Hunker Down or Get Out There?

Wanderlust is cemented in my DNA— like being a chocoholic or mathematically challenged. Or telling mourners at a funeral I was happy to be there and dying to help. (Yes, I really said that. I will never live it down.) But that’s me for you: a globetrotting chocoholic who can’t add up and typically inserts foot before any other body part. Sorry about that. I also apologise too much.

Recently, I almost apologised for a trip I took to China last year. Long story short, a conversation headed in the direction of we should boycott everyone and everything ‘foreign’. You can’t go there, people huffed, not knowing who’s a friend and who’s a foe. Isn’t this the time to pull up the drawbridge to foreign travel, foreign products, foreign influence and foreign (insert word of your choice)? Shouldn’t we all focus inwards and hunker down?

HUNKER DOWN?

Well, yes and no. Hunker down if fear overrides the believe there is something useful to learn out there in the big wide world. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the fear response. Attempts to distinguish the good guys from the bad see me in a cold sweat as once familiar nations become strangers, and once enigmatic nations make as much sense (or nonsense) as any other. A nice bunker with a kettle and a bookcase sounds like the perfect antidote to global insanity.

GET OUT THERE?

However, for me the bunker is too small (partly due to the number of books I try to cram in). In my humble opinion, chaotic times may be exactly the right time to discover what’s outside our own tiny spheres of influence. Shouldn’t we determine what makes us all tick in order to better understand? To be less fearful of each other—or indeed to ascertain if fear is appropriate? Will I find the answers to these questions listening to the incomprehensible ramblings of mad men or doom scrolling? Doubtful.

CHINA OR BUST!

With all the reasons not to go to China in March 2025 scrambling like eggs in my frazzled brain, I still believed it to be now or never. It was a time of great political upheaval, but the world has fractured considerably more since. I was right to grab the chance while I could. China, here I come!

The first thing Hubby and I noticed was how efficent and fast transportation was in China. (I’m looking at you, British rail companies.) New cities emerging from the valley floors whizzed past in a bullet train second. At warp speed, our eyes scrolled left and right so fast it made us dizzy. In my twenty-one days (a fraction of the time needed to even scratch the surface of this vast nation) I felt I’d travel through distant universes, so varied was the countryside.

PEOPLE WATCHING

The people we meet were varied too. At times I struggled to fathom alien beings with otherworldly points of view; the retired ‘volunteers’ in their red vests. Reporting back. Like AI algorithms. More often though, I sensed I was meeting family and friends; delightfully welcoming, offering genuine hospitality and kindness. We noted very few westerners during our trip and my white hair caused a sensation in a dark-haired society. The open stares and points showed me what it felt like to be ‘other’. Maybe everyone should feel that at least once in their life. I was lucky. My ‘other’ status led only to multiple requests to pose for photos with beaming locals.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

Luckily for us, many signs at airports and train stations were in English, which was not the case a decade or so ago apparently. However, not all translations are created equal. We never did find out what looting in a restaurant looked like, or what an artificial channel was. ‘Cash recycling system’ for ATM made sense though. Better instructions on the squat potties would have been helpful. Gaping ceramic holes in the ground required great skill and would be a nightmare for anyone needing knee or hip replacements. The good news is there were instructions for the smattering of western toilets. Food was often a point and pray affair. I thought these nicely displayed squares were brownies, discovering too late they were actually a local delicacy called ‘Black Stinky Tofu’.

TOP CHINESE EXPERIENCES

Throwing ourselves into this new world, we tried everything. Writing Chinese characters looked so simple but my attempts were pathetic. I didn’t do much better at tai chi in a Beijing park with the lovely Tai Chi Eric. Unique experiences just kept coming, like a wander across the rooftop of The Bird’s Nest at the Olympic Park and the incredible maze that is The Forbidden City. Peking duck and rice followed us everywhere, and we learned we made tea oh so horribly wrong in the west. And who knew pandas made the most curious noises, like tiny snuffling squeaks, at complete odds with their size? Luckily we’d been warned Chinese opera was exquisitely staged and costumed but required earplugs.

Taking the bus to a performance of The Romance of The Three Kingdoms show proved you should reach outside your comfort zone. This live-action musical and acrobatic performance of China’s history didn’t sound like our cup of Lapsang Souchong. We were wrong. It was incredible! The constantly moving set was vast, with lumbering ships, rolling stone monuments, and hundreds of actors and horses. Spectacular lighting effects blew our minds. Our seating sections moved too, sliding us closer to the horses stampeding across the watery stage and placing us under the arial acrobats. It left me quite speechless; a skill I should carryover to funerals, according to Hubby.

The Romance of the Three Kingdoms

Sailing down the Yangtze River conjured up my father who, as a seventeen-year-old, travelled its waters and told many a story of its beauty. It would be unrecognizable to him now as the Three Gorge Dam, a marvel of engineering, drowned many a small village and ancient temple but gave life to many a megacity. Another river, The Yulong provided some of the most beautiful hiking, complete with the quirkiest sideshows and sculptures.

THE GREAT WALL AND TERRACOTTA WARRIORS

Everything we saw amazed us, but there were a couple of standout moments for me. We travelled three hours by car from Beijing to the Jinshanling section of The Great Wall of China. Why? Because if you go to the closest section to Beijing, you’ll share your experience with a million others. At Jinshanling, we were practically alone. If you haven’t dreamed about walking on The Wall since you were seven years old (thanks, National Geographic), you may not understand my joy. (Or the irritation of being photobombed by my scarf.) The wall slithered over hilltops and mountains as far as the eye could see, then thousands more miles as it sliced through history. I trailed a hand along the stone walls and trod in the footsteps of antiquity, moved by both the trauma and human initiative depicted. My childhood self and I shared a moment.

As far as the eye can see…

My scarf on The Wall

The Terracotta Warriors defy description. No one even knew they existed when seven-year-old me promised myself a walk along the wall. We were exceptionally lucky to meet Yang Gaojian, who, as an eighteen-year-old farmer, dug up a tile in a field that led to the discovery of one of the world’s greatest wonders. He was so gracious and, despite speaking no English, each facial expression and gesture suggested real interest in us and our journey. I’ll never forget his warm handclasp.

Tracey Gemmell with Yang Gaojian

Silent warriors

EAST WEST RELATIONS

There was, of course, scrutiny everywhere, never more noticeable than in Tiananmen Square. Guards flipped through every page of my notebook (I never travel without writing materials). Huge metallic towers, weighted down with cameras, probed us from above. I wondered how the number of cameras compared with London. Did the search of my written words compare in any way to the current US mining of social media for differing viewpoints? I wondered about the difference between Western and Eastern capitalism as I strolled past the luxury brand stores in every Chinese city. A woman dressed in a kimono over jeans and sneakers posed in front of a Fila store (now owned by Korea) and Peet’s Coffee shop (currently in US hands). How did these shopping areas differ from Rodeo Drive in West Palm Beach, the Champs Elysee in Paris, or Bond Street in London? I wondered about a lot of things.

Tianamen Square

Old meets new, East meets West.

Our journey finished in Shanghai. The Shanghai Museum East was a masterclass in beautiful architecture, both inside and out. We staggered around ‘marvelled out’ and punch-drunk on Pekin duck, me slightly delirious from lack of chocolate—not a big thing in China apparently. But the futuristic, technicoloured nighttime skyline of the city and the bursts of brilliant light from the massive marketing screens dragged us from our packing into the teeming streets again for one last look at this ‘other’ world.

CHINESE LESSONS

As I write this a year later, I’m still processing everything I learned; that moving masses of people can be done efficiently, that three weeks of squat potties teaches your muscles useful new tricks. I now appreciate places without camera surveillance, and, surprisingly, sandwiches—it was months before we could look at rice again. And how beautiful the stars are, as you rarely see them in the man-made auroras of the cities. The quiet of my small Exmoor village is even more of a joy by comparison.

Travel during times of trouble is risky, of course. But to pull up the drawbridge means shutting our eyes to the truth that the world is still a marvellous place. People are mostly kind and friendly and curious and trying and trying and trying to do better. We forget that at our peril. We cannot stop searching for a sense of connection.

Whenever the chance presents itself, look beyond what we’re being told has to be to see what could be. Humans, as a species, are better than what we’re showing the universe right now. And I won’t apologise for keeping the drawbridge down in hopes the favour is returned. I’m with Anthony Bourdain on this one: ‘Travel is not reward for working, it’s education for living’.