没钱别跟着我

I can feel the age of these stones.   This is the real thing.  Too often the sights China boasts of are rebuilt within the last 20 years, they reek of falsehood and newness.  When we were trying to choose our trip to the Great Wall, the number one requirement I had was that it be original.  I wanted the antiquity of the place to speak to me.  To soak in the wisdom it holds.

I remember going to the county fair in Michigan when I was a kid, with my grandma and my cousin Josh.  There was a ride called the Zipper that we were all afraid to go on, but too proud to admit it.  We'd stand in awe below it, watching the cars go round and round on a giant conveyor belt, spinning as the belt moved, and turning topsy turvy on top of that.  Three separate motions to make you sick. We'd shake with fear and one of us would dare the other one to get on.  It took a lot of name calling and double-dog-dare-yous but eventually we would get on together.  Then we'd spend the rest of the evening holding onto our stomachs and trying to see straight.

I'm thousands of miles away from the county fair but from time to time I feel like I just got off the Zipper.  The whole world keeps sliding first one way, and then the next, spinning the whole time, and occasionally bucking me off.

It comes when I least expect it.  I'll be walking along listening to Michael Jackson and then I'll have the image of my aunt walking in my house the morning of my brother's funeral and announcing that Michal Jackson died that day.  Suddenly the world is unstable.  I can't figure out which way is up, or how to move my legs, or that I'm supposed to breathe.  Sometimes I yell at God.  I tell him I'm not as strong as he thinks I am.  Then I'm on my knees thanking him for my many blessings.

Standing on these stones though, I can't help but feel the solidness.  They aren't going anywhere.  I know because I can see how long they've been here.  I cling to them because they remind me that some things can be stationary.  I need their assurance.

We weren't sure we were going to make it here.  It only took 6 hours.  Being too cheap to book a tour of the Great Wall, we wanted to get here on our own.  It can be done but unless you speak Chinese I recommend going with a group.  Luckily I've learned a word or two while living here.

The Lonely Planet suggests going to the Beijing Travel Center between 6:30 and 8:30am for a bus to 司马台.  So we dutifully showed up at 6:30 and asked the ticket counter for a bus.  Either the Lonely Planet is outdated or their information is most reliable during peak tourism seasons (which January is not).  The gentleman told me that we could only book a bus to the BaDaLing section of the wall unless we had five people.  Not willing to budge an inch, I went back to the hostel to take another look at the LP.

Option 2 looked promising as we got off the subway at 东直门 and looked for the bus station.  I'd gotten used to everyone speaking perfect Mandarin so I was thrown off when I asked directions from a newspaper stand and couldn't understand a word the man said.

Soon a woman came alongside me and started asking the usual questions.  "Where are you from?"  "How long have you been in China?"  "How did you learn Chinese?"  As we chatted she walked us to the bus station and I was struck by her friendliness.  The cynical voice inside me kept waiting for her to try to sell me something.  I was sure there was a catch somewhere.  She asked where we were going and even walked us to bus 980, which is what the LP said we wanted.  We started to board the bus and she started pointing at another bus and telling me I wanted to be on it instead.  Aha!  I thought smugly.  Here comes the pitch.  I knew she was being so nice for a reason.  I declined her advice as politely as I could and got on the bus anyway.  She followed us and sat to talk to the driver.  I was certain she wanted to get us on the wrong bus so that she, or her friend could charge us an exorbitant amount to get to the wall.

We sat in the back of the bus and the moments ticked by.  I was starting to get a little impatient so I went to ask the driver when we should pay.  Rather than answer my question he asked where we were going.  As if he didn't already know.  We're foreigners in hiking clothes on a bus to MiYun.  We had "Great Wall" written all over us.  He surprised me by pointing to the same bus my lady friend had been directing me to and told me to get on it instead.  I figured the bus driver didn't have anything to gain by getting paying customers off his bus so he seemed a little more trustworthy.  As we got off the bus, my lady friend shouted after me, "Why didn't you believe me?"  I apologized and ran to catch the rapidly filling bus bound for MiYun.  When we sat down I found out why there was such confusion.  We were now on bus 980快, which means 980 Fast.  Same number, fast rather than slow.

We were about 40 minutes into the trip when someone tapped me awake.  "Hello?  To SiMaTai?  Get off here."  If I'd been using half my brain I would have hesitated to get off.  But unfortunately both halves were occupied in slumber and not serving much use to me.  We stumbled off the bus and blinked.  This sleaze had talked us into getting off the bus in the middle of nowhere and had his taxi waiting to take us to SiMaTai for only 300 yuan!  What a deal!  I wanted to spit on his shoe.  We engaged in a short-lived shouting match while Jessica and I marched resolutely away from him and his deceitful ways.

We saw what appeared to be the city ahead and steadily ignored the shouting taxi driver behind us.  He waited til we hiked almost out of sight and then his car appeared beside us again, driver hanging out the window shouting prices at us.  If only he'd known how stubborn I am he would have saved his breath.  Even if it meant walking the whole 70 km to the Great Wall I wasn't going to give in.

Ten minutes later he was still following us and had dropped his price in half.  But by this time more taxi drivers had joined the fray and we had a full escort service driving by our sides as we marched ever on toward the elusive town.

I was certain we could get a better deal if we found the place where most tourists get off the bus and we could pitch the drivers against each other.  But we couldn't shake them even for a minute to gather our thoughts.   We ducked in a gas station to buy some time and one driver followed us inside, hovering over my shoulder like the grim reaper, determined not to let me escape.  I am starting to believe that everybody in Beijing speaks English so I turned to Jessica and slurred, "Whaddayawannado?"  She opened her eyes wide and answered, "Idunnotheyredrivinmecrazy." in our super secret English code.

I looked out the window in search of freedom from these human vultures and saw our chance:  the bus had just stopped and deposited a few more people on the side of the road.  I watched for the next bus and when it stopped I was waiting to jump on and quiz the driver.  Surely he knows where most people get their passage to the old wall.

At this point I began having an inner battle.  How badly do I want to see some crumbly old stones built by stubborn men who refused to admit that it was a bad idea anyway?

A year and a half in China has given me the necessary elbow skills to climb onto a bus while people are trying to get off, but just barely.  I made it to the driver and cast my question at him hurriedly, knowing that at any moment I could get carried away with the sea of bodies flowing out the door.  With his answer I let myself be forced outside in defeat.  He essentially told me that this was as good of a place as any.  The many taxi drivers outside didn't hesitate to pounce on their prey.  The second my feet touched the ground they closed in on me, teeth bared and claws extended.  One began in English, "No Bus!  No bus!"  While others tapped me on the shoulder and declared their superior offers.  Something inside me snapped and my frustration over-ruled my inhibitions.  I rounded on the short, chubby driver who had dared insult my intelligence with his assertion that there was no public bus,  "Wo zhidao!"  I bellowed at him, I know!  There must have been a snarl on my lips too, as I felt like all the taxi drivers took a step back and appraised me with new eyes.

At that moment I became a worthy adversary.  Deciding they liked this angry waiguoren they lowered their prices a hair and the real bartering started.  Eventually they were all set on the same price.  I thought it seemed high, but since we were there during the off season and the price of gas had most likely risen since the last time I drove I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.  As brothers-in-arms, none of them would sell out and offer a lower price so I decided on the plump gentleman I'd screamed at in a conciliatory gesture.

About 31½ Chinese techno songs later we made it to the Great Wall.  My spirits rose with the altitude.  Seven months after I planned, I was finally here!  The sun sparkled his congratulations as we made our ascent.

I puased to catch my breath and spotted some old folks resting by the side.  Their eyes lit up when I began a conversation.  We stood and talked about the weather for a second.  Standing a little off to the side was a woman in a pink jumper with her arms full.  She watched me chat with the old people and then swung in step behind us as we moved on.  Soon the questions came flying in one-by-one.  Every time she flung another one my way I gave the shortest answer I could, hoping she'd get bored and move on. My disadvantage was a lack of other foreigners to host her.  I'd hunted so long for a place free from other tourists that we became a magnet for all the hawkers.

I took a step.  Looked over my shoulder and there she was with her silent sidekick, a younger boy.  The follower and the followed.  Another step, another deliberate look.  She mimicked my every move, skillfully ignoring my subtle pleas for solitude.  We stopped to take pictures.  She stood and waited, shadowed by the wordless boy at her elbow.  We started again.  She stepped behind.

I decided to risk offending her if it would give us some peace so I finally turned and asked, "Why are you waiting with us?"  She'd been on our tails for at least half an hour.  I knew already what her answer would be.  "I want you to buy my postcards."  I hated crushing her hopes.  "I don't want any postcards."  She didn't seem upset.  She smiled serenely and said, "But maybe on the way down you can take a look."  I apologized and told her I really didn't want them.  She finally slowed her pace and demanded, "Why not?"  I said, "because I don't have any money," knowing she wouldn't believe me.  She stomped her foot and declared, "You have lots of money," her voice rising with the distance I put between us.  I tried to put sincerity in my voice and answered, 'But I work in China."   The last I heard of her as I rounded the bend was her angry voice floating after me, "You have American money!"

As I surveyed the mountains of Mongolia from one of the world's wonders I thought about her accusation.  That I have money.  She's right of course.  I could probably afford to buy her postcards and not even notice.  But will buying postcards from every lady I feel sorry for allay the guilt I carry for things I can't control?  I'd like her to have more opportunities in life, so she doesn't have to make a living by following tourists around.  I just happen to think there are better ways to help than spending a few bucks on something I don't want.  I think one of the ways to help is to be a good teacher.  I may be biased since I'm an educator, but I believe in the power of education.  So I resolve to try harder.  I'm going to give my students my all again, in the hopes that they will make the world a better place.

"Our greatness comes from our woundedness."