Huangshan ("Yellow Mountain")

Only two more weekends left in Shanghai. I'd heard about the marvels of Chinese mountains, and decided to head to Huangshan. Having made the decision to leave, I realized that I had abstained from traveling solo in Shanghai because I was afraid I couldn’t handle the language barrier on my own. From buying tickets to getting around in a strange city, the prospect made me nervous. Nonetheless, the next day, with no knowledge of train timetables or how to find train info in English, I set off for the train station. I was able to only get a ticket for the late night train, so Suzhou during the afternoon. Suzhou wasn’t that impressive at all, but it was nice to get out of Shanghai. Boarding the night train to Huangshan, I realized that while I had been able to buy a ticket, it was actually for a 'hard seat' instead of a sleeper. Walking through the train, thinking of the 10 hours on a seat ahead of me in a smoke-filled, sesameseed and spit-stained compartment, acutely aware of the gawking looks of the people around me, I took a deep breath. I was armed with the Da Vinci Code, I could do it.

The youth hostel in Tunxi (where most Huangshan-bound people stay) was a backpackers paradise. It was the product of a rich Shanghainese architect who had money to spend and great ideas. It was clean, very well-designed and had a staff that exuded an incredible aura of peace. I arrived in Tunxi a bit too late to climb the mountain, so decided to visit the nearby city of Shanxi. When I got to the city, which was a small town filled with shops, I was a little disappointed. I was expecting something, yet didn’t feel like I had found it. As I started letting go of my expectations, feeling the place rather than seeking something, talking more with the people on the streets.. barriers broke and I realized that it was wonderful just to be able to communicate, to laugh, to share with the people around me.

The next day, I set off at 6 am for Huangshan. The climb was strenuous, yet the views astounding. Autumn is the perfect time to travel: the air is crisp, not too cold; the spray of autumn colors on the mountain foliage mesmerizing. Most of the other climbers were Chinese, most of them in groups, each wearing either a yellow or red hat, following a tour leader who found it necessary to continually shout through an amplifier though most of their audience was usually less than 10 feet away. Up top, it was noisy, people were taking the oddest of pictures and talking much more loudly than would befit an awesome sight (at least by my standards). Nonetheless, it was more amusing than annoying. Climbing down was another test of living in China: while I was climbing down, all the signs were in Chinese, and I realized that I couldn’t figure out how to climb down since the descent stairs seemed to “climb up”. I freaked out for a while, but waited on the side, caught my breath and tried to forget I was 1500m above the ground and lost. I grasped the word for ‘descent’ (xialu) from the passerbys around me, and began asking around. A friendly guard helped me through my consternation, and of course, I made it :)