Greatwall of China

Now if you have traveled to China for a vacation holiday or on a business trip, people will inevitably ask you whether you have visited The Great Wall of China? Why is this tourist attraction in China so attractive? It is because if you have not gone sightseeing at the Great Wall of China, then your China vacation is missing out a great deal. Here is why.

There are many watch towers, which were actually barracks for soldiers and warehouses for arms and were spaced close enough that soldiers from one barracks could quickly come to the aid of a besieged group at another watchtower.

I don’t know how long their tours of duty lasted, but it must have played hob with family life. I sometimes wonder how China got to be so overpopulated with all the famines, wars, and military tours of duty.

The Great Wall has crenellations as are found in European castle walls. Soldiers could survey the countryside through them, then shoot at invaders through the embrasures below.

A communications system grew up with signal towers spreading across the countryside. Fuel was stored—animal dung being a favorite because it smokes like crazy—to be lit when an enemy was approaching. Seeing the smoke and fire, the watchman at the next signal tower then lit his dung heap and so on, passing the word to the city and villages in the enemy’s path. This was quick and effective in the days before radio, telephones, and internet. Ingenious.

Reflecting the multi-culturalism of early China, the section of wall at Juyong Pass (30 miles from downtown Beijing) has a marble platform with bas-relief sculptures of the four Heavenly Kings, with Buddhist incantations in Sanskrit, Tibetan, Mongolian, Uygur, Han, and Xixia. Niches in the wall contain 2,000 Buddhist sculptures. Genghis Khan fought a major battle in this area, and I’d like to see it. Next trip, maybe.

Much of the roadway on top of the wall is now overgrown with bushes and even trees making passage difficult. The Bedaling section is nicely restored and free of vegetation, however, awaiting visitors. A couple of men in our group hiked to the end of the restoration and said it ended abruptly in a drop-off. I’ll take their word for it.

Scott, ever the champion of the people (See China: Tiananmen Square) told us the wall was built using clay and rice as a binder. If you’ve ever clogged your kitchen sink drain by washing out your rice pot, you know how gummy rice can be. Scott said the wall was built at great cost to human life at a time when rice was scarce and many peasants were starving.

We asked about the rumor we’d heard that bodies of workmen were entombed in the wall. He said, “Of course. The workmen were overworked and underfed and thousands died. What were they going to do with the bodies? It’s logical they would become part of the structure.” It gave us an eerie feeling as we gazed at the magnificent wall. I was glad we were there in the daytime.

In the days before modern weapons, the wall did a good job of defending China. I’d heard that the enemy just did an end run around it, but that’s not entirely true . According to the website of Travel China Guide, China fell to the Mongols due to weak government and poverty of the peasants.

Then again, in 1644 AD, the Manchus crossed the wall by convincing (threats? bribes?) a Chinese guard to open the gates of Shanhai Pass. Legend has it that it took three whole days for the Manchu army to enter. And that was the end of the Ming Dynasty.

Neither the Qin wall nor the Ming fortifications were called the “Great Wall of China” by their Chinese contemporaries. That label, and the myths that have come with it, appear to have originated in the West. Europeans who visited China in the 17th and 18th centuries confused the Ming fortifications with the Qin wall or walls mentioned in dynastic histories. They also assumed incorrectly that impressive masonry walls like those surrounding Beijing at the time also extended far to the west. As a result, a description developed in the West of a vast wall that had secured peace for the civilized Chinese for thousands of years by excluding the nomads. This idea captured the imagination of Westerners, and by the late 19th century a visit to the ‘Great Wall of China’ had become a staple of the Western tourist’s itinerary.

In the 20th century the Chinese also began to adopt the idea of the Great Wall, despite the evidence presented by their own historical records. Revolutionary leader Sun Yat-sen, who was instrumental in establishing the Republic of China in 1912, wrote about the wall in glowing terms consistent with the Western myth. Although some Chinese scholars pointed out Sun’s errors, they never succeeded in halting the myth’s progress. Patriotic fervor during World War II (1939-1945) popularized the myth of the Great Wall, and some renovation was done to the Ming fortifications in the early 1950s. The tide changed, however, under Communist leader Mao Zedong, who came to power in 1949. In 1966 Mao launched the political campaign known as the Cultural Revolution, during which he appealed to the Chinese people to destroy anything associated with traditional culture. Unappreciated for its historic value, the magnificent wall surrounding Beijing was torn down for quarrying during this period. Other wall ruins were also destroyed.

With the end of the Cultural Revolution and the death of Mao in 1976, the political climate changed in China, evidenced in part by a rise in nationalism. In the years that followed, the myth of the Great Wall was officially propagated throughout the country. In the 1980s the Ming walls began to undergo extensive renovation at their most visited locations. In the 1990s, however, historians in both China and the West began to reestablish the actual history of Chinese wall building and to explore the development of the folklore surrounding the Ming walls.

Great Wall (China), popular name for a semi-legendary wall built to protect China’s northern border in the 3rd century bc, and for impressive stone and earthen fortifications built along a different northern border in the 15th and 16th centuries ad, long after the ancient structure had mostly disappeared. Ruins of the later wall are found today along former border areas from Bo Hai (a gulf of the Yellow Sea) in the east to Gansu Province in the west. The Great Wall is visited often near Beijing, at a site called Ju-yong-guan, and at its eastern and western extremes.

Ordinarily I might have paused to catch my breath, but hiking up to the Great Wall of China is never an ordinary affair. Its silhouetted battlements running along the skyline spur me on. Sweating, straining, I’m injected with new enthusiasm when I spot bricks from the wall lying at the side of the rocky path, weighing perhaps 30 pounds each. I press on, doubtless in the footsteps of the army of builders who carried and levered the wall up—brick by brick, block by block—from 1,200 feet below. Then, instead of getting lighter as expected, the horizon darkens: A 20-foot-high barrier of light gray stone confronts me, its massive blocks laid in straight courses, perfectly interlocking. More than 2,000 pounds each, I estimate, and nine courses high. Insurmountable. An archway gives me the only access into this stronghold, and I climb steps onto the top of the wall, a stone highway stretching into the distance. From here I get a view down to the valley, my route, the builders’ route. I wonder how the builders transported all the material, for I’m atop a 2,600-foot-highridge, a formidable thing. Then nature paints over that logistical enigma with a pale pink sunlight, which illuminates a scene virtually unchanged for 430 years. My map-reading has been good: I am on a section of the “wild wall,” where nothing modern deforms the vista, not a power line or a road; there is only this ancient road of sorts, the Great Wall of China.

Quarried and baked from the mountains and earth that it crosses, rising along the line where traditional Chinese ways of life clashed against the free, roving ways of northern nomads, the Great Wall here complements nature, even enhances it. Before and behind me the glowing ramparts dominate the landscape for miles around. I know by the symbol on my map that the wall comes from where the sun rises and goes to where it sets.

I am standing all alone, high up on the Great Wall, with the whole day before me to walk along my very own section of the world’s most spectacular open-air museum. I need no other vantage point to know the wall’s true greatness: It is far more than history, far more than a landmark—it is part of the very geography of China, of Asia, of the world, and even beyond.
The Great Wall is probably China’s best-known monument and one of its most popular tourist destinations. In 1987 it was designated a World Heritage Site by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). The Great Wall is not a single, continuous structure. Rather, it consists of a network of walls and towers that leaves the frontier open in places. Estimates of the total length of the monument vary, depending on which sections are included and how they are measured. The Great Wall is about 2,400 km (about 1,500 mi) long, according to conservative estimates. Other estimates cite a length of 6,400 km (4,000 mi), or even longer. Some long-standing myths about the wall have been dispelled in recent decades. The existing wall is not several thousand years old, nor is it, as has been widely asserted, visible with the naked eye from outer space. (Astronauts have confirmed this. However, some of the wall is discernible in special radar images taken by satellites.)

Contrary to popular imagination and Chinese tourist propaganda, the Great Wall of China did not exist continuously for 2,000 years, was never a single line of fortifications, and even failed to keep out invaders. English-speakers have been able to know this since Arthur Waldron’s The Great Wall of China: from history to myth, but as specialists ruefully acknowledge, it will take a blockbuster of Wild Swans proportions before such “new” information becomes embedded as popular wisdom. The Great Wall may be that blockbuster.

The Great Wall we see today is a post-Mao restoration of a hugely expensive defence system built chiefly in the 16th century under the Ming dynasty. Julia Lovell places this in the context of 3,000 years of varied Chinese frontier defences against the northern nomads of the inner Asian steppes. In a somewhat disjointed narrative (interspersed with capsule explanations of concepts such as the examination system), we see how Chinese policy alternated between defence and aggression, with walled fortifications, usually in discontinuous sections and often more than one layer deep, frequently playing a part in both. Walls built to reinforce the mountain passes leading into the North China plain tended to be defensive, as in the Ming. Those built far out in the steppe may have been bases for colonial occupation, as in the fourth century BC, before there even was a Chinese empire.

Lovell attempts to do more than trace the changing functions of frontier walls. She wants to use the variety of attitudes towards wall-building as a way of exploring the shifting relationship of Chinese governments to the outside world.

This is a story of change and variety exciting enough not to need the sensationalist treatment (or the facetious tone) which the author sometimes adopts. It is becoming recognised that it is no longer enough to treat China as a monolith: unchanging, exotic, shockingly different. In the last generation, the isolationism of the Mao years has given way to an accelerating opening of markets and popular culture – though not of politics – to outside influences and foreign imports.

In keeping with this dramatic shift, recent popular works have often rejected the idea of China as a “hermit kingdom” and instead emphasised the tendencies towards openness in past dynasties. Joanna Waley-Cohen’s Sextants of Beijing traces the adoption of Jesuit and other ideas in the 18th century, while Valerie Hansen’s Open Empire draws attention to an even wider range of earlier borrowings, not least Buddhism. (Less reputable are the claims of Gavin Menzies about Chinese cartography in 1421).

Lovell is less optimistic. Turning away from technology and culture to politics at the highest level, she finds openness only by treating Chinese imperial expansionism as a twisted form of internationalism. Her chief concern is with the efforts of successive dynasties to close out the threat posed by nomadic northerners. Here, Lovell’s fascinating description of the variety of approaches to wall-building becomes mired in a set of persistent stereotypes that specialists have been working to debunk for a decade or more.

To pursue her wider goal of examining the roots of the modern Chinese mindset, Lovell feels it necessary to maintain a sharp historical distinction between Chinese and non-Chinese. Since wall-building is her route into the twists and turns of Chinese thinking over three millennia, she argues that walls must be a uniquely Chinese solution to dealing with the neighbours.

How, then, to explain why many non-Chinese regimes who ruled parts or all of North China and the southern steppe – notably the Jin dynasty, founded by the semi-nomadic Jurchen of Manchuria – also built walls? Why, by first becoming “sinicised” into honorary Chinese, of course. And how do you know that someone has become sinicised? Because they use Chinese methods, such as wall-building.

The circularity of this outdated analysis obviates what could have been a much more interesting discussion of the foreign-relations complexities of China’s “Middle Period” – roughly the 10th to the 14th centuries. Why, for instance, did the (non-Chinese) Jin build walls against their northern neighbours in the 12th century when their southern neighbours, the long-lasting (Chinese) Song dynasty, made little use of “long walls” despite being on the defensive against determined attack from the steppe?

Explaining Jin wall-building under the rubric of “sinicisation” undercuts Lovell’s own persuasive thesis that walls were used differently – or not at all – by defensive and expansionist rulers. It is a pity that in debunking one central myth about China for what is likely to be a large popular audience, the book introduces other canards that will need to be demolished in their turn.

So is it really a question of China against the world? Certainly, Lovell’s focus is on walls as physical manifestations of antagonism between rapacious barbarians and agricultural Chinese, who are mostly on the defensive. But this leaves little space to consider non-military interactions, such as the trade relations which nomads frequently sought from China’s dynasties, which may have kept the peace when granted.

Nor is there room to address the significance of Lovell’s observation that Chinese warlords could sometimes become “more aggressive, opportunistic and risk-taking even than the nomads themselves.” Issues like these demand explanations that move beyond an essentialist view of cultural differences into areas such as economics and realpolitik – not just at a governmental level but also in a wide range of borderland localities.

One thing that Lovell’s account shows without doubt is that Chinese imperial courts were rarely in full control of their northern frontiers, just as today’s Chinese authorities cannot exercise total command of the internet (nor, indeed, of migration across the Siberian and Xinjiang borders). Then, as now, government intentions were frequently disrupted, diverted or subverted by local realities, which in some cases became the drivers of events at state level.

As China comes into wider and deeper contact with the rest of the world, it is not only government thinking on international relations that we must understand, but also the range of attitudes held by Chinese individuals in their interactions with foreigners. As Lovell says, the devil is in the detail, but therein also lies the better understanding that we so urgently need.

When I set out to experience China for six days earlier this year, I hoped to get a flavor of local culture, explore off the beaten path and absorb ancient dynasty landmarks. What I didn’t expect was to become befriended so quickly and graciously.

During the 14-hour flight from Chicago to Beijing, my husband and I were introduced to a couple through the stewardess we met en route. Rubin and Strawberry were natives of Beijing, but also live as U.S. citizens in their homes in Chicago and Los Angeles. After visiting with us a short time, they took it upon themselves to escort us to historical destinations to ensure we had the best possible experience during our two short days in Beijing.

Day One: The Great Wall. Historians say construction and rebuilding occurred between 700 B.C. and the 1600s, during the Qin and Ming dynasties. Made of compacted earth, straw, sand and brick, estimates of the combined length of all of its structures range up to 12,400 miles.

Millions labored on the wall; at one time, a fifth of the working population was involved. Many perished, and remains have been discovered.

Our hike was steep, and at times the width of the wall accommodated 10 native and foreign tourists abreast. We peered through lookout towers and admired the mountainous views, while marveling at the mammoth undertaking of those who toiled and died for the defense of their land.

Second Adventure: The Ming Tombs. Thirteen of the 16 Ming emperors ordered the construction of hidden burials, more than 80 feet below ground level. The tombs’ location in the narrow valley north of Changping reflects principles of feng shui, the balance and harmony of man and nature, combining the elements of wind, earth and water.

Day Two: As the sun rose, we walked to Tiananmen Square to observe a flag-raising ceremony conducted by the Chinese military. We ended our time in Beijing by touring the Forbidden City, a nearly 250-acre complex of 800-plus buildings that housed the Ming and Qing emperors, their concubines and governmental officials.

The buildings are adorned with symbolic details, colors of royalty, beautiful gardens and large courtyards. The Forbidden City remains encircled by a 30-foot wall and a moat almost 20 feet deep.

Our new friends also treated us to a traditional Chinese body and foot massage. The cost of this experience is a fraction of what it would be in the United States.

With our hosts, we devoured the famously prepared Peking duck. The main course is filleted in the presence of the dinner party. The crispy bites of meat were moist and served with a slender cake, hoisin sauce and spring onions.

Days Three Through Six: We flew to Shanghai, where the blue skies and sunny days of Beijing were replaced by gray, looming smog, drizzle and hundreds of high-rise buildings. Shanghai, a metropolitan home to more than 20 million, is evidence of a booming economy.

By chance, I met another new friend, a French woman, and within minutes we committed to exploring together. In friendship, rainy days became bright. Together we discovered the famous Yu Garden in the Old City, Chen Xiang Ge Temple, the Bund and the Old French Concession.

Bravely wondering off the beaten path, I gained a taste of the local culture by stumbling into open markets where live snakes and prawns were sold, and where pigs and poultry were butchered. We witnessed everyday life of hanging clothes, playing games, repairing bikes and participating in morning kung fu exhibitions.

One day, I took a bus to the city of Suzhou, considered the Venice of the East. I explored Tiger Hill, the tomb of the first emperor of the province; a 450-year-old garden, considered one of the four most famous in China; a 1,400-year-old active Buddhist temple; and the biggest silk factory in China, which produces 60 percent of China’s silk.

On our last evening, my husband and I attended a acrobatics show and were amazed by the strength, balance and coordination of the athletes as they performed their routines and daredevil stunts.

Overall, I was impressed with the hospitality and work ethic of the Chinese. Customer service was respectful, timely and always delivered with a smile. The Confucian belief in the golden rule was emulated in their actions.

I relish my historical explorations and local discoveries, but I’m even more elated to have made three new friends across the globe. As Confucius said, “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.”