What Are the Five Grand Palaces of Seoul?

Hyangwonjeong Pavilion

Sources are listed below. If you’d like more information on a certain subject click on the bold text and it will take you to a source. There are hundreds of blog posts on The 5 Grand Palaces, anyone of them will tell you about each palace, including this one. However, this blog is pretty selfish, since I talk about me.

I lived in Seoul from 2018 to 2023, and during that time I visited three of the 5 grand palaces. Two questions that may arise from this statement may be, “What are the 5 grand palaces”, and “you were in Seoul for five years, why only three palaces?”

I’m glad you asked.

What are the 5 Grand Palaces? 

The Joseon Dynasty, also seen written in English as Chosŏn, was the longest and last imperial dynasty of Korea. It was founded in 1392, (100 years before Christopher Columbus took credit for discovering America) by King Taejo, who was previously known as the general Yi Seong-gye. Yi Seong-gye declared himself the ruler of the new dynasty after overthrowing, exiling and then secretly killing, the king of the Goryeo Dynasty, which had been around for 475 years. Not a bad run, Goryeo. He ascended to the throne as King Taejo, marking the start of the Joseon Dynasty, which would last for approximately five centuries until 1910, about 40 years longer than Goryeo. Put into some context of time, as of writing this post in 2023 the United States isn’t even 250 years old. We haven’t even made it halfway. Yet we act like we know it all. The capital was initially established in Hanyang, which is present-day Seoul. During the 500 plus year reign 5 palaces were built between 1395 and 1617. However all 5 palaces have been subjected to destruction through invasions, wars, uprisings, and occupations, so new buildings and expansions had been constructed over the course of the 500 years. There have also been many renovations and later reconstructions that have continued up until today.

Why Only Visit 3 palaces in 5 years?

Although all 5 palaces are relatively close to each other, and not too far from where I lived, living in a place and visiting/vacationing in a place are two different things. Just like living anywhere your days are consumed by work and daily tasks and dull responsibilities and desperate moments of escape through Netflix and other streaming services. When it came to vacation time we often would leave Seoul to explore other places. I did try to see all the palaces, but due to confusion, I ended up visiting Gyeonbok palace multiple times, when I probably could have been visiting the remaining 2, more on this later.

Korean chimneys at Amisan garden in Gyeonbuk palace.
Amisan garden with Chimneys. Built in 1869. Korean National treasure No. 811
  • Gyeongbokgung Palace:
    • Constructed in 1395, Gyeongbokgung was the first palace built during the Joseon Dynasty and served as the main royal palace.
  • Changdeokgung Palace:
    • Initially constructed in 1405, Changdeokgung was later expanded and became one of the main palaces in Seoul. It served as a secondary palace to Gyeongbokgung.
  • Changgyeonggung Palace:
    • Originating in the Goryeo Dynasty (built in 1104) and transformed during the Joseon era. Changgyeong was built on the site of and renovated from parts of the summer palace “Suganggung” of the Goryeo Dynasty. Changgyeonggung underwent a name change and several reconstructions. It served various purposes over the centuries, including as a residence for queens and concubines, and as a temporary residence for the Japanese governor-general during the colonial period.
  • Deoksugung Palace (Gyeongungung):
    • Initially constructed in the late 16th century, Deoksugung served different roles throughout its history, including as a residence for King Seonjo and later as a temporary royal residence during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
  • Gyeonghuigung Palace:
    • Established in 1617, Gyeonghuigung served as a secondary palace and underwent multiple reconstructions. It was the last of the Five Grand Palaces to be built. Although, not the last to be completed.
Geunjeongjeon Hall or the Throne Hall of Gyeongbok palace in Seoul, South Korea.
Geunjeongjeon Hall

The Palaces and My Visits

14th Century

Gyeongbokgung (Gyeongbok Palace) was the first of the five Grand Palaces of Seoul to be built during the long 500 plus years’ reign. Gyeongbokgung was built in 1395, and it is the largest of all five. Its architecture and design is magnificent and bold. The wood structures are bright reds and blues and the fired clay tiled rooftops sweep like the upturned wings of birds of prey. Small intricate carvings adorn the tiles, and each end beam is painted with colorful patterns.

 bridge to the Royal Banquet Hall Gyeonghoeru

There is a lot to Korean architecture much like the Chinese and Japanese there is a purpose and meaning behind the building. In Korea it has a lot to do with nature and something called geomancy which I plan to write about at a later time. The structure is conspicuous with its impressive gates, halls, and tall beams and beautiful gardens. It is the largest of all five of the Grand Palaces, and every website and blog that I visited claimed it to be “arguably the most beautiful”. I do believe one can argue this remark as beauty is subjective. I don’t know if it’s the most beautiful overall, but it is large and has some beautiful parts, nothing is ugly, but most beautiful is as I said, subjective. However, I do believe it is one of the most popular of the five and most visited. 

As mentioned, the palace was originally built in 1395, that’s almost 100 years before Columbus stumbled onto an already inhabited land and claimed it for Spain. In the 16th century (1592 to be more exact) the palace was demolished and destroyed by the Japanese, and not reconstructed until 1867, the same year that Alaska was purchased from Russia. 

During the Japanese occupation of the 20th century, the Japanese destroyed or dismantled all but 10 of the original buildings, and then to add insult to injury they built the Imperial Government building on the site of the palace and directly in front of Geunjeongjeon Hall the former throne room of the Kings of the Joseon Dynasty. In this way the Korean’s not only lost their independence and didn’t know if they had a future they also were denied a view of their past. Why would the Japanese not destroy all evidence of the palace? One could argue that they kept what they thought was the most beautiful for themselves, like the pavilion and the surrounding garden. During the occupation the throne room was often used as an exhibition hall taking away all sense of authority and reducing it to a commercial space. Long after the occupation, which ended with WW2 for obvious reasons, and the devastation of the Korean war; restoration of Gyeongbuk began in 1989. The Japanese General Government building was demolished in 1995.

I’ve visited this palace at least seven times.
  • My first visit to Gyeonbokgung was in the spring of 2017. At the time, I was living in Gwanggyo, which is a city in Gyeonggi, a neighboring province. It is about an hour away from Seoul by subway. During my first visit, I didn’t enter the gate but wandered about the East side of the palace near the National Folk Museum
  • My second visit was in the summer of 2017. I was still living in Gwanggyo, and during this visit I went with a friend of mine who had been living in Dongcheon, another small city in Gyeonggi-do. On the weekends we would often meet up on the subway and then take the Shinbundang line into Seoul. On this particular visit we entered through the East side but only took a few pictures inside the outer courtyard or oejeon where you can see the inside of the Gwanghwamun Gate (southern and main gate) and the outside of Heungnyemun Gate which is the second gate of the palace that will lead you into the inner court or naejeon.  
  • On my third visit to Gyeonbukgung, also in the summer of 2017, I finally went inside the second gate (Heungnyemun) and onto the palace grounds. Visit three was also with a friend of mine that was visiting from Masan, a small city in the southern part of South Korea. Aside from seeing more of the palace during this visit we also partook in a tea ceremony. 
  • My fourth visit was in the fall of 2018. At this time I had moved to Seoul and lived about a 30 minute bus ride from Gyeonbukgung. A friend of mine had come to visit from China, and we visited the palace, but only the outer courtyard.
  • My fifth visit was in the spring of 2019 when some friends from Prague (Czechia) came to visit. Now, on this visit I selfishly tried to take them to Changdeokgung because I wanted to see the secret garden, but I got the Hyangwonjeong Pavilion confused with the Huwon or Biwon also known as “the secret garden”.

The reason for my confusion was because during my 2017 visit the pavilion was under construction, and my brain had decided that this was the secret garden. I never bothered to look it up. I also just never remembered which palace it was that I kept visiting, so when I arrived for the fifth time, I remember thinking, “ah damn, I always come to the same palace.” My friends of course had never been to any of the palaces so it was fine. The pavilion was still under construction.

A woman poses in front of Heungnyemun the second Gate of Gyeongbokgung in Seoul, South Korea.
  • My sixth visit took place in the spring of 2023. Probably, for the first time in my many visits to Gyeonbukgung, I went intentionally. The unknown and fear of the pandemic was in the rearview mirror, and more and more things had opened up. For the first time since I had moved to Seoul Gyeonbukgung was open in the evening. Eun and I went together for this summer event. 
A night photograph of Gyeonghoeru the Royal banquet hall or Gyeongbok palace, Seoul, South Korea.
Gyeonghoeru, The Royal Banquet Hall lit up at night
  • My seventh and final visit was in the summer of 2023. I again went intentionally, this time to finally see the Hyangwonjeong Pavilion which had been under construction since my first visit inside the palace in 2017.
The Hyangwonjeong Pavilion in the background, March 2023

15th Century

Changdeok palace was constructed in 1405, as a secondary palace to Gyeongbokgung, nearly 90 years before Columbus crashed into the Bahamas. After its initial construction the palace complex was expanded and it became the most favored by Korean kings from the late 15th century onwards. Known for its beautiful rear garden blending with the natural landscape which is part of geomancy. It is also the location of the famous Secret Garden, Biwon (비원) in Korean. This garden was built as a place for the royal family and women of the palace to relax and enjoy. Changdeokgung was badly damaged during the Imjin War the 1592-1596, and 1597-1598 a series of invasions by the Japanese. If you recall, Gyeongbokgung was destroyed in 1592, which would make Changdeokgung the primary palace by default. Although, Changdeokgung was also badly damaged in the wars which would mean that the main palace would have to be moved yet again to Changgyeongung which it’s lucky they already had the palace built; more on that next. Changdeokgung was rebuilt in 1609 (two years after Jamestown had been settled), but was damaged again when it was burnt down in 1623 by a military coup. Changedeokgung has been damaged multiple times over the centuries, however during each reconstruction it has remained true to its original form and because of this authenticity it was added to the list of UNESCO world heritage sites in 1997.

  • This is one of the palaces I never had the chance to visit. In fact, part of the reason I visited Gyeongbukgung so many times is because I kept trying to visit Changdeokgung, but got confused. They are not that far from each other and when looking on a map they look quite close. In fact, you use the same subway line to get there. It is possible to walk from Gyeongbukgung to Changdeokgung. In actuality all 5 of the palaces are in relative walking distance, but if you are short on time or don’t want to walk 45 minutes (I said relative as in meaning possible) the buses are a great way to go from palace to palace. 
  • I regret not seeing this palace as its reputation for beauty is high. Plus the famous secret garden which you have to purchase a second ticket to enter, so you need to time your purchase and entrance right, especially during the crowded summers. This timing thing has never been a forte of mine. A friend and I did try to make it to Changdeokgung in my last month of living in Seoul, but it was during the Royal Cultural Festival and all the tickets to Changdeokgung and Gyeonbokgung had been sold out. Alas. 

15th Century

It was first called Suganggung and was built in 1104 during the Goryeo reign as a summer palace for King Sukjong of the Goryeo dynasty. After Yi Seong-gye defeated Goryeo he resided in Suganggung until Gyeongbukgung was built. A side note, Kaesong also seen written as Gaegyeong was the capital of the Goryeo dynasty which is in what we now call North Korea. It can be difficult to picture it with our modern maps and politics, but Goryeo once controlled all of the land that we now call North and South Korea. Later in the mid-1400’s under the fourth ruler of the Joseon Dynasty, King Sejong (the Great King who invented Hungul the Korean alphabet) built the palace as a gift for his father, the third Joseon King, King Taejong; more like a resting place than a gift. I found one site that stated that King Sejong built Changgyeonggung in 1418, whereas most sites including Wikipedia state mid-1400’s. I’m not great at math, but 1418 seems to me to be a lot closer to early 1400’s than mid-1400’s. Since King Taejong died in 1422, I’m going to go with Go!Go! Hanguk’s date until I get my hands on some printed text. Another side note, when it comes to dates on construction or establishment which just means that they decided that on this particular property they are planning to build a palace, Changgyeonggung is the most confusing to get the dates clear. My guess is that there hasn’t been a lot of English write ups on the Goryeo Dynasty because there isn’t much left to see of this dynasty, and the top sites are travel sites, so its a lot of regurgitation of the same information. I have my own deduction as to why it is difficult to tact down an exact date. My thoughts are that in 1104 there was already a palace in the same location. King Sukjong’s summer palace that may or may not have been called Suganggung. Then in 1392 after the fall of the Goryeo Dynasty, King Taejo the first of the King’s of the Joseon Dynasty moved into the former summer palace while Gyeongbukgung was being built. So, obviously some structure had to already be in place, and the man’s a king so it can’t be a shabby shack, and it was a royal summer palace, so I imagine it was beautiful in its own right. Then presumably, in 1418ish, King Sejong either added on or renovated or expanded the former Goryeo structure. I suppose he could have had it all torn down, but I don’t know, I’m just tossing this idea around trying to elucidate for myself when this palace was actually built. During the time that King Sejong built the palace and King Taejong resided there it was called Suganggung, this is for certain. Then in 1483, it was renovated and enlarged by King Seonjong the ninth King of the Joseon Dynasty. Perhaps it was during this time that the intention of its construction was to be a residential home for the queen, and the king’s concubines. Okay back to the main focus:

Myeongjeongjeon

There was a lot of upheaval and destruction at Changgyeonggung through multiple Japanese invasions and during Japanese colonialism. Due to the multiple damages, destruction, rebuilding, and renovations over the centuries, Changgyeongung features a mix of architectural styles, including traditional Korean and Western influences. The palace grounds include gardens and a victorian style greenhouse designed by the famous Japanese horticulturist Hayato Fukuba, and built by a French architectural company, whose name I haven’t yet located. Changgyeonggung features a large botanical garden with many indigenous Korean plant species. During the Japanese occupation that began in 1910, Changgyeonggung was turned into a zoo. The zoo was Korea’s first, and built in 1909, which date wise informs you that Japan was already planning to occupy Korea. I also saw a source that said the Daeonsil, the greenhouse, was built in 1907 which if true shows that the Japanese were planning their occupation at least 3 years in advance of the “official date.” I imagine all occupations take a bit of planning. After the end of the Japanese occupation the palace was restored to much of its original design, and many of the Japanese buildings were torn down, however the greenhouse, which is quite lovely, remains. When I say original I mean either the 1418 design, but more likely the 1483 design when it was given the name Changgyeongung.

A close-up picture of the red and salmon colored Honghwamun, The Outer Gate to Changgyeonggung.
Honghwamun, The Outer Gate to Changgyeonggung
  • The first time I came to Changgyeongung, was the very first time I ever came to South Korea. I first visited Seoul in 2014, during a 24 hour layover on a trip from China to the Czech Republic (Czechia). I had stayed in a hostel with the word “Banana” in its name. During my layover I wandered the neighborhood which was a multitude of connecting alleyways; ate in a small little high quality hole in in the wall restaurant; and I visited a palace. At the time, I never imagined that I would, not only return to Korea, but that I would live there for 7 years. I didn’t know the name of the palace I had visited as I didn’t speak to anyone other than the hostel receptionist during check in, and with a sales girl at Tony Moly (토니모리) as I bought my first Korean beauty product of snail cream, not even knowing that the Korean beauty industry was a multi-billion dollar business; nor that I just bought a cream made of snails. I only saw a very tiny part of it, as I didn’t see the greenhouse or the beautiful pond surrounded by lush green trees and bushes, yet it stuck with me. I was so in awe of the outer stone courtyard and the standing tiles that looked like grave stones, that I now know are rank stones which marked where members of the royal court were permitted to stand during ceremonies. I moved to Seoul in 2018, and since I had arrived in the major metropolitan city, I had been searching for the palace I had first visited 3 years prior. Hence, another reason why I had visited Gyeongbokgung so many times. Each time I would go to Gyeongbokgung, I knew I was not at the right place, but I could not recall which palace was my first. 
The royal greenhouse of Changgyeonggung lit up at night.
Daeonsil Greenhouse
  • It wasn’t until my last month in Seoul when a friend and I walked from Gyeongbokgung in the direction of what we thought would be Changdeokgung. It was a 45 minute walk to Changgyeongung. The palace was open for the summer nights, and my friend and I were able to enjoy a light show that played on a tree that grew on a small island in the manmade pond. Once inside the courtyard, I recognized it immediately as the palace I had visited in 2015. It felt like I had come full circle. Changgyeongung and Changdeokgung are practically connected, so it is easy to confuse one for the other.
a close up of rank stones and flat stone at Changgyeonggung in Seoul, South Korea.
Rank Stones at Changgyeonggung

16th Century

Deoksugung Palace, originally known as Gyeongungung, was established in the late 16th century during the reign of King Seonjo the 14th king of the Joseon Dynasty. This palace like Changgyeonggung has a complicated and confusing history, hence the “late 16th century” date. Before it became a palace it was the home of Grand Prince Wolsan, the older brother of King Seongjong the 9th Joseon king. Prince Wolsan died in 1488 a solid 100 years before the Imjin Wars, so either his residence remained intact and lived in by other family members or it was empty. The plan to actually turn it into a royal palace came about in 1592, coincidentally around the same time that Gyeongbukgung was destroyed. Construction on Deoksugung (it wouldn’t get this name until 1907) or Gyeongungung began in 1592 (two years after the Roanoke Colony had disappeared), but due to the Japanese invasions of Korea (1592-1596 & 1597-1598, Imjin Wars), it was interrupted. Because of the war, many structures of Gyeongungung were damaged or left incomplete during the initial construction phase in 1592. I am not sure what parts of Gyeongungung were from Grand Prince Wolsan’s residence is any part was, but the palace wasn’t completed until 1595 or 1958. Meanwhile, in the America’s during the same time we were having our own colonial invasions. In 1598, the same year that Gyeongungung was completed Juan de Oñate attacked and massacred the Ácoma Pueblo in what is now New Mexico.

Gyeongungung was meant to be an auxiliary palace, but it became a temporary royal residence after the Japanese destroyed Gyeongbokgung in 1592, along with badly damaging Changdeokgung and Changgyeonggung. It became an official royal palace in 1611 when the King Gwanghaegun, the 15th ruler, finally decided to give it the name Gyeongungung. Prior to 1611, I don’t know what they called it. Uncle Wolsan’s place? The palace was completed in 1595, but it has a unique fusion of traditional Korean and Western architecture after a Western-style wing was added in 1897. This Western-style building, Jeonggwanheon, was designed by a Russian architect. It was turned into a cafeteria during the Japanese occupation. In 1907, the year the greenhouse at Changgyeonggung was built, Gyeongungung’s name was changed to Deoksugung. The name which means longevity was chosen in hopes that it would save the dynasty (at the time declared and Empire) and the Korean peoples, but unfortunately, as history shows, the Joseon family dynasty would fall, and Korea would be occupied for 35 years. As for Deoksugung, much of the original palace was destroyed or dismantled and the palace that you can see and visit today is only 1/3 its original size.

  • Although I have passed this palace multiple times since I had lived in Seoul, it wasn’t until 2023, my last days in Seoul, that I finally made a visit. The main gate of Deoksugung is often overcrowded with protesters, often of the older generation, and there are large banners, that at times, over shadow the main gate. The protestors often deterred me from entering the palace. In the beginning, I thought maybe they were protesting the actual palace, but after years of living in Seoul, I had learned that on the weekends there is always a protest, and all this political activity takes place in the square across from City Hall and Seoul Plaza. Protests will extend down the length of Sejong road leading to Gwanghwamun square as this is where many of the embassies are located including the U.S. Embassy.
Indoor walls of Deoksu Palace

The day my friend and I went to the palace was Pride week and it was meant to be the day of the Pride parade which we both would have loved to have seen, but a far-right religious and anti-LGBTQ+ group had managed to snag the space for their Youth for Christ march. Although the Pride Organization had applied well in advance as they do each year since they have held the parade, Korea’s new and very conservative President granted the day to the church, as he said “events for children and teenagers get a priority when requests are filed for a same date”. (I must say though, as someone who was there, that was the angriest children’s event I’ve ever been forced to listen to.) As we passed through the gate and onto the palace grounds, we could hear the angry screams and shouts from the church group, and like a dome of verbiage the screams followed us to nearly every part of the palace grounds.  It was an incredibly hot day and all that hellfire, damnation, and brimstone gave our tour of the grounds an unpleasant vibe. I would have preferred fun music of Pride over the screams or better yet silence, but we did our best to enjoy the palace grounds. Once the marching started the angry group took their yells on the road, it left leaving only the sounds of the city which blended into a dull hum, hiss and honks. 

Established in 1617 (the year that Pocahontas died), it was the last of the Five Grand Palaces to be built. Although the foundation for the palace was in 1617, Gyeonghuigung wasn’t constructed until 1623 and underwent multiple reconstructions. Gyeonghuigung served as a secondary palace to Gyeongbokgung, but later served as the main palace during the 19th century. It was remodeled in 1855 with an architectural style integrating tradition and innovation. It was the setting for major political events such as King Gojong‘s return from the Russian legation where he sought refuge in 1896, and Korea’s independence proclamation from Imperial China’s rule in 1897. It was also the site of where the Korean Empire was proclaimed in 1897. Much of the palace was destroyed by fires, and during the Japanese occupation many of the buildings had been dissmantaled. Restoration efforts have been ongoing, however, because the reconstruction didn’t begin until the 1990’s and the city had already been built up, a lot of what was lost can’t be restored. As of today, only 33% of the palace exists.

  • I never made it to Gyeonhuigung. During my last month in Seoul it was my intention to visit all five of the palaces, but unfortunately due to time constraints and schedule conflicts I was not able to reach this goal. In truth, I don’t even know exactly where this palace is located. I know it is either in Jongno or Insadong where the other four palaces are located and it is also located on the west side of what was the old city capital Hanseong.

Thank you for reliving this palace journey with me. I feel fortunate to have been able to see 3 of the 5 and I hope that I make it back to Seoul in the near future in order to finally see Changdeokgung and Gyeonhuigung, and of course, The Secret Garden.

Come back for future posts on greater details of each palace. I will also have write ups on other fortresses and buddhist temples, along with a two part story on our walk around the Seoul City Wall; the ancient former wall of the Hanseong Capital which was built during the Joseon Dynasty.

Till next time.

Accidental Vagabond

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* Wikipedia provided the first step to basic information with links that lead to further resources. Please, if you can, donate to Wikipedia to keep it open for all people to use. Privatization can lead to abuse of information. If we collectively support it will help to keep the flow of information open and more accountable. I make a small monthly donation, and would love to donate more, which one day if profits come, I will. It's a great starting point when looking for information.
Other sources were Britannica, Korea.net, Go!Go!Hanguk, and many travel blogs.
There She Goes Again is a good blog for information if you wish to travel to South Korea. I used her blog a lot before visiting places in South Korea. I'd also like to recommend Korea By Me, as I have a soft spot for them for giving me a chance, plus they have a lot of information about Korea from a diverse group of people who are currently living in South Korea.

First Impressions of Busan, South Korea

CIMG9592The day is August 9th, and I am sitting in my hotel room to avoid the sweltering heat in Busan. A heat that I am not accustomed to as of yet. I’m not certain one truly acclimates fully to heat and humidity, but people do live in it.

My first days in Busan began with angst. I had flown from Portland to San Francisco on Virgin America, and then from SFO to Beijing to Busan on Air China. Two transfers, two airlines, three security checks (China’s was the toughest) and because of the time difference it seemed like it took me two days. I had left on the 4th and I arrived on the 6th. What happened to the 5th? But, more importantly, what happened to my luggage? Somewhere in all of that transferring my luggage was lost. I wasn’t calm about it, but also there isn’t much I can do. It felt like a big loss, and not the best way to arrive in my new foreign city.

I’ve moved to Busan for at least a year, and I was feeling apprehensive about the move. I can’t say why I felt or feel apprehensive. This will be my third time moving out of the U.S. on some crazy adventure that I don’t plan well. It’s the fifth foreign country I’ve moved to, and my second Asian city to live in. One would think that by now I would feel more comfortable with the whole affair, but apparently I don’t. Apparently, I have a hard time doing it, but by the time I return to the states, I no longer remember my trepidations, and I do the damn thing all over again. I’ve never lost luggage before though so it is an added challenge. I tell myself, as my friends also tell me, “I have to believe things will work out. It will come back to me.” I try to put my faith in this thinking, but it didn’t stop me from crying my eyes out thinking about certain things I had in the case. That awesome jacket. My shoes; the one’s I loved. My brand new external hard drive that I had meant to put in my carry on, but forgot to. Then of course, my travel journal that is filled with pictures of my mom and home- it is something that gives me peace. That’s what really hurts. That can’t be replaced. So, I cried my first evening in Busan. I cried because my luggage was lost, and I cried because as per-usual, I don’t know what I’m doing nor do I know why I decided to go this route, and I’m afraid. That’s all normal for me. The thing is, I do know what I’m doing. I know more now this time then ever, but it doesn’t stop me from doubting myself or my choices. That too seems to be normal.

A friend met me at the airport. I was very grateful. I had felt uneasy on my arrival, what, with exhaustion, loss of stuff, and second-guessing my life choices. It was good to have a familiar face greet me in an unfamiliar place. Nikki, who I had met at Angloville in Poland a little over a year ago, guided me onto the subway and into the city where I am am being put up in a hotel near Nampo district. I’m to be in this hotel during my training period for my school. It’s about two weeks. I am not officially hired until I successfully complete the training. So who knows, maybe I will be back in the U.S. in two weeks more broke and in debt than ever, and with no clothes. Let’s hope not.

IMG_20160806_155141

Nikki and I wander a bit in the heat till we found a little restaurant where we ate cold noodle soup and kimchi and other delightful Korean snacks. As we walked around in the district of my new Asian city, I couldn’t help but compare Busan to Zhengzhou. Asian cities are so different from European cities as they are different from American or New World cities. The smells are different. The architecture, and the urban planning is all different. I don’t know a lot about Busan yet, but I believe a lot of it was destroyed in the Korean War so much of the urban planning is post- 1960’s. Also the land scape is hilly so that creates a different type of planning. There are some similarities to Zhengzhou in one particular smell and in the people, but they are only subtle similarities, and there were differences in what seemed familiar. Immediately, I noticed that it isn’t nearly as crowded here. In fact, the side streets were often empty. When it comes to the hustle and bustle of the subway people seem to be more polite here. There is some pushing, but nothing compared to China. If someone pushes past you they seem to be from the older generation and not to aggressive about it. In China, I found it to be very aggressive and all ages. I felt a bit like there was a sense of panic in Zhengzhou like a person needed to push everyone out of the way or they’d be left behind. Plus, in China there was the whole cutting in line (which really annoyed me) which I haven’t encountered here at least not in my one day. There was a similar smell. It wasn’t all over or as potent as in Zhengzhou, but it was the same smell. It is a terrible sewer smell that is sharp and pungent. It was very prominent in Zhengzhou, but I would only occasionally catch a whiff of the smell in some alleyways in Busan. Sewage actually smells different in China and Korea (in the two places I’ve been) then in American cities. It all smells like shit and bad, but it also has a different kind of bad. A sour kind of bad. Oddly, I find that fascinating. I imagine it is what we eat and how we live.

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After Nikki left I returned to my room, and cried a little. Then stared out at my view. I do have a nice view of the port from my window. I am far from the popular beaches but I can see the bridge that lights up like a rainbow bridge at night and connects the Yeongdo-gu island to the mainland. I can also see Mt. Bongnaesan and all the lights from whatever and whomever is living over there. Looking out the window calmed me some, and my exhaustion overwhelmed me. I tried to read a bit before going to sleep, but I was out before 9 p.m.

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In the morning after struggling to contact Virgin America, and not getting much help via chat (I have no phone right now so it adds more to the difficulty) I had another cry, and then told myself, I needed to get it together. I’m here. There’s not much I can do but hope. I can cry all I want, but it isn’t making anything better. Although, it did feel pretty good to cry. I ate the complementary breakfast offered in the hotel. It was kimchi, and rice, and some quail eggs. There was also some cakes that I think may have been fish, and a finely grated white cabbage salad. It wasn’t amazing, but it was fine. I am already a big fan of kimchi. After eating, I was determined to try and explore. I wandered a bit through some streets until I found my way to Yongdusan park.

Immediately upon stepping under the trees of the park I was surround by a cacophony of buzzing and caterwauling. I can only guess that it was insects. For a moment, I had thought the caterwaul was coming from strange birds, but the consistency and pattern of repetition and tone matched with the other buzzing which I knew to be beetles. So I’ve concluded, that indeed, there are some monstrous bugs living in the trees above us. There were subtle things that captured me as I wandered melting in the humidity that was already high by 10 am. The insects that I could hear, but not see. The bark of some of the trees that seemed to look as if it was melting, and the soft shapely pinecones that sat delicately side by side in a tree as if they were siblings. They are siblings. I enjoyed the Busan tower, and the various Korean design of some of the buildings, but really it was the nature in the park that was the most interesting part. I took some photos, and as I did a man offered to take my picture. I’m sure he wanted money for it, because he was trying to pose me. I’ve never been all that comfortable with strangers taking my picture- especially when they offer it. I don’t think I photograph all that well so I’m pretty awkward about the whole affair. Still, he took them and I walked away. I began to feel damaged by the heat and I gave up my exploration. I felt a little better, and I was glad I got myself away from myself.

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As I wandered back to the hotel I discovered art and murals in various alleyways and I saw a numerous amount of coffee houses. I had thought I would be giving up coffee for a year, but it appears like Busan has more coffee places in just this neighborhood than all of the city of Portland. It is good coffee too.

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Stopping to Visit the Peonies of Luoyang

In Luoyang every year from mid-April to mid-May when the peonies are in full bloom the city celebrates the Peony Festival. There are many peony gardens to visit in the ancient city that was once the capital of China. The most famous and main garden is the Luoyang International Peony Garden. It is one of the oldest peony gardens in all of China.

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I did not go to this garden. I couldn’t tell you which garden I visited. All I can say is that I was in Luoyang during the Peony Festival.

It was May of 2014, the morning after I had just hiked Mt. Hua with my friend Sean, and his friend Xiang Kai. We had hiked for 14 hours the night before, ill prepared and with little experience, on one of the most dangerous mountains . I’m talking about myself as far as the experience hiker part goes, but I didn’t think Sean was an expert, and I knew Xiang Kai had not hiked many mountains. Hiking in China is different than hiking in the U.S. In the U.S. hiking is a solitary experience. You climb with one other person maybe a few people and perhaps you cross the path of another hiker or two, but mainly it is you and the wild, and the animals who ignore or watch you. In China (or at least on Mt. Song, and Mt. Hua, and the other mountain I hiked) there are no animals only hoards of people. I never saw any animals, not a squirrel or a lizard only a bird or two. I’d never seen so many people on a mountain at the same time except at a ski resort during a holiday. The day we hiked was rainy and cloudy so it wasn’t nearly as crowded as it could have been. Even on a bad weather weekend there will still be hundreds of people climbing. It doesn’t matter if you go early in the morning or late at night it’s still crowded. The key would be to go off season during the middle of the week and definitely not during any vacations or weekends, but when you’re a teacher you have the same schedule as all of China, so either you don’t go at all, or you experience it like all of China-crowded. I had decided that day that I would one day return to China, but not to work only to travel so that I could plan my visits to ancient sights and geological wonders on the off times, but those were and are daydreams for other days.

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It was Sean’s idea that we stop in Luoyang to attend the Peony festival. Xiang Kai had to work that evening so he would not be able to join us. I was exhausted. My body felt worn and broken and I was irritable and still fuming about Sean’s comment that I was too old to climb a mountain. Ignorant boy, my mind ruminated on his off handed remark about my age that only an ignorant boy would make. I had hoped his feet were still suffering from his badly chosen climbing shoes. The wise thing for me to do would have been to go home, eat something nutritious, and then go to bed, but when Sean made the spontaneous suggestion I felt I needed to go. Life is an unexpected ride and you never know when it will stop and where it will start and many times an opportunity is a one time only opportunity. When would I be in China again for the Peony Festival? I had already decided not to renew my contract. I had already decided to leave China. I could tell myself I would be back, but I didn’t know for certain. Some days I hated China, and would think, never again- never again will I return to this country. It had been a hard year for me, and not all China’s fault, but I was in China when my mother died. It was in China when the most important person in my life left this world. My worst fear had been awakened. How many times had she told me that she would not be able to live without me? How many times had I promised I would never let her die alone? How many times had I told myself I would return and take care of her? China was to be my last experience, my last galavant as an explorer of this world living a life style that I didn’t believe was meant for me. I had never imagined I would ever be able to travel, that I would have lived in foreign countries. I was an accidental traveler and it was time to return to my “real life” whatever that was meant to be. I was going to go back to California and going to care for my mother. I didn’t want to live in Chico because there wasn’t anything for me there, but she was there and she needed me. I had been too slow, and too selfish, and I had failed her. I failed as a daughter. I suffered through that guilt alone in a foreign country, a country so foreign from my own that even our process of grieving was different. My mother died alone, and I had not been there to help her.  My anger, and my guilt, and my pain all manifested into my frustrations about a country that was so incredibly different from my own. I did have Sean though, my friend with his choppy english and his oh- so Chinese ways of thinking. Sean my friend who stayed by my side the best he could and tried to show me the things he loved most about his country. Sean was an impatient Chinese teacher, and impatient about many things, and he expressed much frustration about where he was in his life, but through it all he taught me a lot about patience and how to deal with frustration and how to accept that where you are is where you are, but that change is always around the corner whether you want it or not. Uncertainty is the essential part of this life experience and in the uncertainty lies the choices.

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This was life, and I was still living, and I had to take the opportunities as they came no matter how much my body hurt, and how aggravated I had felt when would I have another chance? I agreed to stop in Luoyang and to see the Peonies.

My body was not in full agreement with my mind or my heart. As we wandered from the train station to the nearest garden my body began to pull rank and my brain switched sides and together they caused me to grumble and slouch and move among the flowers like an impetuous child snapping bored pictures here and there waiting to stop to take a nap. Once in the garden all I really wanted to do was lie down in a bed of purple peonies among all the butterflies and drift off into a deep sleep. I did my best to not unleash my grumpiness on Sean, and I allowed him to tell me stories about the history of China and the symbolism of the flowers. He was gracious enough to understand that I was not feeling my best, yet still seemed to enjoy my company. In the end I knew I was not fully present in the moment, and that my body and exhaustion had won this battle, but simultaneously I was aware of the value that the day, and the weekend held.

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We are gifted moments in life and too often they only come once. Some are large and noticeable, but most are small and subtle and too easily we miss them. We don’t take the chance to strike up a conversation with a stranger or take the path that no one is following. I know no other person from my life, as of yet, that has hiked a sacred mountain with friends from China, and eaten prepackaged chicken feet and teriyaki marinated boiled eggs, and then stopped off at a Peony festival that had been celebrated for two thousand years. When I do meet someone who has experienced this it won’t be the same as I had experienced it. We all experience our lives differently, we are similar, but still we are each unique.

I didn’t get to enjoy the Peonies to the fullest of my capacity, and I wasn’t able to collect the memories of the day here in a nice well packaged form to share with others as to the best way to see the Peonies. I didn’t have to because no matter where I go in the world I am going to be me. That means me in a bad mood, me in a good mood, me irrational and me aware. Me wonderful and me not wonderful. My goal is of course to lean my life more towards the awareness and wonderful, and to be in the presence of my life and embrace the moments. Some days work and some days don’t regardless if I am climbing a sacred mountain in China or washing laundry in a laundry mat in Portland, Oregon. Years later I can think back on my hike and my visit to an ancient garden with my friend from China, and look at the pictures I took of flowers that had been planted and cultivated for two thousand years. I can accept the fact that flowers and gardens are not top on my bucket list, and I can say to myself, I did that, and I went there, and I was in a bitchy, irritable, and grumpy ass mood, but I was there. I took that moment and received all that it offered me even if the gratitude came a week after some solid rest.

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Memories of HuaShan

The sunlight woke me. I remained still on the cot where I had fallen asleep the night before. I was afraid to move because I strongly suspected that my body would react in pain from the damage I had inadvertently put it through the previous day.

I heard the men shifting on the two cots beside mine, and knew my inevitable pain was only seconds away. I would not be able to remain on a cot for the full month of recuperation I felt I was going to need. We had hiked HuaShan the day before, and we did it the Chinese way, as my friend Sho Boa recommended. I use the word recommend loosely as I could never feel like Sho Boa was recommending as much as insisting. The “Chinese way” according to Sho Boa, who is Chinese and from Dengfeng, was to take the slow night train to Huayin City, and then from there take a taxi to the base of the mountain. The ride would be eight hours, but Sho Boa insisted that we could sleep on the train and would be refreshed to begin our hike as soon as we arrived. I was hesitant about this choice as I lacked the amazing Chinese gift of sleeping anywhere, anytime, and in any kind of environment. Sho Boa insisted this would be the best way, and that this was how he did it a couple of years before when hiked with a group of his classmates during his college years.

“It’s a very Chinese way to experience it.” He said.

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In retrospect, as I felt the fluid eek around my knees and heard audible cracking sounds that had not been there before, and as I felt searing hot pain when I tried to bend them, I thought, he must have meant to say the cheap ass Chinese way to experience it. I mumbled cheap ass in my mind out of irritation, but I knew that it was half about having “the real experience” and half about not having the money. The bullet train would have taken us two hours and been much more comfortable, but neither Sho Boa or his friend Xiang Kai could afford the bullet train. I knew my salary as a foreign teacher was much higher than the salary that Xiang Kai made, even though we did the same job, afforded me not only enough to pay for my own ticket, but Sho Boa and Xiang Kai’s too. Sho Boa wouldn’t hear of it. It was a waste of money to spend, he said, and that I didn’t want to insult Xiang Kai with the offer. However, I vowed to myself that painful morning, that if I were ever to take another trip with Sho Boa I would rudely push aside his Chinese sensibilities and practicalities in favor of the imperialist American desire for comfort (which I knew many of the middle and upperclass Chinese were taking advantage.)

“Xiang Kai,” Sean said as he rose from his bed, “You were speaking in English in your sleep.”

“Was I?” Xiang Kai replied.

“Yes.” I said. “You screamed out in English in your sleep. Maybe you were still on the hike.”

“I have not spoke English to an English person in so long. I had spoke it all day with you it must have been in my dreams.” He said.

“They say that’s a good thing.” I said. “It means the language is in your subconscious.”

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The night before Sho Boa met me at my apartment with Xiang Kai, and we all took a bus to the central train station in Zhengzhou. We arrived near Erqi Square (pronounced Archie square) around 11:00 p.m. Our train was scheduled to leave at 1:00 am so we used the time before departure to shop for snacks for the trip and the hike.

To say that Chinese do things differently than Americans do things is an understatement, but it is in the small actions of  life, the things we don’t really think about on a daily basis, when one discovers how even our thought processes and approaches to “the way to go about something” can be very different. For example, what you should eat when on a hike. My American mind immediately goes to foods with complex carbohydrates with sustainable energy, things like trail mixes with nuts, crackers, pretzels, and protein like beef jerky and maybe some dried fruit, and definitely water. Sho Boa’s thinking which I can only identify as Chinese thinking (not that I speak for all Americans and Sho Boa does not speak for all Chinese) was to get dried noodles, chicken feet, and some other dehydrated things I could not identify. We did agree that a hardboiled egg would be good, and of course water. We argued a lot in the store as to what would be the best to eat, but I acquiesced telling myself I was having the true Chinese experience. My gut was telling me this food was not going to be enough fuel for me.

I did not sleep on the train, for multiple reasons. In China once all the seats are sold on the train they continue to sell tickets (not on the bullet train) and the prices for standing are the same as the prices for seats. People crowed in the aisles leaning over the people in the seats all waiting for the moment when someone gets up so they can take the open seat. There is no space, and no fresh air, and if you do get up to use the bathroom you have to climb over people crumpled in the aisle way. When you return you have to argue with the person who took your seat to give your seat back which they will do, but they certainly don’t want to give it back, and I can understand why. There are three people to a row that face another row so you have six people in one section. I was the only foreigner and only white woman in the car, and quite possibly the train. In these situations I would often encounter staring and some people would sneak or blatantly take my photo, but at 1:00 in the morning on a crowded warm train no one cared about me other than the fact that I was sitting and when would I get up. I shared my section with five men who man-spread better than any men I have ever encountered leaving me with barely enough space to fit my ass. I mentioned that Chinese can sleep anywhere and in any environment and that is not an exaggeration. They can even sleep standing up. When the train reached Louyang it became more crowded and people were nearly sitting on top of each other. One man slept arched over me precariously balanced on the top of my seat.

At one point, the people in the section across from us who all seemed to be traveling together had people sitting on the top of the backrest. They were laughing and loud and playing a game, and watching programs on their phones at full volume. Sean who was sitting across from and facing me leaned forward.  Thumbing his hand in their direction he said, “Look at them. What do they think they are in their house?” He gave them a brief scowl and then quickly feel asleep. I watched him slumber with envious anger and an incredible urge to kick him awake so he could suffer like I was suffering. Xiang Kai was in a separate car, but had mentioned he had managed to sleep. When we arrived in Huayin City at 7:00 in the morning I had not slept one wink and with exhaustion I followed the two rested men to hike, unknown to me at the time, 7,000 ft.

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The hike had taken us nearly 14 hours. During that time we had managed to reach two of the three peaks  and four summits. We reached the south peak and the highest summit (the Landing Goose summit) as the sun set. It was beautiful, but also terrifying because I knew we had to hike back down in the darkness. I’ve read many foreign accounts of hiking Mt. Hua, and how it is not as dangerous to hike as they were lead to believe except for the west peak where there is the famous plank walk. Here you are strapped into a single belt and you walk a plank that is about three feet wide and attached to the side of the mountain with iron nails and chains, and it is a two way path but there is only room for going one way so you have to climb over people while you are thousands of feet above the ground. There are also tunnels built through the rock that fit the size of an average Chinese person. A larger person of girth would find themselves struggling to fit through the tunnel that runs vertical with chains on either side to pull yourself up as you find footing in carved steps that are almost two thousand plus years old. The day we had hiked a storm came through so the chains and the steps were wet and slippery. As Sean recommended us to take the dangerous way down, I began to feel genuine fear. I was running on very little energy having eaten nothing but chicken feet, and eggs, and not sleeping the night before. Already I had felt my arms give on me on the way up. The only thing that kept me holding on was the knowledge that if I fell I was going to take at least fifty people with me since we were climbing, in the words of my students, nose to ass. I told Sean that I didn’t think I could go the dangerous way in the dark.

“It isn’t dark. There are lights.” He said pointing below us.
“Tea lights do not count as lights.” I had said.

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I could not stop thinking of the tunnel that I knew we would pass through because it is the same way up as it is down. If people believe that the hike is dangerous in the day time it is exponentially more dangerous in the dark. Mt. Hua has become a huge tourist attraction for Chinese especially Chinese University students, and this once sacred buddhist pilgrimage has now become a kind of adventurous right of passage for young Chinese. Sean’s approach to the hike was to go at breakneck speed. I was absolutely apposed to this approach and thankfully Xiang Kai was on my side of thinking. Sean nagged us both to hurry up during the hike. Often Xiang Kai would sit and rest, and Sean would complain that we were too slow and we would miss the sunset.

“Ignore him.” Xiang Kai muttered to me. “He’s crazy.”

Thousands of Chinese and foreigners a year visit Mt. Hua, and because of the numbers, and of course the dangers involved the Chinese government had built stairs that were safer to climb and descend. I opted for these stairs for part of the way down not knowing that once on the stairs we couldn’t get back to the original path. This was also something Sean nagged me about during the decent. I knew I did not have the strength to hold my body through the tunnel, but I was also not prepared for over 50,000 steps that began to siphon all the fluid from my knees.

Step after step after step my knees began to stiffen until there were moments when I didn’t know if I could bend them. I became terrified that I was doing permanent damage to them. I kept my pain to myself so as to not have to hear Sean chastise me. I moved in silence until I could not longer hold in the pain. Tears swelled to my eyes as I felt my body break out into a sweat and my heart raced from pain and the anxiety of pain. I began thinking about people in concentration camps, and people sent on marches, and people tortured- if they could survive such unbearable suffering I could make it down this damn mountain. Then my knee froze for a second. If I were the tin man this would be the moment when I could not move because all my joints had rusted stuck.

“Sean.” I cried out. “We have to slow down. I am hurting so bad right now. We have to move slower or I will not make it down this mountain.”

He reluctantly slowed, but quickly began in his assessment of why it was that I was not able to move faster and why I was in pain.

“American’s are not as healthy as Chinese. Even when we are very old we can do this. I think it is because we begin exercising very young. And exercise is important and so we stay healthy.”

“I exercise.” I mumbled, “I’ve just never hiked 8,000 feet before- or 500 feet.”

“I think you are too old for this.” He said. “I should have thought about your age.”

Sean and Xiang Kai were 23 and I was 41. This was the final straw in my tolerance for his ongoing commentary and I stop walking.

“Sean.” I said glaring at him. “If you want to continue living, and make to my age, you really should stop talking right now.”

He looked at me knowingly and walked for the majority of the decent in silence.

Xiang Kai shuffled up along side me.

“I am in quite a lot of pain too, Adrienna. My shins and calves are hurting so badly I think they may tear. Try walking backward, I think it is helping me.”

Xiang Kai and I hiked the remaining way down the mountain backward which as he had suggested did alleviate the pain in my knees. At first Sean was far ahead of us, but at some point near the base of the mountain he began to slow down, and we eventually passed him.

“My feet are really hurting.” He called down to us. “Slow down for me.”

“No.” I said. “And good!”

Once we had reached the bottom Sean recommended we find a place to sleep and take the train in the morning. We all agreed, and he flagged down a motorcycle taxi. We sat Xiang Kai and myself and the driver all squeezed onto a single small motorcycle seat. He drove us to a restaurant where we waited for Sean who had walked. We rented a small single room with three cots and ascended more stairs under the watchful eye of the proprietor and proprietress who looked me over and probably wonder which of the Chinese boys was my boyfriend because how else could we all be sleeping together in the same room.

In the morning once we got moving and I had managed to get some fluid and circulation into my legs we climbed down the stairs to the small family owned and run restaurant.

“We must eat before we catch the train.” Sean recommended, and again Xiang Kai and I agreed with him.

We sat alone in the restaurant and ate large bowls of noodle soup as the owners watched me eat, and asked Sean and Xian Kai questions about me. I was so hungry from the hike I ate every last morsel of food in the bowl, and could have eaten more. Afterward, Sean flagged down a taxi and we took it to the train station where we awaited the next train to Zhengzhou.

During the ride back to Zhengzhou it was less crowded and we all were able to sit in the same section.

“It is the peony festival in Louyang.” Sean mentioned excitedly. “We should go. Do you want to go Adrienna?”

“I can not go.” Lamented Xiang Kai who had to go to a school meeting that evening, “but, you should go Adrienna. It is a very big thing in China.”

“Okay.” I agreed even though exhaustion was overtaking my body.

When the train stopped in Louyang, Sean and I said our good-byes to Xiang Kai and then watched the train leave the station as we waved to him.

“I think you will like the peonies.” Sean said, “They are very important part of China. And, there are no stairs.”

“That’s good.” I said as I hobbled behind him nursing my well earned broken knees.

It is been little over two years since I had gone on that hike with my friend Sean and Xiang Kai, but still I am reminded of the experience every time I climb a step since my knees are still feeling the pain. Although it was exhausting, and ill prepared and left me with bad knees, I’d go again. It’s a really beautiful mountain and there are many parts we didn’t make it to. I’d go again, but differently this time. I’d go with some sleep, take a fast train, and bring better food, and hike at a slower pace, maybe stay the night like many other Chinese do, and then hike down slowly in the morning. I’d invite Sean along too, and I’d tell him now we’ll do it with the American experience, because I’m old and Americans are out of shape, and we have to do it the old person way and not your cheap ass way of saving money on the slow train. And, of course, I’d get some support for my old lady knees.

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A Hike on Huashan China’s most Dangerous Mountain

Not too long after my mother died, my friend Wu Shao bo who calls himself Shawn, (many Chinese people will pick an English name when they are young) suggested that we should go to Huashan together. I agreed and he invited his friend Liu Xiang Kai, who I call Xiang Kai (Xiang sounds like Shee-ang) to join us.

The trip to the mountain although considered a sacred mountain was not meant to be a spiritual trip. After my visit to Shaolin, I had let go of the idea of China’s sacred places as being sacred. This was modern China, and much of the spiritual part of the journeys to places like the five sacred mountains, and Shaolin, along with any of the many buddhists temples were now commodities bought and sold to tourists. You could still find the faithful buddhist burning incense and saying prayers, but for what seemed like the majority of Chinese tourists prayers involved a camera of some sort. You could think that nature itself was some kind of spiritual experience, but the crowds and the litter that they brought with them, was too overwhelming to be able to absorb the majesty of the mountains. Eco- tourism is also huge in China and thousands of Chinese are flocking to mountain hikes, and gorges, and valleys for adventure and for photo ops.

Not to tear apart modern China, but up until about twenty years ago these mountains were hiked by monks, pilgrims, and occasionally hiking enthusiasts Chinese or otherwise who new or the secrets of the mountain. Today with the budding commerce of tourism and eco-tourism, and the fact that more and more Chinese have some leisure time, nature has become a literal stomping ground. China calls itself a communist society, but it has also embraced capitalism. I often saw many parallels between American capitalism and Chinese capitalism. I fully believe if Americans had the same population size as China that we too would destroy our own national forests. There are of course many, many, conscientious Chinese people who honor the earth, and do not like to see their beautiful country littered and polluted and they take measures to not add to the destruction , but for every 5 conscientious Chinese you have about 20 who don’t give a shit or think someone else will clean up the litter. In America our numbers are smaller, but the fact that there is an almost daily battle to preserve the land, it would not surprise me that if we had a population as large as China’s that we too would have an uneven balance of entitlement versus preservation. There are other factors involved of course, but the reality is that this once sacred and very dangerous mountain is not that sacred, but still very dangerous.

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There are five sacred mountains in China, Taishan the East mountain in the Shangdong province, Hengshan the South mountain in the Hunan province, Hengshan the North mountain in the Shanxi province, Song Shan the Center mountain in Henan province, and Huashan the West mountain in the Shaanxi province. I had been to Song Shan when I had visited the Shaolin Temple. Hua Shan was close enough to travel to in a day, but it’s reputation was that of the five sacred mountains it was China’s most dangerous. It’s difficult to find numbers as to how many casualties have occurred on Mount Hua. My friend had told me that you can’t find any numbers because they don’t want to decrease the numbers of tourists, but with the sketchy conditions, and the large, large hiking populations by inexperienced climbers, and days of bad weather I’m sure the number is not small. I fit into a number of the above categories, and had a few moments where I felt like I couldn’t hold on, but my life literally depended on my keeping my grip. My life and the lives of about 50 people nose to ass beneath me.

As an outsider to China it is easy to attach myself to the romantic connotations associated with ancient Chinese traditions, Daoist beliefs and Buddhist rights of passage. Like some scene from Seven Year’s in Tibet or The Rivers Edge, I pictured myself reaching the peak of the mountain, and when in a moment of reverie the sunlight would break through the clouds or rise over the crest, and I would be filled with a sense of peace and gratitude and a higher understanding of what life is about or why we are here, why I am here, and then I’d feel a dawning acceptance of my mother’s death, and I’d understand- no- not understand but I’d know that it is beautiful. That death like life is beautiful. Sadly, but not surprisingly to say, I did not reach my zenith, I was not awash in enlightenment; I was achy and irritable. In retrospect, I’m a little disappointed I’m not writing a post about my spiritual awakening, but then again, perhaps my journey was to feel exactly what I felt; achy, despondent, irritable, depressed, and still, always still, grieving, and wanting my mother to be alive.

Although, as I mentioned above, that I did not view it as a spiritual exploration I still grabbed some of my mom’s ashes and put them in my back pack. I decided to take her with me. She never got to travel in her life and I thought I could take her with me now. If I made it to the peak then I would leave that little part of her there on that mountain top. It would be the closest I’d ever get to the stars (Everest is not in my future). If I made it.

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Shawn didn’t have a lot of money so he insisted that we take the cheapest slowest train. Although, knowing Shawn I think even if we had money he would insist we take the slowest and the cheapest. On the fast train we could have made it to HuaShan in about three or four hours, but on the very slow train it took us about 8 to 9 hours. We did the overnight train. The idea was to sleep on the train and then to start our hike in the morning. If you have ever traveled on a Chinese train in a non-sleeping compartment you’ll know sleeping on the train is not that easy unless of course you are Chinese. I’ve discovered that Chinese people in China can sleep anywhere. On the sidewalk, on their e-bikes, bent over or smooshed between seats. They are like cats able to find any place as a suitable place for sleep. I had often been overcome with jealousy at this ability since I find it so difficult to sleep sometimes even when I am in a bed in a dark room. The train was packed. On these trains once the seats are all sold they continue to sell seats so sometimes there are people standing in the isles for up to eight hours. People are constantly switching seats around every time someone leaves in the hopes that they can sit for a couple of minutes. When you are sitting you have people leaning against you or over you. It is a crowded that most Americans in America will not ever experience. We were in a section of six seats. Two rows of three facing each other. Shawn and I were able to sit across from each other but Xiang Kai had to find a seat somewhere else on the train. I am bigger in size than your average Chinese woman, but I am also smaller in size and sometimes width of your average Chinese man. All the seats were occupied by men, sleeping men who had spread out as much as they could in the spaces available leaving me with very little room, and since I did not have the Chinese power of sleeping I was awake for the entire 8 to 9 hour train ride. This is not the way I would recommend prepping for hiking the most dangerous of the five sacred mountains.

A photograph of Erqi Tower in Erqi Square in Zhenzhou, China.
Erqi Tower in Erqi Square, Zhengzhou, Henan, China.
Two friends in China posing in front of Erqi Tower in Zhengzhou.
Xiang Kai and Shawn in front of Erqi Tower, Zhengzhou.
A bag of Chinese snacks on a chair in the Zhengzhou train station.
Snacks for the hike.
The interior of the Zhengzhou train station after midnight.
Zhengzhou Central Station after midnight.

We boarded the train around 1:00 am and arrived around 8:30. We took a taxi from the station to the town at the base of the mountain, and began our hike around 9:00 a.m. We had three large bottles of water, some strange meat paste, a few bready bits of snack food, and a bag of spicy chicken feet. I kept thinking shouldn’t we have some trail-mix or something?

chicken feet in packaging
Chicken feet

For hard core hikers the beginning of HuaShan is not much of a hike in the sense that it is paved for a large portion of the lower part. You do not disappear into the mountains you stick to the path. Once you ascend deeper into the mountain the hike becomes more of a challenge and more of a climb and sticking to the path becomes necessary to keeping yourself alive.

There are steps on Hua Shan. These steps were carved deep into the mountain’s side thousands of years ago, all by hand, and by the monks that would make their pilgrimages to the top where they could meditate. On the side of the steps chains have been drilled into the mountain for you to hold as you pull yourself up. You need upper body strength to help you on the climb. Upper body strength that at times I thought I might not have.

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ancient carved steps

Compared to most saturdays it was not very crowded by Chinese standards of crowds. It had been a rainy night and it was cloudy and grey. On one hand it was nice because you had a small bit of breathing space (to me it was still very crowded but I was aware of what a real crowd in China was) perhaps during our climb there were about 200-300 people climbing Hua Shan that day but at night during our descend hundreds of new climbers were making the midnight treck. In total maybe 800 people were on the mountain. Oh, and the thing of Hua Shan: there is only one path up and one path down. When you are coming down and they are coming up you literally have to crawl over one another− crawl over one another 1,000 meters high on a steep mountain side with wet steps and cold thick metal chains, and you are climbing backward. You get the picture. The downside of the rainy day was that the steps were wet and slippery and at times the dark clouds dropped so low around the mountain that you could not see two feet in front of you. Then you had to climb over someone, I need to add, without any safety harnesses or safeties of any kind.

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A lying Buddhist
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The base of the mountain
A view of the craggy mountains of china's Huashan
Mountain base
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A Chinese mythical creature
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The gate to the mountain
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The park before the hike
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Xiang Kai and I preparing to fight the mountain spirits
An ancient stone tablet from Huashan in China against a bright red wall.

It took us another eight hours climbing vertical steps, sometimes through wet caves and on the edges of steep cliff sides. Shawn was our guide and he wanted to race to the top of the mountain. Often criticizing Xiang Kai and I if we wanted to sit for a moment or if we were moving too slow. I was grateful to have Xiang Kai on my side. Shawn was the adventurer climbing the mountain to defeat it, to reach the top a conquerer, and to reach the bottom in the fastest time possible. I’m not this person. I wanted to sit and reflect and bask in the nature, and the multitudes of people, around me. I did want to meditate, and reflect. I did want to absorb, but between the crowds and Shawn’s constant pushing us hiking Hua Shan felt more like a simulated virtual wii game than an actual hike and journey. I didn’t know what was in Xiang Kai’s mind except that he wanted to stop and sit as much as I did, and he would shoot me looks of disdain and irritation. Ignore him, he’d say from time to time, let’s sit, make him wait.

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Burning incense and prayers
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Prayers
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A mountain of ribbons and locks for luck.
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These men hike daily back and forth up to part of the mountains to deliver food and water to the shops and hotel.
A gateway to the western peak on Huashan.
The gate to the beginning of the real climb

When we reached a peak we did take a moment to take a million photos, but also to just sit and be. It wasn’t easy to reach the peaks (unless you took the tram that I didn’t know about but explained how some Chinese girls were able to hike in flats and skirts) and when we would reach a peak the crowds would disperse and only 20 to 30 people were able to reach certain points. We went from the north peak to the west peak and to the south peak reaching 2,080 meters.

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The first set of stairs.
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The top of the first set of many stairs
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The stairway to heaven
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This was a crazy vertical climb and took a lot of upper body strength and courage. This was after climbing many other steep and long stairs carve into the mountain’s rock walls.
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Ancient step carvings possibly thousands of years old.

By the time we reached the top the sun was beginning to set and only five other people had made it to the top at the same time as us. It was cloudy but beautiful. Hiking to the north peak at 1,000 meters was the highest I had ever hiked, 2,000 meters had never happened in my life. I still thought the entire hike was absolutely crazy and badly planned, but I had survived the ascent and was now 2,080 meters above the sea level. Here I took a moment to pull out mom’s ashes and let her small bits of dust and bones catch onto the breeze and float away. It was actually more like that scene in The Big Lebowksi when they throw Danny’s ashes into the ocean and the wind blows the ashes all over them.

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Shawn and I at the South Peak
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Me and my mother’s ashes

As I dusted mom’s ashes of my sweatshirt I giggled because of course that would happen, and with my mom’s dark humor she would have been laughing. In fact we laughed so hard during that scene that she started coughing. This memory made me feel sad once again. Shawn asked me why I would bring some of my mother’s ashes to the mountain. “She’s not Chinese,” he said. I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “She’s never been able to come here before, I wanted her to get the chance to travel.” I didn’t really know. Part of her was in the California Feather river, part of her was in the Trinity National forest, and the Pacific ocean, part of her was in the San Francisco bay, I didn’t know why. In death she had already been to more places than she ever went to in her life.

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Xiang Kai and I at the North Peak
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Shawn and I
A view of the narrow paths on the top of the western peak of Huashan in China.
If you look carefully you can see all the people walking on the blade of a mountain pass. This is 1,000 meters up.
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Success
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A small spot for meditation
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But, not an easy space to get to.
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It was seven when we reached the top and the sun had set. It was now dark on a steep dangerous mountain and we needed to reach the bottom. There were some lights, but not many. Shawn informed me that this mountain was a really popular hike for college students, but most of them liked to hike up at midnight and then stay the night on the north peak in order to see the sun rise. He said we should do it the next time. As romantic and as peaceful as that sounded in words the reality sounded terrible. Hundreds of flashing camera’s trying to simultaneously get the perfect shot of the sunrise.

“Maybe off off season,” I said.

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Through foggy woods
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Wishes thousands of meters high.
Bright red prayer ribbons tied to stems on Huashan in China.
A wish for peace
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The only lights to guide us back down from 2,000 meters
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Huashan 2,080 meters