What gives value to travel is fear. It is the fact that, at a certain moment, when we are so far from our own country, we are seized by a vague fear, and an instinctive desire to go back to the protection of old habits…This is why we should not say that we travel for pleasure. There is no pleasure in traveling. It is more an occasion for spiritual testing. If we understand by culture the exercise of our most intimate sense – that of eternity – then we travel for culture. Pleasure takes us away from ourselves in the same way as distraction, in Pascal’s use of the word, takes us away from God. Travel, which is like a greater and graver science, brings us back to ourselves.
Albert Camus

If fear lends value to travel, then I have just taken the most valuable journey of my life. I can write about it now, because I’m in Malaysia, sitting on the beach, enjoying the beautiful sunset in the photo below. Today I am calm and serene, but a week ago my confidence was totally shattered.

Sunset,Tanjong Tonkong, Penang

I should have suspected that this would not be a smooth trip, since things began to go wrong even before I left for China. During the two months I was back in the States this summer, I was bombarded with legal, financial, and insurance problems that caused me no end of stress. Every time I worked through one issue, two more would emerge, taunting: You don’t really think you’re going to Asia for six months, now do you? But I decided nothing was going to keep me from going, not even when my bank arbitrarily canceled my debit cards two days before departure. In my gut, I knew these were all signs, but I forged ahead anyway. I finished what I could and hoped I could work on the remainder from the road (fortunately, the debit card issue was resolved prior to leaving, thanks to a wonderful RBC Bank manager at a branch in Smyrna, Georgia.)

As I boarded the plane to Shanghai I breathed a deep sigh of relief and put all the worries behind me. I was finally on my way to China! My euphoria got a quick check on the plane a short while later when the food carts began to roll down the aisle. No, they had no record that I’d ordered a vegetarian meal. It was a very long flight without food. On arrival, I headed for the closest ATM machine to get Chinese Yuan/Reminbi but try as I might it would not accept my debit card. The first fear alarm went off in my head – maybe the bank problems had not been resolved after all. My only backup is my credit card, which would accrue interest from the moment I took a cash withdrawal – horrors! Fortunately, I finally figured it out. Chinese ATM’s have two buttons – one says “Continue,” the other “Correct.” I was putting in the amount I wanted and pressing “Correct” when I needed to press “Continue.” Waves of relief ensued.

Next, I needed a taxi. I let a driver in the arrival hall talk me into going with him rather than finding the real taxi stand. Big mistake. I really should have known better, but I was tired, and hungry. Not only did I pay way too much, he immediately began talking about U.S. money, pulling a $20 bill out of his pocket and indicating it had been a tip. When we arrived at the hostel, he conveniently had no change; oldest trick in the book. I took my luggage without paying him and asked the front desk clerk at the hostel if it was customary to tip taxi drivers in Shanghai. Of course it was not. The hostel gave me change for the taxi driver, who was not a happy camper but I didn’t care; I just wanted to get to my room and lie down.

I have written previously about how difficult it was to work in China with all the Internet sites blocked by the government, how it was impossible to purchase train tickets from Shanghai to Beijing because absolutely no one – from staff in train ticket offices to concierges in international franchise hotels – spoke English, and about the fiasco of redeeming our World Expo tickets. But even more aggravating were the small things: Chinese who speak to one another in the decibel range of screaming; people who turned their back on me and walked away the moment they heard a word of English; being poked in the forehead by Chinese umbrellas, used rain or shine, whenever I waited in line or stood at an intersection waiting for a green light; and the constant shrugging of shoulders, accompanied by the words “mei you” – I don’t have – forevermore indelibly engraved on my mind. My second cousin, Len, claims he can never again order a sandwich with Mayo because it will only remind him of the torturous phrase.

Perhaps my biggest stress was food. Most menus were in Chinese only – even in train stations and airports – but I was prepared. I’d downloaded an English/Chinese translator for my iPhone and was able to show servers the word vegetarian in Chinese characters. Even so, I was frequently served dishes with chicken or pork. Len, genius that he is, finally solved that problem for me. He used Google to translate a sentence into Chinese that explained I did not eat any pork, chicken, etc., did a screen shot of the translation, emailed it to me, and I was able to upload it to my iPhone so that I could show it to wait staff. After that, I never got another dish with meat.

This Google translation saved the day for this vegetarian

Beijing was much better than Shanghai, especially sleeping overnight on the Great Wall of China. People were friendlier and the manager of the hostel, upon hearing we needed train tickets back to Shanghai three days hence, picked up the phone and ordered them for us; the tickets were delivered within the hour. Still, our hotel room flooded due to a clogged bathroom drain and my knee went out, forcing me to limp around for days.

When we returned to Shanghai, the hotel room we reserved for three persons had only two beds neither of which were large enough for two people, so I slept on the floor for five nights. And when it was time to attend the World Expo, not only did we have to fight pouring rain, we had a constant battle with Shanghaiese who forced their way past us in queues or shoved us from behind. They were without a doubt the rudest, pushiest people I have ever encountered in my life.

Finally, it was time to leave for Hong Kong, where I was assured it was more civilized. Indeed, the moment I stepped off the plane I felt a shift. There was no pushing or shoving. People queued up in an orderly fashion, and most everyone spoke some English and seemed happy to help. Once again I hit the ATM machine for Hong Kong Dollars. No go. The HSBC ATM would not accept my card, even though I had withdrawn funds from HSBC all over Mexico. Four subways later, now in the darkness, we arrived at the hostel I had booked; one with seeming good reviews, where I had reserved a four-bed dorm. But when we were led to our room, it had only two beds that were narrower than those at the previous hotel, and this time there was no room to sleep on the floor. We walked. Unfortunately, most other hotels were fully booked and we ended up paying $240 for one night – choke! The following night it was worse, the only available room went for $300 per night. More fear set in – what had I gotten myself into? I simply couldn’t afford these prices.

At this point, my confidence was completely eroded. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself, I thought. Maybe I’m not the savvy, independent traveler I purport to be. I was supposed to go back into China after Hong Kong. The thought of it depressed me, but I’d told my readers I was spending a month or more in China. If I didn’t, would they see me as a failure? Would I be letting them down? I finally decided that when something is this much of a problem, it is not meant to be. Travel is supposed to be fun and I definitely wasn’t having fun.

Victoria Harbour, Hong Kong, from the hotel room window

Another view of Victoria Harbour from the hotel room window

Victoria Harbour at night, the only thing I saw of Hong Kong, from the hotel room window

I holed myself up in the hotel room until I found an affordable airfare to somewhere I wanted to visit, Penang, Malaysia, but even that presented problems. Again my debit cards were declined, both online and when I called China Southern airlines. Finally, I relented and used my charge card, despite the 3% foreign transaction fee; it would be worth it just to get out of China. But the enormous relief I felt when my MasterCard was accepted was short lived.

“You have your visa for Malaysia, right?”asked the reservation agent.

“I’m a U.S. citizen, so I don’t need a visa. I can get one for 90 days on arrival.” I explained.

“Oh no, Malaysia is no longer doing visa on arrival. You will not be able to fly there without a visa.”

“But I can’t possibly get a visa before tomorrow morning; can we cancel the ticket?”

“No once the charge is made, we cannot refund.”

More fear. The head banging kind. Still, I did not think she was correct, so I searched the Internet and found conflicting opinions. The Malaysian consulate website was down, and no one was answering their phone, so I had no choice but to jump in a taxi and go to the consulate. Forty minutes and $95 Hong Kong dollars later, I walked into the lobby of the consulate, only to discover that it was closed because it was “Malaysia Day,” a national holiday in Malaysia. During the equally expensive taxi ride back I decided to just take my chances at the airport the next morning.

At the crack of dawn I hugged my cousins and crept out of the room for the 45 minute ride to the airport. Holding my breath, I handed my passport to the ticket agent. Clackety-clack on her keyboard. Pause. Furrowed brow. “Is something wrong?” I asked. I don’t seem to have a reservation for you.” Thank God I’d had the presence of mind to upload the confirmation email to my iPhone; with the locator number she was able to find my reservation. The agent had misspelled my name, which begs the question of how she got my credit card company to authorize the charge, but by this point I was so grateful to have a ticket I didn’t much care.

I struggled through one last attempt (unsuccessful) to find a vegetarian breakfast – have these people never heard of fruit? – and anther plane ride with no food for me, but from the moment I set foot in Malaysia, problems disappeared. I breezed through customs and immigration and was given a 90 day “social visit,” later learning that the term “visa” in Malaysia means people who are moving there permanently to live or work. After a few days, my confidence returned and I am back to being the same old intrepid traveler that I have always been, investigating hidden corners, meeting locals, enjoying my travels immensely.

In retrospect, I realize I did a lot of things wrong. I always travel solo and choose the cheapest accommodations I can find, just to be able to stay on the road longer. Shared bathrooms and showers, squat toilets, no toilet paper or hand soap – none of those things bother me, but not everyone is comfortable with such conditions. Having to look for accommodations for three, in facilities that are out of my normal budget price range, was difficult; I simply don’t like making those decisions for others. I also agreed to go places that would not normally interest me (Hong Kong and Macau), because that’s where my cousins wanted to go, never considering that I detest large crowds. My preference is the countryside, National Parks, and homestays in small villages. I had also forgotten what it was like to rush around seeing all the sights during a two week vacation. My travels are slow and are getting slower all the time; with a luxury of time I can spend days sitting in local coffee shops or strolling the streets with no plans, absorbing the culture. In short, I was doing everything the exact opposite to my preferred manner of traveling.

In the future I must be true to myself in travels, the same way that I learned to be true to myself when I abandoned corporate life to pursue a career as a travel writer and photographer. So I don’t consider my Chinese experience a waste of time, as it taught me valuable lessons. As Camus so succinctly put it, “Travel, which is like a greater and graver science, brings us back to ourselves.”

This article is part of the Lonely Planet Blogsherpa Travel Blog Carnival, where this week’s topic is “regrettable travel experiences.” If you wish to read about other Blogsherpa travel nightmare stories, cruise on over to The Turkish Life, travel blog of Jennifer Hattam, who is hosting this week’s carnival.

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I ended up in China because of the World Expo 2010 in Shanghai. My second cousin, Len, sent me a message on Facebook, asking if I’d be interested in going, and suggesting we gang up on his mom, my cousin Loretta, to convince her to join us. My original intention to attend the Expo quickly mushroomed into a month long cross-country trip, especially when Len and Loretta decided to fly into Beijing rather than Shanghai. I arranged for a visit to the Great Wall of China where we were actually able to camp overnight on a remote section of the wall and flew from Shanghai to Beijing to meet up with them. After a whirlwind tour of the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square it was back to Shanghai to finally attend the World Expo.

No other pavilion at the World Expo 2010 was allowed to be taller than the stunning China Pavilion

Had my visit to China not expanded to include things other than the World Expo, I would have been sorely disappointed. Problems began before we ever set foot on the grounds. We had ordered our three-day tickets months earlier from Peregrine Travel, China’s officially designated ticket agent in the U.S. They emailed us a “voucher,” which we had to redeem for our actual tickets once we arrived in Shanghai. The morning before we planned to attend, we took a very expensive taxi ride across town in the pouring rain to the Peregrine office.

At the “Modern Universe Business Plaza,” we rode the elevator to the 26th floor and stepped out into a dimly lit narrow hallway where plain brown wooden doors stretched in both directions. Following the fraying carpet around in a semicircle, we eventually located suite 2613 by its tiny stick-on numbers and knocked on the door. Nothing. We knocked again and waited. A young girl finally cracked open the door and peered at us. We held up our vouchers and explained we we’d come to redeem our tickets; she hesitatingly opened the door wider and motioned us to take a seat. With our vouchers in hand, she disappeared behind a screen and began banging on a computer. Some minutes later she emerged shaking her head. “Mei you,” she said; it is an expression I have come to know well in China.

“What do you mean you don’t have any tickets?” I exclaimed.

“You come back Monday. Have ticket then.”

“We leave on Monday. We want to go to the Expo Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.”

With a shrug of the shoulders and a flinging of hands into the air, she repeated: “Mei you,” and insisted we come back on Monday. When we again explained that we were leaving on Monday, she offered a different solution: “We give you refund.”

“Refund?” I asked, growing aggravated. “Are you going to give us a refund for our plane tickets and our hotel rooms? You will owe us many thousands of dollars. Can you pay us thousands of dollars?”

She nodded yes; obviously much was lost in translation. A second girl in the office emerged from behind her screen to explain in broken English that they had run out of three-day tickets for that weekend. Since there are no limits to the number of people who attend each day, what that meant was that they had planned improperly and were too lazy to go get more tickets from the Expo site.

“If you are out of three-day tickets, give us one-day tickets.”

“Oh no, one day not enough for Expo.” she insisted.

“Not one one-day ticket, three one-day tickets each. This is your fault, not ours. You must find tickets for us.”

The two girls exchanged glances, the second one giggled, and I came unglued.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY!” I yelled.

“Yes, I know,”she said meekly.

“Then why are you laughing. This is not funny. Don’t laugh, fix it.”

Len, who had been sitting quietly by my side, finally lost his cool. “We came here specifically to see the World Expo and your company told us we could redeem our tickets at any time. When we return to the United States, I will sue your office. I work for a law firm and can do this easily, and your boss is not going to be very happy with you when this happens.”

That did the trick. Following a hurried conference with a superior ensconced behind a closed door, the now serious giggling girl emerged, dug through a desk drawer and pulled out nine one-day tickets, explaining that they belonged to a “colleague.” In a single hour we had witnessed the height of Chinese incompetence and the ever-present need to save face.

Can’t view the above slide show of World Expo 2010 in Shanghai, China? Click here.

Over the next three days we wandered the Expo grounds, visiting various country pavilions, many of which were pretty lame. Most bore no relationship to the theme of the Expo: Better City, Better Life. We never got inside the stunning China Pavilion because tickets were limited to 50,000, given out free at the gates each morning on a first-come, first-serve basis, and we were never lucky enough to get them. Queues were long and tiring, in some cases requiring up to six hours to get into the more popular pavilions, during which time I continually fought being poked in the forehead with Chinese umbrellas that are ever-present, rain or shine. This also also meant it was impossible to plan attending any of the cultural performances, since I never knew how long I would be standing in line or how long it would take to tour a pavilion once I got inside.

Frankly, after my first day in the pouring rain, I looked at the gray, threatening skies on day two and took a pass. Fortunately, day three dawned clear and sunny, and I headed back to the Expo for one final day with the specific goal of visiting the USA pavilion. I’d read bad reviews about it; Popular Science opined that the USA Pavilion was so full of corporate sponsorships that it was a disgrace. I STRONGLY beg to differ. For me it was the best of the Expo, incorporating an hysterical movie of Americans on the streets of New York City trying to master a greeting in Chinese and a precious film about a young girl who attempts to turn a junked up lot in her neighborhood into a park, effectively delivering a message that we can only be successful if we work together.

Following an inspirational message of friendship and cooperation from President Obama, spectators were ushered into a room full of displays by corporate sponsors. Though this portion of the pavilion disgruntled the Popular Science author, I had no problem with it; in fact, most of the pavilions at the World Expo were subsidized by corporate sponsors, which seems far better to me than spending tax dollars.

Can’t view the above YouTube video of Shanghai World Expo 2010? Click here.

All in all, I was underwhelmed by World Expo 2010, but in addition to the USA pavilion, there were a few high points, as shown in the above video. Hong Kong is next, and I only hope there is less pushing, shoving, and rude behavior there than in the rest of China.

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Shanghai has a scintillating skyline, a thriving economy verging on capitalism, and a nouveau-riche citizenry that dresses in the most fashionable attire and owns the latest electronic gadgets, but to a large degree it has lost its Chinese soul. Except for the thousands of Chinese who choke its streets and sidewalks, Shanghai could be a large, modern city anywhere in the world. I was disappointed that it seemed to have turned its back on such a rich cultural heritage and was about to write it off as boring until I decided to wander around Old Shanghai one evening. All the shops and office buildings in tthis fairly new neighborhood were built to resemble traditional Chinese architecture, right down to intricate roof tiles and eaves decorated with fire breathing dragons. Neon-outlined buildings reflecting mirror images in surrounding lily ponds and hundreds of illuminated fish lanterns strung overhead were pretty, but I was more interested in the shrill whistles, clamorous clanging, and raucous laughter emanating from a small side alley.

Can’t view the above slide show of Old Shanghai, China? Click here.

Rounding the corner I discovered half a dozen customers sitting on stools with their foreheads plastered to a large wooden box, a replica of a Chinese peep show from the 19th century. Layang Pian, or Xiyang Jian as the art is more commonly known, roughly translates to “pulling foreign picture cards,” which refers to a set of theatrical scene pictures which the showman could set into a viewing position by pulling a string. Sometimes he would perform with puppets or pictures outside the box and then charge people extra to look through the holes.

Can’t view the above YouTube video of Xiyang Jian? Click here.

This art form was nearly lost in China. Fortunately one artist, Weitan Shi, still studies the traditional art and performs in Old Shanghai, merging the ancient form with modern features that include cymbals, electric lights, and microphones. It’s not quite like the Xiyang Jian of old, but it lends some badly needed Chinese character to Shanghai.

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Though my original plans called for me to take the night train from Shanghai to Beijing to meet up with my cousins in preparation for sleeping on the Great Wall of China, it was just not meant to be. For two days I schlepped back and forth between my hostel and three different train station ticket offices, carrying a series of hand-written Chinese notes explaining what I needed, only to be met with what I have since learned is the most classic of Chinese responses: “mei you” which means “not have.”  In desperation, I begged the assistance of Concierges at nearby international hotel chains and visited huge Chinese travel agencies around People’s Square, but by the time I finally found the only person who spoke enough English to help me, the tickets for the night I needed to travel were totally sold out. This is a common occurrence; apparently there are many students who travel back and forth between Shanghai and Beijing for University, and the tickets sell out fast, with the soft sleepers and soft seats going first, followed by the hard sleepers and hard seats.

In Beijing, I was quick to advise my cousins about the situation, so upon checking into our hostel we immediately asked the front desk clerk about getting tickets for the train back to Shanghai three days hence. Unlike the hostel in Shanghai, this clerk picked up the phone and called for us; there were only five tickets left and while we were discussing whether or not to take them, two more sold. Without further hesitation, we snapped up the remaining three, even though it meant we would be traveling in three different rail cars.

D-Series bullet trains make the run between Beijing and Shanghai in just ten hours

On the day of our departure, we checked out as late as possible and hauled our luggage down 50+ stairs to the subway, changed lines and carted the suitcases up and down more steps, and then clunked up another three flights of stairs at our final destination, the ultra modern Shanghai Hongqiao Railway Station. We had purchased tickets for the ultra-fast bullet D-Train, which makes the run between Shanghai and Beijing in just ten hours (as opposed to Z-trains, which take 12 hours; T-trains, which require 13.5 hours to make the run;  K-trains, which are 19-hour long rail trips; and any number of other slower trains that have no letter before their name and require 20 or more hours).

We had a few hours to kill before departure, but that turned out to be fortunate, since it gave us plenty of time to figure out how the boarding system works. All passengers wait in the ultra-modern main terminal building, in the center of which are hundreds of seats ranging from wooden chairs surrounding small round tables to overstuffed armchairs, with one section of the waiting room even offering cushy sofas surrounding a piano bar. Both sides of the central waiting area are lined with a series of glass-door “gates” that resemble subway entrances. When boarding is called, about half an hour prior to departure, the glass doorways open to reveal an escalator that descends to the train platforms below. Passengers insert their tickets into one of the automatic ticket reading machines (just like those found in the New York subways) and go through a turnstile to the escalator. The only tricky part is figuring out the gate from which you will be departing; although announcements are in both Chinese and English, they are slightly confusing because the beginning of each announcement instructs passengers to go to a specific numbered terminal, which bears no relationship to the gate number from which the train actually leaves. We eventually figured out that the “ticket check” number at the end of each announcement was the gate at which we needed to queue.

Our train was announced right on time and we joined the crush of passengers jockeying for position in front of the turnstiles. Once we got through and were on the escalator, the rest was a breeze. The cars are well marked and the platform is brand spanking new, with great directional signs. We found our respective cabins and I settled in for the long ride in my top berth, expecting discomfort. Instead, I found a comfortable, wide bed that was fairly easy to climb up into, with a fluffy pillow, a thick duvet, and an LCD flat-screen TV with headphones at the foot of my berth. Before long we were pulling out of the station and again I was surprised. I had expected the “clickety-clack of the railroad track” but the bullet train moved off with an almost silent whoosh and accelerated to a whisper-whine that reminded me of LeMans race cars whooshing around a racetrack.

I slept like a baby, lulled to sleep by the sonorous background noise and gentle rocking motion that was like floating on air, waking as the first morning light came through the window. At 660 RMB (about $100 US) it was a pricey ride, but still less expensive than flying and well worth the price for the experience of riding one of the world’s most modern trains.

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My main goal in diverting so far north from Shanghai to Beijing was to sleep overnight on the Great Wall of China, but as long as I was in Beijing, I couldn’t leave without seeing a few of the other famous sights the city has to offer. The company who provided my Great Wall experience, The China Guide, incorporated a visit to the Olympic Village, site of the 2008 Olympics, to see the now-famous Bird’s Nest and Swim Cube architectural wonders, as well as a stop at the Ming Tombs, the final resting place of 13 Chinese Emperors, where we walked the Spirit Way and descended into the underground crypt of the Ding emperors.

Can’t view the above slide show of the Ming Tombs in Beijing, China? Click here.

After the Great Wall, with only one full day left, we rushed around to see as much as possible. Half a day (not nearly long enough) was devoted to the Forbidden City, which stood in the center of the ancient city of Beijing and was home to 24 emperors during the Ming and Qing dynasties. Today these astounding structures are a UNESCO World Heritage Site that contains the largest collection of preserved ancient wooden structures in the world. The site is visited by millions of people each year and I think they were all there on the day we toured. Unfortunately, the enormous crowds made it difficult to truly appreciate the Forbidden City as it should be; I could not get close enough to see inside any of the palaces, so I contented myself with appreciating them from afar. Eventually, we emerged at the front entrance, where Chairman Mao’s iconic giant portrait keeps a watchful eye over the Imperial Palace and Tiananmen Square, directly across the street.

Can’t view the above slide show of the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square in Beijing, China? Click here.

But my two most favorite sights probably don’t even make most guide books. Lovely, serene BeiHai Park, located in the city center adjacent to the Forbidden City, features scores of old temples and miles of walking paths surrounding a placid lake where visitors paddle around in rental boats or read books on benches beneath lacy Weeping Willow trees.

Can’t view the above side show of BeiHai Park in Beijing, China? Click here.

At day’s end, the route back to our hostel took us down a series of narrow hutongs – old lanes – lit by Chinese red lanterns and neon signs, where old men tote goods for sale on three-wheeled bikes and women congregate on stoops to gossip.

Typical Hutong - Old Lane - in Beijing

To me, Beijing is quintessentially Chinese; much more so than Shanghai, and to this city I would gladly return. Sorry to say, I don’t feel that way about Shanghai, but more about that later….

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Part Two of Sleeping on the Great Wall of China; to begin at Part One click here…

From the plaza at the base of the mountains, we began the long climb to the upper ramparts of the Great Wall of China. At first, the well-maintained stone walkways and stairs were fairly easy to negotiate but about halfway up, that began to change. Most tourists choose to visit the Great Wall at places like Badaling, where it has been completely restored and commercialized with museums, carnival rides, and restaurants. Our point of access, Jinshanling, was much more remote and little frequented by tourists, thus portions of the Great Wall in this area have fallen into disrepair.

We picked our way up steep staircases littered with gaping holes from missing stones, and tried not to look over waist-high walls at vertigo-inducing drop-offs. Having recently returned from four months of climbing ancient pyramids in Mexico, I was pretty much an old hand at this but my cousin, Loretta, who is afraid of heights, was a bit panicked by the idea that one badly placed foothold would send her tumbling. “Easy does it,” I continually reassured her. “We’re not in any hurry.”

Can’t see the above YouTube video? Click HERE.

Finally, hand over hand we pulled ourselves up the last set of uber-steep stairs to the final stretch of walkway, a weed-choked strip leading up to a high watchtower where we would view the sunset. At the tower I dragged myself up the last few steps, flung my body over the threshold, and flopped down on the floor to rest. Out of breath, I was grateful we weren’t going any further, but I was doubly grateful when I saw the walkway on the other side of the tower; it was so broken down that the path was little more than a jumble of stones. From the narrow doorway of the watchtower I traced the Great Wall along the razor edge of the mountains; it stretched as far as I could see, and even when the wall faded into the haze, the square, squat towers that punctuate the wall at regular intervals could still be seen protruding from distant mountaintops.

We prolonged our departure as long as possible, but as the sun began its final descent we headed back down to the village for dinner while we still had light enough to see. Forty-five minutes later we were back in Jinshanling for dinner. I was adamant not eating a bite because I was still stuffed from the enormous lunch provided by our tour company, The China Guide, but I took a seat at the long wooden picnic table just to be sociable. Soon the Wong family began delivering plate after heaping plate of food, until every inch of the table was covered. Chicken and pork dishes appeared, along with vegetables and a special dumpling filled with Chinese cabbage for my vegetarian palate.

“You must try at least a little,” our guide urged. Worried that not eating at all might be perceived as an insult, I reached for a dumpling. Oh my God, it melted in my mouth, a sweet-tangy flavor perfectly complemented by the slightly chewy outer dough. I resisted taking more until they wheeled out the sauces: chili pepper, vinegar, and soy sauce were shoved in front of me, and I had no choice but to try one with each type of sauce. Killer, all three of them. But wait, maybe they would taste even better if I mixed two of the sauces together. Mixing and matching carried me through an entire plate of dumplings and the moment I ate the last one, another plate was pushed in front of me. I simply could not stop shoving food in my mouth. Meanwhile, our guide had rolled out a bottle of “Great Wall” Cabernet Sauvignon in honor of Loretta’s 60th birthday, and she and her son, Len, finished off the bottle.

Can’t see the above slides how of the Great Wall of China? Click here.

Too soon, it was time to hike back up to the top of the Great Wall, taking an alternate route to a different watchtower that would afford us great views of the sunrise the following morning. I hefted my backpack, cranked up the manual flashlight thrust into my hand, and followed our guide into the ink-black darkness that enveloped us the moment we stepped away from the table. Though our night route followed a more improved path than earlier in the day, between Loretta’s wine induced giggles and our faint, narrow flashlight beams, the sloping steps and narrow stairs became even more treacherous. By the time we were halfway up, Len and the guides had disappeared, leaving us to fend for ourselves. Finally, we arrived at the watchtower, but there was nowhere to go; the path dead-ended into a wall, and there was not a soul in sight.

“Hello? Where are you guys?” we yelled.

“Up here,” echoed the answer.

“Up where? The path ends.”

“Just keep coming – there’s steps ahead of you.”

We groped our way to the seeming dead-end and found a set of impossibly narrow steps crafted from a row of bricks laid end to end, but again the steps ended six feet higher.

“There’s no way up, the steps end,” we insisted.

“No, they turn at a 90 degree angle.” And indeed they did, albeit with a large gouge in the step where we would have to make the turn, requiring us to hold our flashlights in our mouths in order to pull ourselves up with both hands. Once on top, I had only one thought; I knew there would be a bucket available if I had to pee in the middle of the night, but we’d been told that if we needed to “do number two” we’d have to “commune with nature” and I was pretty sure there was no way in hell I was going back down that last stairway in the middle of the night. I hoped for the best and snuggled into my sleeping bag, straining to see a few of the brighter stars through an overcast sky.

I was just about to succumb to sleep when a low, deep rumble brought me back to consciousness. Uh oh. My stomach churned and rumbled again. I shouldn’t have eaten all that cabbage. Panic set in. Was I going to have diarrhea? What to do? Dare I use the bucket? Could I deny it had been me in the morning? I could try to get back down the stairs in the pitch black, but then I’d have to go partway down the wall to find a patch of land where I could do my business, and what if I couldn’t find my way back? Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe and relax your abdominal muscles. Concentrate on relaxing. Poof! Just like that the rumbling stopped and I was soon fast asleep, not to wake until dawn, when Loretta and I sneaked away to do our business while everyone else was still snoring.

Morning brought no change in the weather, so the sunrise was mostly obscured, but overcast skies meant the hike along the top of the wall was much more enjoyable, at least for Len and I. Having been told there were stairways ahead with no sidewalls, Loretta walked partway and waited while Len and I explored several more watchtowers before retracing our steps. Two hours later we had made our final descent to Jinshanling and climbed back into our van. As we drove away we looked back one last time at the Great Wall, now receding into the distance. Still, it seemed an incomprehensible feat of engineering, but it was even more unbelievable that we had actually walked its ramparts and slept aside one of its watchtowers.

TheChinaGuide.com graciously offered me a media discount for their Sleep on the Great Wall of China Tour, however the receipt and acceptance of complimentary items/services received will never influence the content, topics, or posts in this blog. In this case, I have high praise for the company. Absolutely everything was perfect, right down to the English speaking guide and their fabulous customer service, which included customizing the route of the tour for us to avoid those high staircases without enclosing walls.

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Nothing prepared me for my first sight of the Great Wall of China. It is included on almost every list of must-see sights around the world and although the claim that the Great Wall is visible from the moon is a myth, it is clearly visible in radar images from the Jet Propulsion Lab, offering indisputable proof of its immensity. Yet when the Great Wall first came into view through the windshield of our van the monolithic barrier defied comprehension. Up, down, around it snaked, following exposed rocky peaks, pierced every so often by crenelated watchtowers. I had not expected it to zig-zag along the razor-edge ridges of mountaintops, dominating the skyline for as far as the eye could see. The view of this wonder banished my frustrations with traveling in China over the past week; whatever I had had to endure, it was worth it to see this wonder of the world.

First close up look at the wall as we climb up to a watchtower to view the sunset

Our guide explained that at the height of its construction in the Qin (pronounced Chin) Dynasty in 221 BC, one fifth of the entire population had worked on its ramparts and towers, and that many thousands died in its construction. Craning up, I could not imagine how it was built at all, regardless of the amount of human power thrown at it. The Great Wall was meant to provide protection from invasion by the northern Huns, but how did the ancient Chinese know where to build it? They had no accurate maps and couldn’t see the geography from the air; how did they know they weren’t building in circles? For that matter, how did they determine that these barren mountaintops could even support the wall’s massive weight? That it has not crumbled or slid down the barren rock is nothing short of amazing.

Coming into the small village of Jinshanling beneath a remote section of the Great Wall

I was still in a state of astonishment as we arrived in the village of Jinshanling, which was our base for the next 24 hours. My cousin, Loretta, was celebrating her 60th birthday, and I met up with her and her son, Len, to celebrate by sleeping on the Great Wall of China. After a brief stop for tea with the local family who feeds and outfits overnight hikers, we began the long climb to the tower where we would watch the sunset. From the road the massive wall loomed overhead, an ominous, unbroken fortification. We turned off onto a narrow stone staircase leading up to a plaza that was the stepping-off point for access to the upper ramparts and began the long trek up.

Xiao Hong, wife of Mr. Wang, one of two families that hosted us for dinner prior to sleeping on the Great Wall of China

Young boy, who has learned a bit of English from tourists, said "hello" to me

Compared with the most well-preserved section of the Great Wall at Badaling, the unrestored portion of the wall in Jinshanling is rough, requiring negotiating steep staircases with loose stones and missing steps, but the benefit of trekking in Jinshanling is the absolute lack of tourists; we had the wall all to ourselves. There are no carnival rides on this part of the wall, no movie theater, and no museum. Our tour company had even forewarned us about the lack of a bathroom; during the night a bucket was available if we had to “do number one” and if we had to “do number two” we would have to “commune with nature.” There would be time enough to worry about the call of nature later; for the moment I focused on reaching the summit and seeing the sunset.

Yes, Loretta, we're headed all the way up there to sleep for the night

To be continued……

TheChinaGuide.com graciously offered me a media discount for their Sleep on the Great Wall of China Tour, however the receipt and acceptance of complimentary items/services received will never influence the content, topics, or posts in this blog.

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The “Sleeping Dragon” is wide awake and on the alert. After settling in to my hostel in Shanghai, I tried to connect to my blog. The connection was abysmally slow, but it was infinitely better than the connections to Facebook, Twitter or YouTube, which were nonexistent. To my chagrin, I soon discovered that China has blocked access to all the social media sites.

I knew communications might be difficult from China, so I had taken some steps in preparation. One of my cousins, Len, with whom I will be traveling for a couple of weeks in China, set up a Virtual Private Network (VPN) on his home server, and sent me instructions how to set it up it on my Macbook Pro. A very simplified explanation of this setup is that China blocks access to sites based on ip addresses, the numerical equivalent of website names (urls). So if I try to access Facebook.com, China sees that as an ip address like 69.63.184.142, and they don’t allow Internet traffic to get to that site. However, by setting up the VPN, when I type Facebook.com into my browser address field, I actually go to my cousin’s server back in Los Angeles first, and it redirects to Facebook, so China can’t see that I am trying to access a social network.

Len set up what is known as a PPTP VPN, which worked fine when we tested it from the U.S. Unfortunately, neither of us were aware that China has figured out a way to block select traffic being rerouted through PPTP VPN’s; the only kind of VPN that works in China is an SSL. Frantic emails back and forth between Len and I ensued; thank God China hasn’t (yet) blocked access to Google and my gmail account. He found a company, WiTopia, that offers subscriptions to a VPN SSL service that provides “secure, unblocked, encrypted access to the Internet and VoIP services from anywhere on the globe.” I had a little trouble with setup; the first two days it simply didn’t work for me. That may have had something to do with the fact that I was using Len’s configuration, which was setup to allow access by both Windows and Macs (the company does allow sharing of one connection, as long as both users are not accessing the service simultaneously). Eventually, I wiped his configuration off my Macbook and bought my own subscription for $59.99 per year. Once I did that, I connected with no problem and I have had seamless, fast access to all the blocked sites. I have to send a BIG thanks to the WiTopia tech support team, who never stopped trying until we got it working.

With one hurdle cleared, I was on to the next set of problems. My cousins would be arriving in just a few days, so I needed to purchase train tickets from Shanghai to Beijing, where I would meet up with them. The front desk clerk at my hostel directed me to a train ticket office two blocks away, but when I arrived none of the signs were in English and no one behind the counter spoke English. I returned to the hostel,where one of the employees wrote out what I needed: a soft seat to Beijing on September 5th.

Back at the train ticket office, I handed my scrap of paper containing Chinese hieroglyphics to the agent. Click, click, click on the computer, followed by a head shake. Click, click some more, and she threw her hands up in the air, saying something that sounded like like “may ow.” “English?” I asked. “May ow,” she repeated, throwing her hands up in the air and shaking her head. I turned to leave and a Buddha-bellied Chinese man sitting on a low slung chair along the wall beckoned to me. He whipped out a packet of tickets and shoved one at me, seemingly indicating it was what I needed, but the ticket was all in Chinese. I couldn’t even see a date and time, much less a route or seat type. No, I shook my head, and headed back to the hostel once again.

“May ow,” I explained to the front desk clerk, flinging my hands into the air like the ticket agent. “Ah, they are sold out, he explained. Perhaps on the night train.” Armed with yet another scrap of paper filled with indecipherable characters, I hoofed it back to the ticket office. She took one look and just shook her head. Frustrated, I went to Plan B. I would walk to People’s Square and use the services of a travel agent, or find a concierge in one of the big hotels that could arrange for tickets for me. Three hotels (Sofitel, Radisson, and Howard Johnson’s), four travel agents (one of which told me that to travel independently in China I must speak Chinese), and two more train ticket windows later, I finally found an available ticket for $660 RMB, which is slightly less than $100 USD. I whipped out my credit card, anxious to complete the transaction. “No credit, must cash,” the agent said in broken English. I don’t carry that much cash around with me on a daily basis when I travel internationally, so my only option was to walk the mile and a half back to the hostel to get more money. By the time I returned, the remaining ticket had been sold.

As much as I hated the idea, I decided my best bet would be to fly to Beijing, so I started a search on the Internet. One site let me get all the way through the booking process, until it came time to enter my credit card info, then informed me I must use Internet Explorer. Since I work on a Macbook, I don’t have IE; back to square one. I was finally successful at Ctrip.com, the Chinese booking service, which worked fairly seamlessly, but it cost me a whopping $170 for a ticket. Not only am I finding it difficult to travel independently in China, it quite expensive.

I may have to rethink my plans for a month of independent travel around China, but right now I’m going to focus on the present moment. I am in Beijing, have met up with my cousins, and in 24 hours we will be sleeping on the Great Wall of China. And despite the frustrations, it can’t get much better than that.

Image courtesy of WiTopia

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I should have gone right to bed when I arrived at the hostel in Shanghai, China late yesterday afternoon. During the week prior to my departure I’d had a total of perhaps 20 hours of sleep; in the final three days, only four hours. So much remained to be done and I was running out of time. As I counted sown the final 48 hours I learned that RBC Bank had arbitrarily canceled one of my two debit cards on my checking account and an insurance company informed me that a refund they’d promised me would not be forthcoming. I fought those battles successfully, but that left other crucial things undone, forcing me to stay up around the clock on my final night, trying to check everything off my to do list. Just as I thought I might make it, the Internet went out for two hours. In the end, I finished what I could and just got on the plane. Everything else would have to wait.

Despite being dead tired, I couldn’t sleep on the plane to Chicago, and during my three hour layover I was afraid to sleep for fear I would snooze right through the call for my connecting flight. No worries. There would be ample time to catch up on my sleep during the 14-hour flight to Shanghai. Wrong. Perhaps I was too excited by the prospect of my first visit to China, but sleep simply would not come. Two bad movies and three worse meals later, insufficiently wrapped in a postage stamp-sized blanket to ward off the frigid cabin temperature, I was wriggling in my not-designed-for-comfort airline seat, trying to find a comfortable position for the final three torturous hours.

My intention to hit the sack immediately after checking in evaporated instantly during the taxi ride from the airport, which carried me past Shanghai’s stunning skyline along the Huangpu River; as darkness fell and the lights of the city winked on, I simply could not control my urge to explore. In my sleep-deprived state I hunched into my backpack, grousing about the unaccustomed weight of a tripod I had decided to haul along on this trip. Four blocks later I climbed the steps of  The Bund, a wide elevated promenade that runs for a mile along the western shore of the Huangpu River, and gazed across dappled waters that reflected myriad gold, red and purple neon-lights that outlined the skyscrapers of the city’s famous skyline. My decision to carry a tripod suddenly seemed inspired.

Shanghai's stunning skyline on the east bank of the Huangpu River

West bank of the Huangpu River, along Shanghai's famous Bund pedestrian rivetfront walkway

After taking my fill of photos I walked south along The Bund to Nanjing Road East, Shanghai’s premier pedestrian shopping street, intending to walk only four blocks of its 3.4-mile length on my way back to the hostel. I turned the corner at the eastern terminus of Nanjing Road and immediately went into sensory overload. Thousands of neon signs stretched as far as I could see, blinking and flashing in a dizzying array of changing colors, right down to a tiny storefront McDonalds. The dazzling spectacle sucked me in; I let myself be swept into the throngs of Chinese shoppers and swept down the mall, dazzled by a lineup of more than 600 stores that included upscale retailers Tiffany, Mont Blanc, and Dunhill. I’ve often heard New York called the “Greatest City in the World,” but Times Square has nothing on this city. Shanghai is Times Square times ten – squared.

Can’t see the above slide show of Nanjing Pedestrian Shopping Mall in Shanghai, China? Click here.

To keep from dropping I loaded up on Chinese candy from a corner store: gooey sesame-studded carmelized sugar and a block of honey coated pistachio nuts. I finally ran out of steam and headed back for the hostel but got waylaid once again when I saw a foot massage store just steps from the hostel. Tired as I was, my aching feet could not resist. An hour later I floated back to my room, crept quietly into my bunk bed so as not to disturb my dorm-mates, and was was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. I am so glad to be back on the road again. I’m home.

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It may have something to do with my passion for walking everywhere when I travel to new places, but I’m definitely a map person. Unfortunately, good maps are becoming hard to find. The ones in guide books are usually too tiny to read don’t show many of the smaller streets. The supply of international maps in book stores is ever dwindling, as I discovered when preparing for my current travels; I eventually found a map of Mexico and another of Central America, but for the particular cities I planned to visit I’ve have had to rely on the hostels where I am staying. Most of that material is produced by local tourism organizations and the information contained is driven as much by who pays to be included than by a desire to list the best sites.

Since I’ll be leaving for China’s World Expo on September 1st, this issue loomed large in my mind. It’s one thing to find my way around villages and even medium size cities in Latin America without a decent map, but tackling Shanghai without a map was unthinkable. So I was intrigued when I received a press release last week from A la Carte Maps announcing their new map of Shanghai.

Detail of Shanghai map

The two young Swiss entrepreneurs who started the company imagined what it would be like if they had local friends in exciting cities all over the world. Not only would these friends provide them with the most important information about the cities, they would also reveal insider tips by writing them on a hand-drawn map. Determined to revolutionize the traditional way of traveling, the partners set about creating a combination map, guidebook and piece of art.

A la Carte Shanghai Map

A la Carte Maps have a hand-drawn look and feel, with insider tips scrawled in the margins. They are targeted to travelers who wish to grasp a city’s spirit by embracing it like a local, rather than seeing it as a tourist. Want to know what to do on rainy days? Where the locals like to party? Like to experience things “off the beaten track?” Need extraordinary restaurant tips? All these tips are provided to A la Carte Maps by local experts on the ground in each of the cities for which maps are available. These local experts also maintain an online database of information for each city, which is made available to customers upon purchase of a map.

All A la Carte Maps include an overview of the city (front page), detailed maps of main areas (back page), a plan of the local transportation system, and an alphabetical street index. Additionally, a welcome letter provides customers with the most important information about the city (e.g. where to exchange money, how to get around, what to do on a rainy/sunny day, which gifts to bring home, crucial addresses/phone numbers etc.).

Founders Jan Gerber (left) and Yuan Yao (right) examine an A la Carte Map

The company accepts no paid advertising, free services/products, goodies, or bribes so the tips are genuine. A la Carte Maps fold out to 16.5″ x 27.6″ inches and easily fold to approximately 4″ x 8″. All maps are made of high-quality material and are matt-laminated for durability and moisture-resistance. In addition to Shanghai, A la Carte Maps are available for Barcelona, New York, London, Paris, Munich, Tokyo, Vienna, Washington D.C., and Zurich. The price is 8.90 Euros, or about $12 USD. Orders are shipped to addresses anywhere in the world within one working day of ordering on the website, and the partners have even committed to donating 10% of every city map’s profit to a social project in that city.

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Anyone who knows me knows that I am not particularly a fan of cruises. The idea of being trapped on a ship for days, with nothing to see but endless expanses of water much of the time – well, that seems like a fate worse than death to me. But the other day I happened across the website of Viking River Cruises and I was instantly intrigued.

I have often thought about seeing the great cities of Europe from aboard a riverboat plying the placid waters of the Rhine or the Danube. Viking does indeed offer a variety of European cruises, but it was when I investigated further that my interest was really piqued. Their Russian cruises sail the Volga, visiting the great cities of Moscow and Saint Petersburg, as well as ancient villages like Yaroslavl, Uglich and Goritzy. Russia is definitely on my list of places that I “must see before I die,” and I was giving this serious consideration until I spotted their China cruises.

Viking’s 12-day “Imperial Jewels Of China” cruise explores cosmopolitan Shanghai and, in Beijing, imperial treasures like the Great Wall and Forbidden City. The ship sails through the wildly beautiful Three Gorges region of the legendary Yangtze, past the engineering marvel of the Three Gorges Dam, and carries passengers to Xian, home of the famous Terra Cotta Army. This trip would be a dream come true for me. I was almost afraid to look at the price – I figured it must be at least $5,000. To my surprise, it was priced at only $2,699, and Viking is currently offering a number of promotions that reduce the price even further. Even better, the price includes meals, shore excursions, lectures and cultural performances, and hotel accommodations during city portions of “cruisetour” itineraries.

Viking may just be able to do the one thing that no one else has been able to – convince me to go on a cruise. Their boats are small and intimate, carrying between 150 and 300 passengers. And unlike ocean cruises, river cruising offers an endless panorama of sights all day, every day. Of course, the fares do not include airfare, but I have a whole wad of frequent flier mileage that I need to use before I lose it…..hmmmmm. Very, very tempting. Very.

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My friend Joan forwarded me an email containing some photos of signs found in China. Then I did a little looking around the Internet and found a few more. It’s obvious the Chinese are trying, but I think they need to fire their translator. I couldn’t stop laughing. Take a look:





Definitely not politically correct!





Out of the nine planets, what are the chances?




Too bizarre even for a comment





I’ve been in India where they have no toilet paper; believe me, I’d treasure it





Huh?





I will, I definitely will!





I just hope this sign was not found in a restaurant





Go ahead and slip – there are no attorneys in China





We want you to enjoy our lakes, really we do





Especially treasured toilet paper





Much tastier than the adult variety





Bad for the fishes, painful for you





Unisex bathroom dilemma





For a male CIA double agent?





If there’s one thing we don’ need help with….





But tastes like chicken





I’d gladly give my seat to a crippie, but a gravid?





A separate entrance for Hos…why didn’t I think of that?





Sounds better than canned water doesn’t it?





Go over there to die, please. Thank you.





Not nice. Some of my best friends are liquor heads.





Look up and down the aisle twice before proceeding…





Uhuh – when I chew it





Should Starbucks be concerned?





I wouldn’t tickle him





Weird, because horsebeans sound SOOOOO delicious





Where the most fashionable shop





So, the rumors are true!





What?





There they go again, discriminating against the alcoholics





So this is where they all end up!

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