The Man with a Shovel on the Great Wall

I was hiking solo on the Great Wall of China on a wintry December morning in 2023. I decided to take the less-trodden route from the North Tower gate toward the Panlongshan wall in Gubeikou village. The hike started with a locked gate. After forty-five minutes of waiting and getting no answers from the locals, I decided to jump the wall. I was determined to hike this section. Within a short while, I was on the Great Wall—alone, and completely in awe.

For the first few hours, I didn’t see another soul. It was wonderfully lonely. By the fourth hour, I began running into a few hikers from Beijing. We exchanged polite smiles and nǐ hǎos—one of the only two Mandarin words I knew—but I kept moving, searching for a secluded spot. I finally found a dilapidated old tower, climbed to the top, and stood there as my eyes welled up with tears of joy.

I quickly noticed I had company.

Sitting quietly on a square stone was an old man in a green bomber jacket. He carried a shovel as a walking stick. No backpack, no water—just him and his shovel. He looked like he belonged to the mountain.

There we were: two people in simple jackets, ignoring the bite of the December wind. I had jumped a wall to get here; he had likely walked up here because it was simply his backyard.

I offered him a nod and a polite smile first. He returned it with the heartiest grin, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth and eyes that crinkled with genuine warmth. He had the kind of handsome, striking features that make you certain he was a catch in his youth. I looked at the wrinkles on his forehead and saw a map of a long life—one filled with decades of falling in love and patience.

As we sat in the cold, I couldn’t help but let my thoughts build the life I imagined he led. I saw him as a young man falling for a girl in the village below, and I pictured her now, still waiting for him after forty years of shared tea and long winters. Because we couldn’t speak, these were the stories I gave him. We sat quietly, gazing at the marvel of the world, letting our thoughts run free because our words couldn’t.

In that moment, we shared more than a view. We shared time, the history of the wall beneath us, and the quiet dignity of a life well lived.

To the quiet man in the green bomber jacket and a shovel in your hand, thank you for sharing your air with me.

Mia

© Dear Dhuniya 2026