, 2006
I rode the little bus to one of China's five sacred Taoist mountains, Hua Shan, about 120km east of Xi'an. The two and a half hour trip passed quickly from the front passenger seat, but I was mildly concerned about the blinding rain. The bus conductor was also worried and mimed the dangers of hiking in the rain, but the day before, a friendly Canadian did the same thing and assured me that there were no perilous parts.
As the bus approached the mountain, the rain eased and then stopped, and fortunately, for the rest of the day it no more than sprinkled. I choose the "classic" 6km path up the mountain, from the west. The threat of rain must have kept many tourist away, because for the first two hours, I walked mostly alone. Walking up the steep mountain gorge was wonderful with only the sounds of the bubbling stream and birds. Every so often a Taoist temple appeared, and smiling caretakers sat in what I believed to be Taoist costumes (hair pulled into an offset top-knot; dark blue coats and pants that ended at the knee; and, tight white stockings.) A mist wafted the path; visibility varied every few minutes from 10 meters to the top of the 2000 meters, or so, peak.
After about 3km of easy uphill, I met a nice old man. He wore a wicker backpack with a large propane tank stuffed into it. We didn't share a spoken language, but communicated quite well, I thought. I "told" him I was glad the rain stopped. He agreed and "told" me that I should only step on the hand-width spaces of grout between the big slick rocks. After about 15 minutes, he stopped and I continued.
At 4km the path became a staircase that switch-backed up the mountain. All along the way, spaced about 300m apart, were rest stops and restaurants, some elaborately equipped with lounge chairs and televisions. Thankfully, most vendors weren't aggressive and just passively gestured to their goods.
After about 4.8km the steps were smaller and taller. Eventually, I found myself huffing my way up an incredibly long, steep staircase with hefty metal chain rails on either side. I measured the stairs with my body. As I stood straight up on a step as deep as my foot was wide and raised my arm at 90 degrees to my body, my finger tips touched a step above. I'd never seen anything like this and held firmly to the chains on both sides. For the last 600 meters or so, I was not alone. A polite queue of Chinese tourists formed at difficult sections. I was stunned at the civility that everyone showed each other; it was a rare sight in China. The civility ended abruptly at the north peak.
While the north peak seems at first like the top, it's just a local plateau, the path continues another 500 vertical feet to the south peak. On the east side of the mountain, a cable car dumps Chinese tourists by the ton at the north peak to take pictures, buy souvenirs, smoke, yell, push and shove their neighbors in triumph at "climbing" the mountain. I started for the south peak, but quickly gave up while waiting in a hiking queue behind several smokers.
Happy with the hiking I'd already done and not willing to battle the crowds, I descended by cable cable car in only a few minutes, and slowly returned to Xi'an by little bus, by foot, by big bus, and then by foot again.
-David
