In my 2nd year of Chinese class my teacher told us that “one cannot be considered a hero until they climb the Great Wall”. We laughed it off but I never thought that the day I got to take my first step onto the wall would come so soon. I had undermined its scale of beauty and size in my head, thinking that its pictures and postcards were enough of a representation of its magnitude and beauty.
Instead, I was humbled. Just imagining all the peasant labor and centuries it took to construct this magnificent landmark.
It was winter, January, and the wall felt cold, an untouchable cold like the wall didn’t age with the world but instead on its own accord. In that way I wished to curl up in the corner of the wall and watch in silence as the morning sky faded into a night of stars.
We took a gondala up to the top of the wall. Back in the days, visitors had to hike up themselves … what a journey that was I’m sure. I feel awfully lazy just in comparison.
mountain view ~ Even in the winter, the Great Wall does not fail to be beautiful. If I do get to come back, I love to see its summer image.