At the end of the first day of hiking, the local farmers
who had been so gracious in helping us navigate this foreign, snowy terrain, cornered
us in a watchtower, opened their backpacks, and began peddling their wares. In
return for all of the help they had given us throughout the hike, they expected
us to buy their tacky souvenirs. I felt like I had been bamboozled. The lady
who had helped me throughout the day was not in fact this nice local woman whom
I had made a connection with but instead was someone who looked at me as simply
an American with a fat pocket. (Does she know we don’t’ get paid til the end of
the month?) In my Big Mac induced stupor, I managed to evade them the first
day, but the second day’s hike on the Jinshanling section of the wall, was
significantly more challenging, steep, and slippery, so as soon as this local
farmer turned guide turned hawker grabbed my hand to help me up the first snowy
staircase, I knew I was done for. The longer she held my hand and kept me from
plummeting to my death (which I very much appreciate), the more I knew I would
have to buy. As soon as we reached the bottom, her question of concern for my
safety quickly turned to a question of “How much”? I contemplated for a moment
and decided that my health and safety was worth at least one tacky t-shirt and
a packet of overpriced post cards. At least we didn’t have Big Macs again for
lunch.
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