It was 2017, more than one year into the Trump era.

The fact that simply writing that last sentence is still a bit of a surreal experience should indicate how destabilizing this era- across the world- has been…for me, at least. Politics aside, I think this era has peeled the scales off of our collective eyes; the assumptions and norms and unspoken code we associate with the American political process and neoliberalism writ large have all been revealed to be impotent and far more illusory than anyone ever suspected. Whether or not you think your side is ‘winning’, this has been a searing reminder of the cyclical nature of human existence- whenever we think we’ve eradicated a threat or flaw in our evolutionary progress it inevitably resurfaces in some form or another. We deluded ourselves into thinking that some trends were irreversible- that fascism was permanently on the retreat from democratic ideals, that the housing market would never crash, that global inter-connectivity would only increase and capitalism would only ever to lead to more freedom, not less. But then the great recession happened, brexit happened, immigration crises sprouted, fascism rose and we started to realize all of our technological advancement in the past 200 years was also likely poison to our future. I know I wasn’t the only one who felt a little adrift by the end of 2016.

The spring of 2017 I spent in Europe, in an attempt to gain context on the present moment and how we got to this point. Also, you know, Europe. Back in the States later that summer I contemplated where my next destination would be; exotic locales and tropical weather beckoned, but I slowly became obsessed with a curiosity: what was life like in our antithesis on the other side of the world- authoritarian, communist China? It was never a priority destination in the days before my travels began, but every brush with Chinese culture sparked a desire to know more about this vast land and the unique history of its people. Plus I had been obsessed with the John Adams opera ‘Nixon in China’ for roughly half of my life. Then, as typifies my decision-making process, one day my computer login screen background randomly settled on an image of the ‘most dangerous hike in the world’ located on a mountain somewhere in China and instantly my mind was settled as well.

A month later I would be on that very trail.

First, however, I had to figure out how to get in.

First lesson I had to learn when dealing with the Chinese government: how things ‘look’ is typically the top priority. Diplomats around the world have talked about this for years- the primary concern in relations with the Chinese tends to revolve around the idea of ‘saving face’ when weighed against substantive action. I leaned on this belief as I went through the visa process. For a US citizen to get a visa- especially the 10 year, multiple entry visa I sought- you had to supply proof not only of your tickets in and out of the country, but a detailed itinerary of your time in the country along with hotel reservations or host info for every single night. To most of you, that probably sounds sensible- who goes to a country without any idea of where they’re staying or how/when they’re leaving?

….oh, hi. That’d be me. One way tickets and empty travel plans, that’s how I roll. I suppose I could’ve just been normal and safe with this one, following the rules of a notoriously repressive and invasive government…but I kind of felt like I could fool them. (Reminder to never follow my example). So I mocked up a fake plane ticket out of the country, made a bunch of refundable reservations at hostels across the country and formed a viable itinerary; sent that all in with my visa application...and then a few weeks later I received my visa and subsequently cancelled all of the bookings. I spent some pulse-pounding moments at customs praying that they would simply glance at it all and let me in- which they did. Suddenly I was in Shanghai with a completely open itinerary and 2 months to figure it all out

Why Shanghai? Out of the three major entry-points into China I felt Shanghai fit pretty squarely in the middle. Not quite as westernized as Hong Kong, not maybe as touristically ‘Chinese’ as Beijing, yet full of all that seemed to typify modern China: skyscrapers, art, incredible public transportation, history, eclectic tradition all wrapped up in the 2nd most populous city in the world. And, not inconsequentially, the cheapest plane ticket I could find.

As I walked out of my hostel on my first day, I immediately knew two things: this metropolis was so large I would never be able to explore it satisfactorily, and I would definitely need to get a better coat. Thus began one of the most exhaustive, serendipitous, and memorable first days of any of my journeys. To give the full story would probably take a separate entry here, or perhaps a novel. But the highlights:

I scoured a massive clothing market for a good deal on a jacket (and managed to find a fine down jacket for $10 that proved invaluable on my journey).
I strolled the lovely riverside art-deco Bund section, across from towering Pudong center with its incredible skyline.
I stumbled upon a traditional bride sale in a city park (at first I thought all of the umbrellas were a kind of craft project, before I looked more closely and realized the sheets of paper on them were advertising characteristics of the women for ‘sale’)
I ordered my first baozi (steamed bun), in which I attempted my best to select a vegetarian option but ended up with one filled with crab (...it was delicious)
I walked 20km across the city- by fantastical high-rises and public sculptures and green parks to eventually arrive at:
A concert of impressionistic piano music in a cinema, set to moving images of works by Monet and Van Gogh animated before our eyes in beautiful synchronicity.
And then I walked 20km back to my hostel, under dazzling lights and through public squares full of dancing women and exercising men and bored teenagers, through markets and endless shopping malls awash in Christmas regalia.

This day was special, but then again every day I spent in Shanghai was similar: I was surrounded by all the elements of ‘capitalist society’ I had come to expect from the west- stores catering to every need and desire, ubiquitous fast food chains, advertisements everywhere you look, fabulous museums, attractions, diversions, entertainment complexes, beautiful art, public spaces, high-rise cocktail bars with sharks swimming around. Pervasive Christmas decorations in mid-November. Shanghai was like looking into a capitalist dreamscape- only more futuristic than any major city in the west. Every sale, or exchange of money- whether in a retail store or roadside stall- could be done via an app on the phone. There was basically no need for cash. The public transportation network was expedient and all-encompassing, and every single public bus I saw in the city was electronic; I couldn’t believe how silent they were. Where was the drab Stalinist architecture and regimented city planning and depressed food lines?

The art scene was especially incredible; we in the west have this image of China as a vaguely totalitarian society with no freedom of expression, yet in Shanghai I found art was everywhere. Public sculptures and light shows, wonderful museums of both ancient and contemporary art, fascinating small galleries, and even commercial areas that completely blurred the line between art and commerce. I took my favorite selfie in one such area; I wouldn’t know how to describe it, but there were fancy stores intermixed with sculptures and intricately designed environments, food courts next to galleries and even a branch of my beloved Museum of Modern Art from NYC. I could not distinguish between what was for sale, what was advertisement and what was there only for the sake of looking cool. It was a thrill and a disoriented experience.

My favorite area was a zone called M50; here a series of industrial warehouses had been transformed into a mixture of galleries, workshops, coffee shops and exhibition spaces. You could wander vast hallways and see artists at work, walk up to windows and buy pieces from that very artist, and then go sit and have a coffee in a whimsically designed corner. It was even a draw for class field trips, and I met multiple students wandering the complexes just like me. I’m sure there was some level of censorship everyone had to worry about, and I know artists like Ai Wei Wei have been persecuted by the state for their outspoken activism- but in the multiple days I spent there I was constantly surprised by the ingenuity and diversity of ideas on display. I guess the noticeable absence was a lack of any drawings depicting Xi Jinping as Winnie the Pooh?

All in all I was thoroughly dazzled every day in this megalopolis. I walked something like 25 kilometers every day and used the public transportation system to explore far and wide. Then at the end of the week I visited the city museum, saw this scale model of the entire city and realized I hadn’t even scratched the surface. The sheer numbers are absolutely staggering: the city itself is roughly the size of the state of Delaware, at 6,340 kilometers, and the largest city proper in the world; 26.3 million people live there, or 4,150 per every square kilometer; it has the longest metro system in the world, at 704 kilometers, and the largest bus system in the world with 1,543 lines; 13.3 million ride the metro every day, where they also can use the fastest high speed train in the world; there are 248 parks and 162 skyscrapers there, including the tallest building in the world (when you consider the highest floor and not an uninhabitable spire on top). The GDP of the city alone is equivalent to that of the entire country of the Philippines.

So how did this all come to be? Let’s take a quick dive into the city’s history:

Ten thousand years ago, mankind...ok just kidding. We don’t need to go that far back. Shanghai is one of those cities where humans had to literally reshape the land, with decades of dredging operations required to form the basis of the city we see today. Positioned at the mouth of the Yangtze River, it became an important point of contact between the reclusive Ming Dynasty and the greater world outside; throughout this period, all the way up until the mid-20th century, Shanghai became inextricably linked with European expansionism in ways at times beautiful, but more often ugly. The dark side of colonialism and capitalism was on full display here: the infamous British East India used the Opium Wars to essentially grab territory for itself here, and France, Germany and the USA eventually did the same (areas called ‘concessions’). The Opium Wars were a series of battles instigated by the British desire to sell opium to an increasingly-addicted Chinese population; they illegally smuggled the drug in as the Qing Dynasty tried to stop it and protect its increasingly addicted population, but when authorities finally took stronger action against this illegal trade the British promptly attacked (and won) with superior firepower and forced China to open up certain port cities- including Shanghai.

The next few decades saw the city essentially split into two: the foreign concessions, full of beautiful architecture and all the perks of high society, and ‘old shanghai’, largely overrun with gangs and warlords. Laws and regulations were applied differently to foreigners and native Chinese. Yet on the whole, the city grew in size and importance through the mid-20th century, before the great wars of the time brought upheaval and an eventual end to foreign domination. The two major societal revolutions of modern China have their origins here: the nationalist movement that eventually became the short-lived republic of China, and the Chinese communist party that would, in the end, win control of the country. The thriving metropolis of Shanghai, center of industry, trade and finance in the first half of the 20th century, was nearly brought to ruin by heavy-handed state regulations and quotas under Chairman Mao and his successors for the first four decades of communist rule. But then, in 1989, a new regime took over and instituted a number of economic reforms- easing of exorbitant tax burdens, encouragement of foreign investment, and more recently the establishment of a ‘free economic trade zone’. The results of these reforms has been one of the most incredible periods of economic growth in human history- somewhere between 9-15% every year for 30 years now. In many ways, the Chinese government looked at what works in Western economies and then proceeded to do those things on a larger scale and more quickly than anyone else. This is a theme that runs throughout the history of modern China.

A question arose in my thoughts as I explored this futuristic megalopolis, with its blend of capitalism and communism and art and commerce: what exactly is happiness? Does one system of governance or economic theory endow more happiness on its subjects than the other? In the US there is a notion that regulation and censorship is the enemy of of our hard-earned freedoms and pursuit of happiness, that our big global brands and stock market numbers prove that our system is the best. Yet we tend to turn a blind eye to the various systemic injustices our most rigid ideology has created; we have watched monopolies and oligarchs consolidate market share and dominate many aspects of our lives, but still claim some quaint adherence to a ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ notion of competition that increasingly does not correspond to our complicated array of tax breaks and economic advantages afforded to the most powerful. We decry the ‘great firewall’ of China and their lack of access to Facebook and twitter and google (though those companies are desperately trying to acquiesce and enter the Chinese market) without fully comprehending how those social media giants collect and use our own private data. Meanwhile, the social media platforms I encountered in China were all more ubiquitous and useful than their US counterparts; nearly everyone I met seemed happy to use them every single day. Is that ignorance? Contentedness? Just a better product? Are people happier here than in the United States?

Of course, while Shanghai is the glittery visage of all that China wants to project to the rest of the world, it is as much a representation of the country as New York City is of the United States. Which is to say, it is and it isn’t. I was ready to dive more directly into the heart of this vast and diverse country. But first, my favorite moment from the entire weeklong Shanghai experience; as is often the case in my travels, it was a small, unexpected discovery magical in its unassuming power. As I walked along a canal one evening, I heard a powerful baritone voice rise into the night sky. A man stood in a semi-secluded spot, his wife (I assume) next to him with a small scratchy speaker emitting orchestral accompaniment. They noticed me but clearly wanted space; I had a thousand questions and compliments, but I respectfully kept my distance and stole this surreptitious recording. The night scene was quiet apart from his voice, as if all our surroundings wanted to honor this moment. I stood there and took it all in with a full heart; skyscraper lights silently danced on murky water surface, trees retreated into nightly stillness, and all of life seemed to stop and bend an ear to this concert. I was in the one of the largest, most vibrant cities in the world, yet all the magic was here on a small corner next to one nondescript canal. At least for a moment.

My next stop, after a long overnight train, would be the ancient capital city of Xi’An. The train system of China is one of the most incredible in the world. For comparison to the United States, consider: between Chicago and New York City, two of the largest, most important cities in the country, there is a grand total of 1 train each day. It takes 19 hours. Meanwhile, between Beijing and Shanghai (roughly the same distance), there are over 40 trains of all types running every day. You can do the journey in 4.5 hours. Of course, the beautiful high-speed trains are a tad more expensive than the normal, slower overnight trains, so I took a nice 18-hour ride in a comfortable little sleeping berth. My only discomfort was the cigarette smoke; Chinese men in particular have a habit of sneaking a smoke wherever possible- especially in toilet stalls, and, apparently, the connecting spaces between non-smoking train cars. I don’t have any idea how people used to be ok with smoking in airplanes and all manner of contained spaces back in the day.

At any rate, I arrived in Xi’An after a ride full of snacks, books, cigarette smoke, and a lovely conversation with a literature student on her way home for a weekend break. Xi’An is a large modern city with a massive amount of historical interest: a Neolithic village was located here some 6,500 years ago, and a series of states and empires chose this as the location of their capital cities from the Zhou Dynasty in 1100 BCE to the Qin and Han Dynasties in 200 BCE and on to the Sui and Tang Dynasties in 500-700 CE. It’s name at this time was Chang’an, or ‘perpetual peace’, which emphasized its continuity through the passage of human dynasties. This is also the location of the infamous ‘Terracotta Army’, as well as home to the Wild Goose Pagoda where Buddhist texts were translated from Sanskrit to Chinese; and most fascinating to me, the ancient Silk Road ended here, connecting the Roman Empire and the West with the oriental empires of the East. There is a Muslim quarter here that still feels like the epicenter of cultural fusion- street vendors hock their wares from exotic locales, food of every kind from across the continent is available to sample, and thousands of people walk the streets under an amplified chorus of bright lights. I was in love, an imagined participant in hundreds of years of tangible history.

It was both a modern facade and a real connection, and in many ways echoes the unique sense of history in this country. The Chinese civilization is the oldest continuously existing civilization in the world- and there is a lot to unpack in that statement. The key principle, and I believe the key to understanding what makes China the way it is, comes from the aforementioned Zhou Dynasty 3100 or so years ago. This kingdom from the surrounding yellow river valley went to war with the pre-existing Shang kingdom; our first written records come from the Shang, inscribed on turtle shells and Ox bones. When the Zhou defeated the Shang, they didn’t seek to establish a new civilization but rather positioned themselves as a continuation, a new phase of the same civilization. The concept they introduced was the ‘mandate of heaven’: that each ruler had been chosen by God, or Heaven, to lead their people. But rather than a simple tyrannical right to do whatever they pleased, this mandate was a moral obligation they had to their subjects and to the good of the kingdom. If the king behaved selfishly, against the best interests of the kingdom, they would lose this divine right. They would lose heaven’s grace. Thus, if a king was overthrown by revolution or invading forces, it meant they had acted immorally and failed to uphold the mandate; it then passed on to the next ruler. It may seem strange to us westerners who are used to the idea of conquer-or-be-conquered and the constant struggle of opposing forces, but this concept of the Mandate of Heaven has been the defining worldview here for thousands of years, through every dynasty and upheaval. Even the mongols placed themselves in this continuity when they overran the empire in 1271; they became the Yuan Dynasty under Kublai Khan and lasted nearly a hundred years. The relationship between subject and ruler was always a partnership, a holistic system: subjects treated emperors with an almost reverential awe, and emperors had a duty to act in the best interest of their empire- or else. The philosopher Mencius put it like this: “Heaven does not creat people for the sake of the sovereign; Heaven made the sovereign for the sake of the people.”

This concept is important not for its legalistic arguments but because it helps explain, to me, how the Chinese people have looked at their place both in the state and in history. It’s almost another version of ‘everything happens for a reason’; things are the way fate, or heaven, have set them out to be. And while there lies within it a notion that justice for the good of all is still of the utmost importance, to the point of rebellion if necessary, there is also an acceptance; if the rebellion was not successful, it was because heaven did not deem it necessary. This seems to stand in stark contrast to the generally anxious addiction to progress and expansion that tends to define the West throughout its history. Whereas the West saw the world as a Manichaean struggle between good and evil, in China and the East ‘good’ and ‘evil’ were simply two poles of the same magnetic system, inseparable and essential for each other’s existence. The Yin-Yang symbol. When I look back at the last 100 years, it seems inevitable that western-style republican government would not last, or that the political ideology that emerged was based on socialism and collectivism- and in a uniquely Chinese form that proved far more durable and successful than the Soviet model.

The most eye-opening experience of my time in Xi’An was not at a historical landmark but rather in an intimate class at my hostel. It was also a great example of me putting my foot squarely in my mouth.

The hostel had regular events in the evening- community dinners, movie nights, games and the like. (Side note- I found the hostels across the country to be uniformly excellent, just about as excellent as the ones in Japan). On this particular night, they had a calligraphy class. Three guests showed up, including me, with three teachers- an admirable teacher-student ratio if I ever saw one. My teacher was a pretty, intelligent girl who was able to explain concepts in a beautiful way- and who had an innately expressive quality to her own calligraphy. We each got a scroll of parchment paper, black ink and a brush, and then set about trying to draw loose interpretations of our names. Mine was Jo - Shu - Ua, supposedly “man who studies Asia”. Or maybe they were just messing with me.

She explained the basic guidelines- always go top to bottom, left to right. Hold the brush with a delicate balance of strength and gentle flexibility. Don’t force the ink, but guide its flow the way you want. Long, decisive strokes instead of short, uncertain stabs. Her style was exquisite; mine....well, I finished it at least.

-If you allow me a tangent here, it was around this time that I truly felt I had found my favorite language. I love that when you look at it, you can see thousands of years of history: the symbol for person, ren, resembled a human bent over at work when it was first carved on to ox bone in ancient times and still maintains that basic shape in its modern form. I love that there is an artistic element inherent- it can be written according to strict, regimented formula or in loose, abstracted expression. I love that there is a musical quality to the language- pitch is as vitally important as pronunciation, each paragraph articulated correctly a song in itself. And I love how, as a logosyllabic system, a character can represent a complete, complicated thought in sublime simplicity. In western languages there is an implied distance, a separation in their consideration of a noun and its relationship either to a verb or unseen actor; in the Chinese system, objects are also events. For example- via the brilliant Alan Watts: the Chinese word for nature is ‘zirān’, or ‘that which is so of itself’. Spontaneously arising.

The Chinese have no difficulty in thinking about nature as self-shaping. A Chinese child would not ask their mother “how was I made?” They would ask “how did I grow?” So to be made is to be commanded, and therefore every good being obeys.

But back to my lesson, and my impending embarrassment. As I watched her work in concert with the ink to create a small piece of art, I felt like I had found the perfect person for a question that had been on my mind the entire trip thus far. I wanted to know what the monolithic, ruling communist party meant to an average citizen- or perhaps someone more than average, a person with intelligence and intuition and expressive sensibilities, someone who could explain complicated ideas to a dumb foreigner like me. So I blurted out:

“What does the communist party mean to you?”

She looked at me blankly. I tried be careful in not seeming too seditious. “I just wondered what the communist party represents to a person like you.” She had a slightly bemused look on her face as she responded- “Um, I’m in the communist party.”

Yeah. Foot in mouth.

She went on to explain that the top performers in every class at university are invited to apply, at which point they go through a rigorous process to gain acceptance. But it’s not just intellectuals- farmers, herdsman, fisherman, white-collar workers, merchants, retirees… I realized I had this built-in assumption from living in the west that the ruling elites all kind of look the same; while we call ourselves a republic it is typically an oligarchy of the rich and well-connected. Not that the communist party doesn’t have its own, similar issues- overwhelmingly male, to be sure– but in reality, it was far more egalitarian than what us capitalists had been led to believe from the outside. Again I was struck by the essential Chinese-ness of this society, the way it works as a holistic system.

The first historical site I visited was the ‘Terracotta Army’, located in an archaeological complex about 30km outside the city. You could take a nice taxi out to the site and pay for an actual guide to show you around, but where’s the fun in that? Also, um, money. So I took a couple of public buses, did a ton of internet research, and bought the simplest entry ticket possible...spending about a third the amount of the normal, sane tourist. Plus, I got a nice long walk in.

The statues are actually a small part of a massive necropolis that houses the tomb of Emperor Qin Shi Huang, the “first emperor”; his people unified the land in 2021 BCE through diplomacy and battle after a long period of conflict known as the ‘warring states period’. They are responsible for the very name of the entire country (Qin is pronounced ‘chin’, thus, China). The entire necropolis was buried under centuries of dust and neglect, only re-discovered less than 50 years ago by some unassuming farmers. This is a common occurrence across a country with so much history- landmarks seem to constantly be uncovered during construction projects or random expeditions. There is still much to be excavated in this particular site; one of my favorite aspects of the visit was that archaeologists were still hard at work right in front of us. This wasn’t a theme park attraction but a real, active excavation. I could still feel a small thrill of discovery simply being in that space.

The ‘army’ is the big draw: 8,000 soldiers, 130 chariots with 520 horses and 150 cavalry horses, along with other various figures of officials, acrobats, strongmen and musicians. All life-sized, made of baked clay, and originally painted in a litany or colors lost to the passage of time. Incredibly, each and every statue is individualized, with varying heights, outfits, shapes and facial features. It took something like 250,000 laborers and craftsmen to create them, using a highly-organized assembly line production. The scale and detail is simply staggering; as I watched archaeologists take great care in unearthing and cleaning a sculpture, I imagined seeing the same skill and dedication at work thousands of years ago in creation. As life on this earth constantly changes, some things never change.

The next morning I set out on a hike in the nearby mountains to a couple landmarks I was excited to visit. The scenery was a perfect encapsulation of everything I imagined Chinese mountain scenes to be, based on all the native artwork I had seen: rocky peaks in a permanent haze, like an impressionistic graphite drawing where sky and stone seemed to blend into one another.

Nestled in a mountainside was a temple I longed to visit, location of the foundation of a particular school of Buddhism: Ch’an, or what would eventually in Japan become ‘Zen’ Buddhism. I won’t bore you with a long history of the evolution of Buddhism here, but this particular interpretation is the one that resonates with me more than any other. It is the teachings of the Buddha filtered through the lens of ancient Chinese Daoism, with an emphasis on personal experience rather than scriptural study; life can not accurately be described, only experienced. Rather than the strict image we tend to have in the West of zen masters seated in punishing meditation, the true nature of Ch’an Buddhism was a celebration of life, a view of the world not as one full of ‘things’ but full of events happening, being, a part of a ‘flow’ both ungraspable and ever-present. A small example…when a Ch’an Buddhist sees a fire, they do not see a ‘thing’; they see a seed that became a tree that became a piece of wood that became tinder that became fire that will become smoke and ash. Life is an act of becoming.

It seemed pretty fitting that when I finally caught a glimpse of the temple, that glimpse was all I actually would receive; closed to visitors, this was close as I could get. So near, so far. Ah, well.

At the end of the hike was Shaolin Temple, where the Kungfu form of Buddhism began- and still home to a large, active school. I walked the grounds and saw students of every age in training: kids who couldn’t be more than 5 years old doing push-ups more fiercely than I ever have, 10 year-olds breaking pieces of thick wood as if it was paper, teenagers executing long, complicated routines flawlessly as a team. One vantage point afforded a view of a huge square full of such teams either in community performance or competition with swords and spears. I watched for an hour or so, unable to comprehend what was going on but full of appreciation for the supreme dedication displayed.

The last stop on my way out of town was the White Horse Temple, first Buddhist temple in China. Legend has it, the Han Emperor Ming in the first century CE had a dream of the Buddha establishing a new religion. Ignoring the fact that he didn’t actually establish a religion and word of his teaching had probably reached the land via King Asok a century or two before, let’s just go along with the story: Ming sent out emissaries to discover what they could of this new religion. They encountered a pair of Indian Buddhist monks in Central Asia and persuaded them to join together and return to China, carrying scriptures, relics, and statues while riding two white horses. Thus, the White Horse Temple. From this point- legend or not- Buddhism in its various forms grew to become the dominant religion across East Asia...ironically enough, far more ubiquitous than it is in its birthplace of India.

Yet another historical Buddhist structure awaited me back in Xi’An: the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda (I’m actually quite fond of traditional Chinese names for things). The slightly leaning tower held important writings and things, but now it serves as the backdrop for a very modern Chinese attraction: the largest water show in the world. Every evening lights flicker on, traditional music echoes from loudspeakers, and a few thousand people take in the show.

This is what China does, probably better than any other nation: big things. The projects it takes on are massive in scale and almost always done efficiently and expediently. I don’t think you can chalk it all up to an authoritarian, communist state; there are examples throughout its history and recognizable in community life. The feats of engineering are staggering: the tallest glass bridge in the world, the largest power station/hydro-electric dam, the longest sea-crossing bridge, the fastest elevator, fastest train...oh and that Great Wall, too. You can see videos online of Chinese laborers re-building a train station in 9 hours; in the US- for various reasons- this would probably take months. But it’s the ‘smaller’ community aspects that reinforce my belief that doing big things together is societal, a part of tradition and intrinsic to their identity. It’s the large groups of women who get together morning or evening to dance in public; it’s the tradition (over thousands of years) of hotpot meals, where a big family or group of friends gather around giant pot of soup stock and cook their own ingredients; it was in the groups I would come across at night singing traditional songs with the help of projectors and screens. In the United States we tend to prefer fast food, individualized dining experiences and plenty of space to do our own thing away from the ‘public’. We certainly don’t like to compromise or sacrifice for the greater good.

After a couple weeks in Xi’An and the surrounding region with ancient wonders and modern marvels, I was ready to continue westward- but I had one more adventure to tackle: Hua Shan, and the ‘most dangerous hike in the world’. The image on my laptop background that cemented this Chinese trip. The easiest way to see this mountain, a tourist destination and one of the five most sacred mountains in Chinese culture, is to take a bullet train out, then a shuttle to the base, then a comfy cable car up to one of the peaks for a lovely stroll on top. As you can guess, this wasn’t quite my style, or in my budget. Thus begin another chapter in my ongoing series, “Don’t tell me what I can’t do!”

I started with a cheap train to a village near the mountain, also named Hua Shan (Shan means mountain, so essentially it is ‘mount hua’). To hike up and down the mountain would be a long, all-day affair, so I stayed the night in…well, not quite a hostel, but a drab hotel behind a shop where they had simply stuck two bunkbeds into one of the rooms. Cursed by the first world problem of a phone that doesn’t let you charge and listen to music at the same time (unless you have fancy wireless headphones), I spent the night trying to fall asleep while two teenagers played video games on their phones underneath me- punctuated by giggles and random outbursts. It was, shall we say, not the most sound sleep I’ve had. I arose at 4am, slightly worried that I would not actually be able to accomplish this in one day. I left my backpack in the care of the shop owners, grabbed my tried-and-true hikers sustenance (three snickers bars) and set out into the darkness. A few kilometers walk from town would bring me to the west gate, followed by a nice hike alongside a stream to get to the real fun part. I was thankful to be mostly alone for the stretch…nothing against fellow hikers, but I knew I would see plenty of crowds at the top; and I have a special love for the delicate stirrings of nature at dawn. It was just me, a choir of birds, and the peaceful stream for two hours or so in the valley before it finally became time to get serious.

The difference I found between hiking in China and the United States is, once again, the history. Whereas many of the mountainous trails in the US are still rather wild and simply maintained, the Chinese trails are marked by thousands of years of activity and development; most trails are actually staircases carved from rock by industrious monks or villagers many generations ago. Rather than loose gravel and dirt, you are confronted by imposing series of stairs set at steep angles with reassuring titles such as the ‘1000 stairs of doom’. My quads would feel every one of these.

There were many other less frightening names for the summits at the top, scattered between five peaks: facing young summit, five cloud summit, pines and junipers summit, jade maiden summit, stone tower summit, lotus flower summit, cloud terrace summit…the mountain had religious significance even before Qin Shi Huang unified the empire, and he solidified its status as a sacred sacrificial site in those early years. The Taoists legends said that the god of the underworld lived here – though in true Taoist fashion this meant it was a land of abundance, not death; many important medicines came from here. Five beautiful temples adorn the mountain, one for each peak.

Once the major part of my ascent was accomplished, I eased up on my pace and enjoyed the scenery, temples and tea houses as I made my way towards the ultimate destination- the south peak, or landing goose summit, with its famous plank walk.

Now, I’ll be honest… I’m not exactly sure this is the most dangerous hike in the world, though it is undeniably pulse-quickening (mostly due to human traffic). The plank is, at most, as wide as a human foot is long; you strap yourself onto a rope that runs alongside, but traffic goes both ways so you constantly have to unhook, maneuver around people coming from the opposite direction, and re-attach. These were the moments my heart lodged itself in my throat- followed by a moment in the clear draped in majesty, surrounded by rugged peaks with only a thin piece of wood between me and 1000 meters of thin air on the edge of this sheer granite face. It may have taken only 20 or 30 minutes for all I know; but each moment, danger and all, felt like an eternity.

The rest of my day was a rather meandering descent; crowds of people clustered at the top dressed in fancy clothes and ill-considered footwear, but there was still enough space to roam among pine trees and splashes of snow. The dramatic views fulfilled my thirst for more impressionistic artwork brought to life, framed by richly red ribbons and golden locks. I visited each of the five peaks and then retraced my steps down the mountainside. As the air grew more dense, the crowds gradually thinned out to leave only myself and a few afternoon hikers on their way up for a night at the mountaintop hotel. There always seems to be an option of luxury at Chinese natural attractions.

I made it back to town with daylight to spare. Total tally: 26.2 km, 36,500 steps, almost 2000 meters ascent, and a decent amount of pride.

Don’t tell me what I can’t do.

Next up: an overnight train westward to Sichuan Province.

I arrived in the capital city of Chengdu the next morning, apologized to my fellow passengers for the smell, and proceeded to spend a couple of days in this diverting university-filled city. A bustling nightlife thrived here, and while I didn’t tend to partake in too much of that scene I did catch some great live music- including a groovy band of Americans who had found a happy life as in-demand artists here across the globe.

Chengdu is also home to a wonderful Giant Panda Breeding and Research Center, which isn’t quite like seeing these impossibly adorable animals in the wild- but is probably the next-best thing. Plus, there were a few reclusive red pandas here...not technically pandas themselves, but who’s keeping track.

However diverting I found Chengdu, however, there was another city I wanted to see nearby- and a great Buddha. Here is a parable for you, on the ambiguous nature of religion and belief: near the town of Leshan, a few hours away, two rivers crashed into each other- the Min and Dadu rivers. They met with such force that the waters became violently turbulent and almost impossible to navigate. Many people died each year here at the confluence. One day, around 1300 years ago, a monk decided that what they needed to do was carve giant sculpture of the Buddha from the cliffs that overlooked this junction; surely this merit would appease the Buddha and save the people. Construction was tedious and frequently faced insufficient funds; at one point the troubled monk even gouged his own eyes outs to exhibit his piety and sincerity to the project. Over the course of 70 years the sculpture was completed piece by agonizing piece. At 71 meters, it is the largest and tallest such sculpture in the world, and by far the largest sculpture in pre-modern times. What happened upon its completion? The troubled waters were miraculously calmed, and river vessels finally had safe passage around the cliffs. Accidents and deaths decreased exponentially. A miracle of miracles, right? The Buddha intervened? Well, as it turns out, all the construction and shifting of stone had actually affected the currents of the river below, irrevocably changing them to make this stretch of river more navigable. I can’t think of a more perfect analogy – was it faith, or science? Or both? It was a feat of engineering, which wouldn’t have happened without faith, yet in the end, did religion change the rivers? I will forever be fascinated by this question.

The Buddha is a mountain, the mountain is a Buddha.

After Leshan, there was one final destination before me- and family. For years, my aunt had lived in this comparatively smaller city in rural, mountainous Sichuan which will remain unnamed at the moment. It was here that I would truly interact with Chinese people away from popular tourist destinations for the first time, and get a real taste of community. She taught English at an intimate language center, and a group of her fellow teachers, students and friends would take me in with open arms and show me grand Chinese hospitality. And so, so much delicious food. The very first thing we did when I arrived on the overnight train was go out to eat with a large group of her colleagues and friends. This was only the first of many great meals I had here: barbecue restaurants, hot pot restaurants, street food, clay pot rice and– the best, by far– a home-cooked meal by one of her close friends featuring incredible vegetables from their own garden. I’ve only rarely tasted ingredients as fresh as this, or been inundated with so much doting love from a host- a host I had just met, nonetheless. I couldn’t believe the effort she must have put into this giant feast, and how often she must do this for guests and family. I was in heaven. And it resonated with what I had seen across the countryside, especially in Sichuan – meals are incredibly important and often a great excuse to bring large groups of people together. Everywhere I went, dinner seemed to be an event, no matter how regularly it may occur.

I say that this city is ‘comparatively smaller’, but, of course, on China’s scale, this still means that 700,000 call it home; the population has grown at 6% every year for something like 30 years. People here understandably say they hardly recognize the city they grew up in. The talk of the town when I was there was the impending arrival of their first Starbucks, yet another American brand to spread far and wide across the land. Thankfully, I was still able to get a nice mixture of experiences in my time there: my aunt took me through the historic center of town and also out to the nearby mountains to visit a village of the Yi minority, people that had far, far less than the soon-to-be-Starbucks-sipping city residents. It was a peaceful and loving visit, a wonderful reminder of the different types of community still present in this rapidly building country. One of my favorite moments was shared by only me and my aunt, when we both took time to paint a landscape by a lake in the mountains; see if you can spot the difference between an actual artist and a white kid with no discernible skill in the photo below.

My time in this city was a delight, an irreplaceable few weeks of love and friendship that couldn’t have constituted a better ending to my first journey across this land of multitudes. For a final ‘hurrah’, a group of us went to a concert of classical music in town- a totally free, weekly concert offered to the community. Say what you want about state-sponsored arts, but I was thrilled to hear beautiful live music totally free of charge.

If you’ve made it this far through my repeated flattery of this vast and wonderful country, you’re probably waiting for the other shoe to drop. Here it is: for all the good that China and it’s unique style of communism and capitalism have done- millions out of poverty, some of the most advanced systems of public works in the world- there is, inevitably, a dark side to this story. When we talk of who has benefited the most from this rise, we are talking specifically about the Han Chinese, the dominant ethnic majority. There is lip service and perhaps a little more paid to the other minorities, but it is also quite clear that a strain of racism still exists. The Han Chinese are very proud, sometimes to a fault; and for all the euphoria of community I sensed in my time there, it became clear that the majority would also frequently acquiesce to morally dubious methods of maintaining order by the ruling party. It’s a common a story in capitalism, too- as the middle class is inundated with shopping malls, theme parks, expensive treats and all the other material happiness money can buy, the plight of those in need seems less and less important. The same “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” falsehood that has come to dominate classism in the US is more and more tangible here. The governing communist party has evolved from a quality of openness and flexibility which made this incredible expansion possible to the inevitable exclusionary conservatism on the other side of wealth. The current president, Xi Jinping, has collected vast power for himself and begun to shut out the rest of the world once again; he used an anti-corruption movement to rid himself of possible political foes, assumed new titles for himself, and has begun to institute standards for what a good citizen is (accompanied by a point system that sounds like something out of a Harry Potter nightmare). China currently has the most invasive surveillance system in the world, constructed to frighten people into following such standards, and has moved to reduce its own transparency to the outside world.

I was in China in 2017, and in that time there were already rumors and intimations of something dark occurring in the Xinjiang province. This western province, on the border of Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan has…or had…a large population of Muslim Uighurs (ethnically related to turks). As the population grew, the communist party became increasingly fearful of losing control; when a few radical terrorists committed some atrocities, this became the impetus for the government to forcefully react. They helped relocate a large number of Han Chinese into the area to alter the ethnic makeup of the population, and then opened mysterious re-education camps that seemed insidious from the start. Their secrecy, for a time, helped mask the reality of what was going on– but it was clear to everyone that something in-humane was likely underway. On one local bus ride with my aunt, a young man struck up a conversation with me in English. I was thrilled to converse without having to go through translation- but as soon as he revealed he was Muslim and had very anti-communist views, my aunt became visibly concerned. I couldn’t tell if anyone else on the bus understood English, but she was clearly afraid either for him or for us. I wanted to hear much more from him, but we prudently ended the conversation before it went any further. As I look back now, after multiple reports of possible torture, rape, murder and psychological brainwashing that may-or-may-not have taken place at these camps, I can’t help but wonder if this passionate young man survives to this day. It is an unnerving thought.

Last year, my aunt moved out of China. Foreigners like her have felt increasingly unsafe living there as the government became so violently protectionist and antagonistic towards any other culture or ideology. China wants to become more self-reliant in the coming decades, which is equally admirable and shortsighted since it was foreign influence that played such an important part in their remarkable development over the past 30-40 years. There will be a difficult tension in this turn back towards reclusivity, however, as much more of the population can afford to travel outside of the country– and has done so, learning the lessons of perspective that arise only from foreign travel.

I write this now in the middle of a global pandemic which originated in China and was marked at first by suppression and mis-information. Local officials attacked whistleblowers and attempted to preserve themselves by eliminating evidence. This has caused conspiracy theories to see nefarious intent in the Chinese government’s actions- that the virus is a bio-weapon, or a tool to extend control over much of the world. This doesn’t ring true to me based on my experiences, but who knows. China does not have a history of violent expansionism outside of their own land; much of what they do is based on protectionism, of their own territory and access to resources or job-creation. Pride and fear seem more likely to blame: fear at the local level of a heavy-handed surveillance state, and the pride that makes it more important to ‘save face’ than to admit mistakes. There is a reason china has long considered itself the Middle Kingdom, the center of the world. Why they refuse to grant the island of Taiwan its independence even though they have had no governing control there for over a century. Obviously this kind of obstinate pride and paranoia in regards to non-native influences can have disastrous effects- not just on its citizens but on the entire world, as we are now painfully aware. But at this point, I must also turn the mirror back on my own country. We think ourselves clearly more superior than this repressed country; our last racist internment camps were 75 years ago after all, and it’s been like a century since we were last slaughtering people of color and natives of this land our ancestors took for themselves. But we just elected a prideful, egocentric and authoritarian-minded man on a campaign of ‘America First’, a man who values loyalty and ‘saving face’ over truth and honesty, a man who has been caught in corrupt acts multiple times yet never apologizes or admits fault. We decry the lack of a free press in China while our same president regularly attacks any press organization he deems not loyal enough to him– and he does this supported by his base, 40% or so of the country that refuses to read or listen to anything that challenges their worldview. It’s not just one side in this regard: we all tend to create a bubble for ourselves out of our news choices, and our ‘free press’ institutions are increasingly owned by large corporations or hedge funds focused only on profits, not truth. Meanwhile we pat ourselves on the back for our social equality while we simultaneously ignore the systemic injustices that make it more difficult for people of color to rise above their inherited status; the Covid-19 virus is killing African-Americans at a higher rate than other races not because their skin is darker or calf muscles longer but because their societal conditions are different. The United States has so much ‘freedom’ that a large percentage can’t afford basic healthcare; that we are forced to live with the tyranny of mass shootings so we can literally have more guns than people in this country; that our elected representative officials are 75% male, 78% white, and 88% Christian out of a population that matches none of those rates.

Are there many redeeming, beautiful qualities to the life offered in the United States? Absolutely– but I would say the same about life in China. Or Europe, or Africa, or most any place in the world. It seems to me that there are trade-offs no matter where you go. Which brings me back to happiness, and that fundamental question– does happiness come from a particular style of government, or economy? Culture? I don’t know. I don’t know that you can measure such a thing, though I acknowledge there are studies out there which purport to do just that. I will say this– with all the wealth in the United States, there tends to also be an awful lot of anxiety and anger. Capitalism has its benefits, clearly, but it also is built– as currently constructed– on the concept that you must convince your citizens that their lives are incomplete unless they buy another product. It is the unattainable illusion of contentedness, not true happiness with what one has. And it relies on the exploitation of another- you can call it competition, but at this point we all know the game is more rigged than it is fair. Free competition exists less and less as time goes by. There are growing elements of this in China, as well– but still a palpable sense of appreciation, acceptance of their place in life.

And therein, to me, lies the answer. I have traveled the world and been blessed to interact with people from every social class. The common thread in those that are happy is not money, or status; it is acceptance. Acceptance that– while they will work hard and strive to provide for themselves and their families– the result is typically out of their hands. We control what we can control- our efforts, our outlook- and let go of the rest. I have met remarkably spiritual people from both Communist China and the homeless-filled streets of the United States: each with a cheerful, soulful view of the world. A street vendor has taught me life lessons in Thailand, and plenty of rich Americans have taught me how not to live. A thousand different political and economic systems have come and gone, and perhaps one is ‘best’ in theory- yet a theory is all it is. In reality, human systems will always have human flaws. The ultimate question remains: can you be happy with what god, or fate, or heaven has granted you?