Getting from from the Terracotta Warriors to Huashan wasn't easy. The touts who gave us advice did so with half-truths--we went in the general direction, but the route was never direct. Buses in China rarely take the most convenient route, often going down beat-up dirt roads in obscure villages. Sure, it would make sense if someone actually got off the bus in the little podunk towns, but that almost never happened either. I suspect it was a way to avoid the toll highways.
I was growing impatient, thinking that we had missed the mountain or were going the wrong way, but I was proven wrong again when we arrived in the town at the base. The place reminded me of the town at Angkor--completely tailored to the tourist crowd, like Disney, but uglier. We found the hotel responsible for our room on the mountain. By then it was already 9:30 pm, and we knew the climb would be long. The concierge apparently expressed some skepticism about us going up then, but I was eager to make the climb. We ate some quick dumplings down the road and then set off.
The path started from a gate a little ways above downtown, up a street lined with vendors selling maps and other essential Huashan climbing gear like flashlights, mittens, and commemorative ribbons (explained later). And we we would not be travelling alone. My guidebook had told me that many of the locals enjoyed making the night climb, but I had not expected so many people.
The path was level and well-lit at first, instilling a false sense of ease. Then there was a small incline, then a larger one, and then a larger one. Then we reached the first marker, which congratulated us on having completed Phase 1. That was about 45 minutes after we had begun, and there were at least 5 markers. Eventually the steep inclines turned into steps; Endless steps interspersed by snack and tea stands. And so began the general routine of climbing: Series of steps, exhaustion, tea, series of steps, exhaustion, tea. After the 3rd marker I lost complete track of where we were. Smaller ones along the way told us how far we had come, but I couldn't remember how far we had to go. At first I felt certain we could make it to the hotel room in time and rest for a bit before dawn, but as the hours went by I knew we would be lucky if we made it to the top before the sun came up.
The further we went up, the more crowded the path became as people slowed down to pace themselves and navigate the steeper and more dangerous steps. The whole path was a long staircase now. You could stop on some ledges to rest, but it was hard to stop and start again. The mountain was usually well-it, but often their was only a flimsy chain handrail between you and the sheer drop on your left. And when we came to a dark stretch I found myself using the little gloves I had earlier mocked, crawling on all fours and trying not to die. It reminded me of the Endless Stair you had to take to get into Mordor. At one point we found ourselves wedged in a long vertical crevice during a traffic jam. There was zero space between people and I kept wondering what would happen if someone in front lost their grip on the chain. People shouted "Zou Zou" (Go Go).
Occasionally I could look back and see the lights of the city down behind us. It was more heartening than looking up at the string of lanterns that marked our path. Each time I looked I could swear I saw the peak at the end of the staircase, but ledge after ledge that peak never got closer, probably because what I saw was only a bend or a twist in the side of the mountain, a false hope. Climbers started dropping like flies. Girlfriends complained. Middle-aged men started pulling up there shirts. On one wider landing many had settled down to sleep and some even pitched tents.
Eventually the trees disappeared and we were surrounded by the brightest stars I had ever seen in China. We had reached the North Peak at about 2:3o am. The East Peak, were supposedly the the sunrise would be prettiest, was across the mountain and further up. After a rest we kept hiking, though the way was no longer straight: paths ran off to different sides of the mountain and to other temples and hotels. Several times we followed the wrong group and ran into dead ends. But an hour and a half later we came to a steel staircase a cliff. Up that staircase and a little ways further was the massive rocky protrusion that formed the East Peak. It was then 4 am. We were lucky to get there when we did, since space was limited. We huddled near the single-rope barrier that divided the "safe" area from the side of the mountain, which was a sheer cliff. In the hunt for space several people went beyond the rope, only to squeeze back in when a guard walked along the perimeter every few minutes to enforce "safety regulations."
Dawn was obscured by an annoying layer of cloud, but as it crept up it unveiled the white and green monstrosity that we had ascended. Huashan and the surrounded range were rocky and harsh, but beautiful. I suddenly realized that in any given moment during the entire climb I had no grasp on were I was in relation to were I had been and were I was going. Our altitude was always anywhere between sea level and wherever the heck the mountain ended, if it even did.
Though the last third of the way up I was hovering on the edge of exhaustion, the need to get to the top before dawn keep me from going over. But once the sun had risen and we got our fill of the view, it was time to find our hotel for the 3-hour nap that our schedule then allowed. At that point fatigue hit me and my legs became dead weights for the hike down. Finding the hotel took forever as Yun Yun argued over the phone with the staff about directions. When we did hobble up the final staircase and into the rough-looking inn about 6:30 am, demanding beds immediately, the caretaker gave us a funny look but acquiesced.
After our rest and quick breakfast of instant noodles, we left the dirty lodge and began our descent amidst the throngs of elderly and (you guessed it) western tourists who had waited to take the cable car up. Between the peaks I left the ribbon that I had worn as a headband that had words praising the mountain and good health. Like everyone else who left a ribbon on the mountain (nearly everyone) I made a wish.
The sun had reached the mid-morning mark and we could marvel at the vistas that we had missed in the night. At the same time, being able to see clearly made things a lot more frightening--there were many more drops than I had thought. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves...
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