Hua Shan Mountain

Xi’an has prime real estate near some of China’s most spectacular mountains.  I use near in the way an American might—two hours in the car from Xi’an gets you to a mountain range that dances in the sky and skims the clouds.  Legend, and history, has it that it’s one of the most dangerous climbs you can take.  Google Huashan mountain and you'll be greeted with images of a literal plank walk with nothing but a carabiner cradling you to the rock.

Suffice to say, we opted for a rather less adventurous route.  

We left around 10am ish for our journey and crowded into the back of some kind of Toyota, no small feat for five people.  In shorts, carrying fruit and water, we feigned preparation for the day.  In our minds we imagined climbing from the bottom of the mountain to the middle station, taking a cable car to the top and then running round and taking the shorter cable car down. 

At 12:30pm, the tourist scene dictated otherwise.  Between epic pre-Golden week queues and a 6pm sunset, we immediately modified our plans.  We waited in a queue to get on a 20-minute bus ride to get to the queue to get on the cable car.  At 3:00pm, we planted ourselves firmly into a box that would propel us over a series of peaks that defied logic. 

At their highest, this particular set of mountains pierces the sky at 2,500 metres. That’s over 1.5 miles high.  Logic would dictate that 5 adults with 7 university degrees between them would be able to work a few things out.  Namely, that shorts might be a bad idea. We layered as best we could—I had a cardigan, Kim a coat and scarf, Aine the same.  It was cold.  And from the confines of a cable car, the wind blew us nearly sideways.  The blue skies that existed at basecamp were long gone.  Replacing this were gusts of wisps of clouds with the occasional drop of rain.

Up, up, up we went.  I won’t lie; I was terrified.  Station by station, we climbed into the heavens.  At one point, after reaching what we thought was the crest of the mountain range, we tipped over the top and were met with a punishing valley below and an impossibly higher peak in front.  We couldn’t see it before. And I swear to you, the sharp intake of breath from all of us set the world’s axis on tilt, if only briefly.

An hour after we started, we reached the top.  The wind only intensified and the temperature plummeted to a balmy 12 degrees Celsius.   We got a lot of looks and a lot more exclamatory muffles from the locals.  This was nothing compared to what we were thinking ourselves. 

Upon our 4pm summit arrival, we had exactly two hours to explore, get ourselves back in the queue and back down the mountain.  We weren’t quite sure what would happen if we missed the last cable car back, but with a Chinese driver waiting for us at the bottom, we weren’t about to try and find out.

Exploration was therefore short lived.   And the weather began to take a turn for the worse.  Clouds and raindrops whipped their way past and through us in our attempts to reach the proper summit.  We were blown sideways at points.  It’s a testament to Chinese architecture that little teahouses dotted the cliffside.

teahouse on the hillside

Holding onto chains and clinging to the side of the mountain, we made our way to the East side summit viewpoint, a term I use loosely as visibility was zero at this point, adorned with red flags. 

deceptively blue skies and whipping winds to the top

turning weather just about to hit

We abandoned attempts at reaching the West side summit and put ourselves back in the queue down.  By the time we got to the front, the sun had set.  And blustering wind accompanied our entire journey in the dark back down the mountain.  Our cable car swayed precariously from side to side.  I imagined the precipitous valley beneath and turned my palms purple from pinching them so tightly. 

In short, and as it turns out, I'm no mountain explorer.