China Trips - Chapter 1 - The Great Wall

I was fortunate enough to travel to China in both 2024 and 2025. Truthfully, China had never featured on my list of dream holiday destinations. Yet when the opportunity arose—twice—I found myself unexpectedly excited. There’s something about arriving in a place you never pictured for yourself. It heightens the senses. It opens the mind.

For me, one image rose above all others: the Great Wall.

It had lived in my imagination since childhood—not just through glossy travel brochures, but through the martial arts stories I devoured, where the Wall was more than stone. It was a living relic, coiled like a dragon through the mountains, whispering legends of dynasties and warriors. I didn’t want to just see it. I wanted to touch it. To run my fingers across its weathered stones. To walk where soldiers once stood guard, where emperors once passed. Not as a tourist ticking off a list—but as a traveller searching for connection. With history. With culture. With something far greater than myself.

We weighed up our options on which section of the Great Wall we wanted to see and how to get there : a group tour, a private guide, or venturing out on our own. In the end, we chose the freedom of independence. This wasn’t a holiday in the traditional sense—it was a working holiday for one of us—so we didn’t want the pressure of a strict schedule. If there’s one thing we learned, it’s that giving yourself room to linger rather than race—especially at sites as vast and layered as the Wall—makes all the difference.

We saved the Wall for the final leg of our trip, planning to visit it after returning to Beijing. I was told that some hotel offered a chauffeured car to the Great Wall. Unfortunately the hotel that we stayed did not. With this option was out, we were left with train, bus, taxi or ride-hailing. Given the distance from hotel to Mutianyu Great Wall and we were not familiar with Beijing buses and trains and to save time, the best option was taxi or ride-hailing. DiDi apps gave the ride of approximately just under an hour which would cost roughly 95 yuan. This was not a bad option. Apps like DiDi are a lifesaver in China, especially if you’re not confident navigating the local transport system. After we climbed onto the car, the DiDi driver starting to ask us in rapid Chinese. I did not catch any of it so I repeatedly saying I don’t understand and I cannot speak Chinese. In the end he asked me whether I had WeChat apps which I has and he asked for my phone. I handed it over, unsure what he was doing—but within moments, like magic, we were WeChat friends. He typed a message on his phone and showed me how to translate it. I hadn’t known that was even possible. It turned out he was offering his service of taken us to the Great Wall, waiting for us while we climbed the wall and then deliver us either back to hotel or our next destination and it would cost us 400 yuan. I thought fair enough, his waiting time was 200 yuan and also saved me from the hassle of trying to find a ride back. So we agreed on it. On the way there he asked whether I had bought the tickets, which I had not. With past experiences of visiting tourist attractions so far, I could always bought the tickets at the ticketing office there. With the exception of Tiananmen Square which was free but need reservation. He offered and purchased the entry plus return cable car tickets for us. I chose Mutianyu because on the way down we could uses toboggan. However this was very popular and there could be long queue, so we scrapped this. Summer holidays in China can mean sellouts, even at enormous sites like the Wall. Booking in advance, especially during peak periods, is wise. With everything sorted, we just need to get there.

Our driver was thoughtful in ways I hadn’t expected. Once parked, he walked us to the entrance gate, sparing us the stress of figuring it out ourselves. At the entrance, he reminded us that our passports would serve as our tickets for everything and told us he’d wait in the same carpark until we returned. We entered without any problems.

It was already bustling, even though it was just 9:30 AM. As we followed the signs toward the cable car, we spotted a long queue and a staff member with a megaphone barking announcements in Chinese. I didn’t understand a single word. The line seemed to be growing longer, and when we saw the chairlift station nearby, we assumed it must be our ride to the top. We joined the queue.

After 30 minutes of barely moving, our enthusiasm started to wane. At this rate, we estimated it would take another 90 minutes to get on. But as we waited, we glanced up—and caught our first glimpse of the Great Wall. It rose in the distance, winding like a dragon over the green hills. Seeing it with our own eyes was thrilling. This wasn’t just a picture in a book or a story in my imagination—it was real, and soon we’d be walking on it.

Eventually, the queue picked up. When we reached the front, we scanned our passports. I passed through without issue, but when my daughter scanned hers, a staff member stepped in and stopped her. We stood there, bewildered, not understanding anything they were saying. Thankfully, another staff member who spoke English came over and explained: our tickets were for the cable car, not the chairlift. This was the wrong line.

I asked if they could just let us use the chairlift anyway, since we’d already waited so long. But the answer was a firm no. We left the queue, disappointed, with that sinking feeling that we’d have to start all over again.

When we finally reached the actual cable car station, we were surprised to find no queue at all. In fact, apart from the staff, there was no one else there. If we had found the right place to begin with, we could have saved ourselves nearly an hour. The cable car ride itself was smoother and faster than the chairlift. After disembarking and following a short pathway, we stepped onto the Wall.

It felt surreal.

I was standing on something I had only ever seen in books and imagined as a child. Back then, the Wall was part of a faraway fantasy world—a place I never thought I’d reach. And now, here I was.

The summer sun beat down on us. The Great Wall is mostly open, with little shade, and we could see several ancient buildings along its length—watchtowers, fortresses, and beacon towers once used for defence and communication. The place was full of people, every stretch of the wall dotted with visitors. But even in the crowd, there was space to pause and reflect.

We walked slowly, taking in the view—of the wall undulating along the mountain ridges and the vast landscape stretching on either side. We touched the stones, peered through the narrow slits in the wall, once used by archers. It was hard not to feel humbled. Human beings seem small in the grand scale of the Earth. And yet, like termites that build vast mounds many times their size, we built this.

But at what cost?

Not just in stone and effort, but in human lives. If there had been cameras centuries ago to capture the construction, what would they have revealed? The sweat, the toil, the suffering? As I ran my hands across the cool, weathered stone, I wondered: who placed this here? Whose hands carried it up this slope? Was it someone’s ancestor? Could it have been mine?

That thought stayed with me.

The walk itself was more challenging than I’d expected. The summer heat was intense, but manageable. I could handle the level paths and the descents without too much trouble. But the uphill climbs—those were another story. The stones were steep and uneven, and each step took more effort than the last.

It had been just over six months since I recovered from a torn Achilles tendon, and my fitness still hadn’t fully returned. I could feel it with every incline. My daughter kept pace with ease, but I lagged behind, slowing with each watchtower we passed.

After climbing beyond the second one, I turned to her and said, “The next tower will be my last.”

And I meant it.

I felt no shame, only gratitude. I was happy—more than happy—to have made it this far. To have stood on the Great Wall. To have touched its stones, climbed its steps, and seen it stretch endlessly into the hills. The Wall goes on almost forever. But I knew my limits, and I had reached mine. I didn’t need to conquer it. Just being there was enough.

Surprisingly, we found our way back to the carpark easily. Despite the confusing layout and sparse signage, we relied entirely on memory. A mental map built in one pass. Between the two of us, we pieced the path together.

But the driver was nowhere to be found—not in the car, nor among the pop-up shops nearby. I sent him a quick message to let him know we were waiting by the car. In the meantime, we found a spot outside a small shop that offered a sliver of shade and took refuge there.

As we waited, we watched other visitors arrive—many of them buying umbrellas on the spot. We should have brought ours. Or at the very least, hats. And sunscreen.

I have a bad habit of staying out in the sun without any protection. After both of my trips to China, my skin had noticeably darkened, simply from being outdoors so much without a hat or sunscreen. I’ve never liked the sticky feel of sunscreen on my skin, but perhaps it’s time to find one I can tolerate—before I really start to regret it.

Our driver returned, seemingly surprised at how quickly we finished. We might’ve caught him off guard. If not for the queue mishap earlier, we would’ve been back even sooner.

I asked if he could take us somewhere nearby for lunch. Nothing fancy—just a good, local meal. He nodded and brought us to a modest restaurant not far from the Wall. We ordered a few dishes, including a fish I’d never tried before. It was delicious.

As we settled in, I invited him to join us. He looked surprised, maybe even a little unsure. I assured him that it was simply my way of saying thank you—for making the day easy, smooth, and enjoyable. After two weeks of navigating an unfamiliar country with only fragments of the language, this day had felt like a gift: no hiccups, no stress, just a good memory being made.

He smiled, accepted, and sat down with us.

Sometimes it’s not just the destination that makes a trip memorable—but the people who help shape the journey along the way.

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