The picture post I have planned will have to wait until I get out of China, folks. I’m just dying to show you these photos of my time with the ChinesePod people, but the connection here in my hotel (and perhaps in China at large) is very frustrating.

In the meantime, I’m in Beijing! It’s a much different city than Shnghai, in much the same way that New York and Texas are different places. Yesterday, I started off my day with a breakfast here in the hotel, which was, I’m assuming, put together without the thought that there may be a lao wai or two in their midst. None of the signs were in English and I put a little of a lot of things on my plate. Because I’m fearless like that. And hungry. Man, was I hungry.

I grabbed a beverage on the way back to my table—a morning favorite, actually. Orange juice. Only this stuff was hot. Like, they had it in one of those giant coffee urns and they were keeping that juice at close to boiling! I’d never seen anything like it. It wasn’t bad, either. Weird, but not bad.

Later, my friend Lan and I went out to the Great Wall.

If you haven’t yet been to China, and you haven’t seen this thing with your own eyes, there’s nothing I can do to explain it to you. Words won’t do it justice and pictures are far too small. It’s a truly awe-inspiring site.

So there we are, Lan and I, looking up at the top of the mountain, and the brick, stone and mortar serpent that winds its way up and over. I pick the highest point that I can see and I say to myself, “That’s where I’m going.”

Oh, and it’s cold.

I live in Florida, people. It’s about four miles north of the equator. We don’t do “cold.” And while I had lived in New York for 25 years prior to relocating to the Sunshine State, there’s a colossal difference between cold on an island and cold on a mountain. And this was the cold that killed the dinosaurs. We actually passed a T-Rex who asked me if he could borrow my scarf. Cold.

So we start our journey toward the Wall. We buy the tickets and I’m already winded. It occurs to me that I may be out of shape. Unless, of course, you consider “round” a shape.

Up we go. The first leg of the trek isn’t too bad. The incline is good and I feel my legs doing their work. It’s a pleasant feeling and I’m actually starting to warm up a bit. That paper route I had as a kid prepared me well! Of course, it may have been the 15 years I spent doing kicks and stances in kung fu, too, but either way, I’m having a good time.

The second leg of the trip starts with a gust of frigid air that blows three people off the mountain. Lan and I cling desperately to the snake oil salesman as they keep saying, “Hello? Hello? You buy? Hello? Have many colors! Hello?” The incline gets a bit steeper and I loosen my scarf as we go. My heart is doing a conga beat like Miami Sound Machine and by the time we reach the turret on the second plateau, I’m looking up at my goal and saying to myself, “Geezus, you’re an idiot.”

But we press on! The Wall dips down here and we laugh as we let gravity do most of the work for us. There’s no steps here, just a cobblestone road. And then it goes up again. Like… nearly vertical. By the fourth turret I’m gasping for air as I throw money at the locals just to get them away from me. The air is thin up there, way too thin, and my whole body signs a petition to go back down and call the whole thing off. But no! My indefatigable will sounds the charge and we’re off!

We’re only two turrets from my goal now, and I make the excuse to stop and take pictures every nine feet just so I can catch my breath and not spew hot orange juice all over this historic monument. And then the batteries on my camera die. The batteries I bought the day before. Traitorous bastards!

The last leg was by far the hardest. There were stairs, but the incline is so steep you’re almost on your hands and knees climbing up. Looking over the side, I see a camel for rent. I can smell him from 30 feet away and it inspires me to go on. I’m also looking at these “street” vendors (”Hello? Hello?”) and I’m thinking about their daily commute and kicking myself for being such a pansy.

When I finally reach the top, I jump up and down like Rocky with my arms over my head and shout, “Yo, Adrian!” Nobody laughs and men with guns point me down the way we came.

It was, to say the least, a perilous descent.