Datong - Ancient Grottoes / Hanging Monastery & Hengshan Mountain

I forgot why I was here. Even after Mongolia I was getting involved in office politics, dealing with HR issues… not enjoying myself. The only respite was teaching and there simply weren’t enough classes to make up for the mundanity of what I’d left Australia to escape.

So, while grumpy, I looked at my “Before I Leave China” spreadsheet, because ofcourse I have a “Before I Leave China” spreadsheet and chose the one place that I could go to that was a) not closed for winter and b) less than a 10 hour train ride away – Datong. There was a hanging monastery and some grottoes… looked ok.

Datong City in a nutshell? It was founded in 200 BC during the Han dynasty, its located close to Inner Mongolia and was originally a walled city (you can still see the walls, although… as with much of China, it was rebuilt in the 1980’s), and the Western Capital. In 1277 Marco Polo visited, he was impressed by the look of the city, its enterprises, business… So a long and impressive history. You’d think I’d be excited.

I wasn’t thrilled. Wasn’t excited. But felt the need to travel. Maybe it would reinvigorate me, get my focus back. I had to force myself to put the itinerary together and translate the necessary words into Chinese – which is usually one of my favourite aspects of travel.

Anyway, the day came… I finished class at 8pm, train to Beijing, Beijing train station for five hours, then the night train to Datong.

I lay in my berth, a good two hours nap, before being rudely awakened by my berth-mates, a couple. They were up and down and in and out and then… gnawing on hard-boiled eggs, chomping mouths opened. Attempting to go back to sleep (given it was 4am and I’ve been awake since 8am the previous morning) my imagination was hijacked by the sound of this man chomping on his egg, but suddenly it was not a man, it was a camel, a camel with those over large, skeewiff, protruding teeth. The over and under action of their jaw, the loud chop, dlop of their lips, mismatched in timing. Its as if the bottom lip, uninterested in participating in mastication, is simply forced into position by the upward action of the lower jaw, then slaps up when the teeth meet one another, then flops back down.

The noise… the noise… atleast the image made me giggle somewhat and relieve my general feeling of frustration, and ‘why am I going on this trip’, and ‘this is not working… why aren’t I back to happy… I’m on a train for crying out loud!’.

So, six hours of fidgeting and sleep attempting, I arrived in Datong – a city that was sadly reminiscent of Tangshan… had I travelled for 12 hours to get to where I already was? Urgh (amazing how a mood can impact your perception), this was not going to be worth it…

I hauled on my backback and exited the station, stepping into -12 degrees, nose immediately running. A man in a Police jacket spotted me, “Taxi?”, he asked… well, he was in a Police jacket, must be trustworthy. I showed him the name of my hotel in Chinese characters, he nodded and off we went. While in the taxi we agreed on a price for him to take me to my other destinations tomorrow. The mountain I wanted to go to was either a 2 hour taxi drive or five hours on a bus whose schedule was not set in stone. I opted for the more expensive option, while saving time – I thought it was a reasonable trade. He would come and collect me at 10am tomorrow.

The hotel was… amazing. I’d accidently booked a suite… so had my own little lounge room, a toilet and a separate ensuite, but the piece-de-resistance? The bed.

Never have I seen such a bed. Poofy and tall, it was a land based cloud. The sheer size of it, once I crawled in… would I ever find my way out? Maybe it was my general exhaustion, but I swear I heard the pillows calling me, beckoning my heavy head… and like a spell, I found myself, shoeless, pyjama’d and curled beneath the soft, fluffy sheets.

Fortunately it was only 11am, so when I woke two hours later, there was still enough time in the day to have one adventure. Regardless of the fact I felt like staying in this bed for a good century or so, I was here to see and do.

After one of the most delightful naps of my life, I was 10% less grumpy than I had been before I went to sleep… a slight improvement, but an improvement none-the-less.

Right… the Grottoes were only a half an hour away. I popped on an extra layer of clothes, grabbed a cab, and still emotionally flat, headed off to some ‘forced fun’.

‘Forced fun’, incase you’re unfamiliar with the term, is when you are required, either by yourself, someone else, most often your family, to go and do a thing. The expectation is that you enjoy this thing. The general result is that you don’t enjoy this thing, but you pretend you do… again, due to the expectation. In my opinion, this is what every company I’ve ever worked for calls “Team Building”.

Ok… so, we drive through town, I sit looking out the window, taking in the towering coal mine chimneys pummelling out plumes of smoke into the atmosphere. The tall, grey and empty apartments, that zombie apocalypse feel which reminded me of home…

Grumble, grumble, grumble Mistress Scrooge!

Here is one of those times when you wish you had someone to slap you out of your foul mood.

We arrived. I headed up the slope, through the arches, and into a well kept tourist-looking location. Where were the grottoes? Where was the mountain? 

This was ridiculous…

I finally located the entrance point. I walked through the doors and suddenly found myself in a fully functioning monastery, the 4pm sun sparkled on a tree with metallic silver leaves, and wavering red strands of material. A monk hit a gong, the sound reverberated off the walls as I wandered further on.

The building itself was set on a lake, I’m unsure whether man-made or otherwise, but standing on one side of the stone bridge I breathed air on my hands, trying to warm them up, while the lake reflected nothing in its ice-topped state.

While observing the skate-ready water, the awnings of these beautiful buildings, my ears ringing with the gong and hum of Buddhist prayer, my heart, infact, started to melt a little.

I paid it no mind. Grumpy is strong.

But… Grumpy was soon to meet its match.

I continued over the bridge, through the monastery, looking back at its reflection on the ice lake. The sky was a cloudless blue, my warm breath in the crisp air coming out in a whispery fog. My butterflies, the happy butterflies, started to flutter in my abdomen, happiness was seeping back into my veins and then an explosion… a sharp inward gasp… walking up a few steps I reached…

The grottoes.

Before me, carved deeply into the side of the mountain, were caves, and inside the caves, carvings of Buddha, the roof of these caves coloured and decorated… 1500 years old. 1500 YEARS OLD! There are apparently 51000 carved Buddhas, the largest towers down at you from 56 feet, and 252 caves.

The first of the Yungang Grottoes were built around 460 AD, and the youngest (if you can say such a thing) were carved around 570 AD.

They ‘why’ seems easier to answer than the ‘how’… The caves and sculptures were built when Buddhism arrived in China. Hard as I’ve tried, I cant seem to find an explanation of whether the caves were built to honour Buddha… or if it was a physical method of meditation (you’d have to be pretty patient to be crafting a sculpture out of the side of a mountain with only basic hand tools…) 

But maybe this makes the experience more exotic… to have unanswered questions and just ponder the purpose.

Apparently during the Cultural Revolution the entry was graffitied, however little else was impacted, so what I was seeing, breathing in, was all original. Truly truly ancient. As I wandered through, and ogled the intricate and diverse sculptures, I wondered about the artists, were they monks or workers? Were there women involved or allowed to be apart of the development? I imagined the hustle and bustle, wobbling bamboo ladders, chip chip chipping of chisel and hammer, the smell of the next meal cooking over a small fire… maybe some  children dashing hither and dither… I was transported.

Some of the more incredible caves had restrictions on photos or filming, due to the Buddha being sacred. There were security guards watching flicking fingers of would-be photo snappers. I took my time, stepping reverently into the cave and staring up and around the giant statue in the centre of the space. Above, the ceiling was littered with tiny, painted Buddha’s and birds. To see it was like… it was like seeing music… its hard to explain. When you hear music, you hear it with your whole body, it gets right down into the very molecules of ourselves… looking at this, a similar feeling occurred.

I spent two hours exploring the caves, staring awe-struck at the carvings, before returning to my waiting cab. If I had to return back to Tangshan now, without seeing another thing, I would not be resentful. This was undoubtedly one of the most magnificent human constructed things I’d ever seen. It stirred up again in me utter wonderment and thirst to discover more and more and more!

The cab driver jumped out of the cab seeing me skipping down the hill, he opened the door… strange, I’m sure the seats didn’t look like this last time? 

Maybe they’d swapped vehicle? It was warm after two hours in the freezing air, so… hang on, why doesn’t he know where I’m going? He looked at me like he’d never seen me before.

Suddenly a different Chinese man was at my window, loudly protesting, my current driver laughing… I looked at the crazy man, flailing his arms around and… oooooo I got in the wrong cab! THAT was my driver!

I clamoured out of the ‘new’ cab and followed my now not-too-impressed driver to his vehicle, “dubichi”, I apologised and he seemed to calm down. Oh, what a faux pas!

That night I slept deeper and more peacefully than I had in months. Heavenly.

Day two and I was up and atom. Like many a person, I cant function properly without a nice EBT (English Breakfast Tea) in the morning. I’ve learned my lesson and now take with me a small UHT milk, sugar and Tetley bags on ANY adventure, whether big or small. So, I was tea’d up and ready to go.

My driver was waiting for me (the trustworthy ‘policeman’ who was no longer wearing policeman jacket… hrmm). He waved my toward his vehicle and struck up a cigarette… this is how much I’ve changed, years ago I’d have just dealt with this, breathing in the smoke during the journey, not wanting to offend him… but no… I looked at him, I waved at him, “bouyow!” I said (no – don’t want) and he flicked the cigarette down before getting in the cab. I felt like a powerful woman… I picky horrible pseudo American my-way-or-else powerful woman, but a powerful woman none-the-less.

The journey to Heng Mountain (Hengshan) would take an hour and a half or so, I comfied myself as well as I could in the toastie cab.

About half an hour in we were on a very long straight stretch of perfectly good road, but I noticed cars, trucks and even an e-bike pass us on what I imagined was atleast a 90 KM PH area. I looked at the speedo… 40ks… then less, then 60ks… then 40ks again… We were often slowly sliding into the middle of the road, then swiftly swerved back to our side of the road… what the heck?

I moved a little so I could see my drivers face reflected in the review mirror… driving… driving… then the pace of the car would slow, his eye lids falling softly closed, his head drooping, the vehicle would again head off in its own direction – 

HE WAS GOING TO SLEEP?!?! WHAT!

I tried to ignore it. What was the worst that could happen. Maybe he was closing them because he had dry eyeballs? But seriously… I think he was actually trying to keep the car going straight while he had a nap… WHILE DRIVING ME!

I grabbed my phone, tapped into Google Translate and thrust it toward him,

“I’m afraid you are going to sleep”, it said.

“Mayo mayo”, he said (no / no) and indicated to the road.

“Mmmm-hrmmm” I responded with my best teacher-is-not-impressed hum. He did stop the nodding off after I called him out on it, and the rest of the journey was less frightening.

We came to our first stop, The Hanging Monastery.

Listed by Time Magazine as one of the top 10 most unstable and dangerous structures in the world, its considered a major architectural achievement by the Chinese and architects come to study the monastery from all over the world.

It was built in 491 AD and incredibly has withstood storms and winds, snow and… well, talk about standing the test of time. It’s a temple that ‘hangs’ 246 feet off the ground and is made up of about 40 separate rooms. From below it looks quite small to be honest, dwarfed by the towering mountain, but when you climb up and in… it’s bewildering how big it is for floating on the side of a cliff.

My favourite aspect of it though? It’s a mix, and one of the only tri-religious temples, of Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism – I’m not religious myself, but do like to hear when religions can come together, something humbling about putting specific beliefs to one side and work as one to create something unique and incredible. Can think of a few countries that might want to take a page out of these guys’ book!

I wandered in the -12 degree weather, stopping briefly at one of the vendors under a tent to purchase gloves before my fingers froze and fell off. There appeared a weir to the left of me, and the water released from this was not flowing, but stopped, still… literally frozen. The river was not running, but stagnant, motionless and icicled. When the wind blew my ears protested with involuntary flinching, I tried to wrap my scarf around my head, but dash-it, it wouldn’t stay in place.

And then I turned my attention to the mountain, this sheer rock jutting into the sky unapologetically like some ignorant shoulder of a reclining giant. It was as if I’d slipped and fell into a film, or a dream, or back in time. Was this really me, my eyes, taking in this ancient wooden construction, lodged precariously on a slopping cliff? Again, my breath was taken from me.

I headed toward the monastery, given the close-to-freezing temperatures there was just me and few Chinese tourists, so there was a reverent quietude as I took on the stairs and ascended.

There were signs along the way, “NO FIRE”. I was glad I was no longer a smoker – this could have been a challenge I might not want to have accepted… Just one accidental flame could finish this piece of history off in a matter of moments. 

Again, I was in utter wonderment as to how this place had survived five centuries…

I finally ducked through the entrance into the temple (the doorways were not built for medium sized European descendants) and, upon unfolding myself back to my full height I took in the wondrous colours and symmetrical perfection of the roof tiling, the almost smirking bow at the ending arch of each awning. The stained wood, the particular brickwork… let alone the fact my feet were in the same place that feet 1400 years ago walked upon, and prior to that, those who chiselled holes into the mountain to bear the weight of this unique and spiritual structure.

I squeezed and squished up tiny stair cases and through small holes to visit different levels of the temple, at all times lost in wonderment, amazement, and utter delight that someone could still experience such a place… that this still existed, so close to its original state. My goodness. This, to me, is what magic is… this is the mysticism of the current world, to fall, sharply, into a tornado of history, into the past.

These are moments that I wish I could bottle, so that I could give them to others. I could have over a small jar, with an aqua marine tie at the top. A cork bottle stopper. You would untie the ribbon, and pop it in your pocket, look at me with confusion and maybe a bit of disappointment… you were hoping for a phone or a book or a…

And then, you pop the cork, and from the bottle a strong current of air whisps up before your eyes, then plunges down, dividing in two it caverns into your ears and suddenly, for a mere moment, you are transported to the caves of Yungang, to the Yellow Mountain, to the Yangzi River or across to the volcano in Bali… and just like that, the fog lifts and you are as you are, but never as you were… because you experienced a thing you never knew you would, or could…

That would be a gift.

Don’t imagine I don’t know how lucky I am, I know… I am thankful every day, even when I’m grumpy! My only sadness is wanting to Ruby-Shoes certain people into moments at certain times.

I spent a good couple of hours wandering in and out and through and under and into the forty caverns, observing the view these monks would have enjoyed, wondering about whether they feared for their safety when the snow came in, when thunderous storms battered the mountain, when animals roamed below. 

And how they dealt with their different ideals, how a tri-temple could or would work.

The fact is… that it did. That these different religions, regardless of differences, worked as one and created a structure that would and did, as I said before, stand the test of time. Again, I feel there was and is a lot we could all learn from this.

Returning to my taxi I felt as though I was walking on a cloud of words and thoughts and memories, of dreams and desires and disasters… that I’d taken on a piece of history, and that this piece of history would be forever with me.

The driver… luckily, was alert, and we continued our drive up the mountain.

The higher you go… the colder it is! I jumped out of the taxi having forgotten my gloves, and to my delight, the cab driver dashed after me,

“Jeigar! Jeigar!” he announced, thrusting my gloves in my general direction.

Thank goodness he did so, it was bloody cold at the top of the first temple. A temple so perfectly situated, the aspect was breathtaking, the sometime rolling and often jutting peaks of hills, shadowed or shining depending on where the sun was at the time.

After taking this in and observing silence at the gong of the giant bell, I felt the time had come to descend and take the (excited was I… indeed I was) cable car up the mountain.

I LOVE A CABLE CAR… not as much as a speed boat, but when a speed boat is not available… a cable car will do…

But it was Winter.

The cable car…was…closed.

The mountain… was... not…

I looked up at the dizzying heights… I looked down at my feet…

“What do you think?” I asked them…

“Nope… nope nope”, they responded.

“Your thoughts?” I asked my personality,

“Well, you cant very well come to a mountain and NOT go up it…”

My feet moaned, I moaned, but my personality was right, and so… thighs in tow, I started my hour long ascent up the mountain.

An hour of huffing and puffing and slow my speed down, and bonding silently through sighs of exhaustion and grumbles of… ‘there are MORE stairs’ with a 

Chinese couple who decided to take on the same challenge… I finally arrived at the close-to-peak, an Imperial Palace sitting amongst pines high up on the mountain top.

Apparently a Buddhist, by the name of Zhang Guolal, rode his donkey up this mountain… backward. That is, the donkey was walking in a normal forward direction, he, on the other hand, was saddled facing the rear of his steed… when the rains came and the donkey could not move forward, Zhang Guolal used his hands to replace the donkey’s back hooves, so Zhang replaced the back hooves of the donkey with his own hands, and there were marks on the ground… a set of hooves then a set of hands, a set of hooves… and a set of hands…

The peak of the mountain is 2016 feet above sea level. I wandered, forgetting my sore toes and aching thighs, through ancient arches with dancing red material strands of strangers dreams, wishes and prayers.

I wandered in and through the buildings and the temples, but more importantly, took time to take in the landscape. Mountains 180 degrees around, a lake silenced by the intimidating and towering surrounding hills. The wonder of those who initially trekked up here, no steps, no cable car… just a feeling to take on such a feat, to build something to honour their belief.

The sun was ebbing, the shadows lengthening and my heart was at ease… the sing song of wind through the trees, the gong and hum of Buddhist chanting, the purr of the mountain cats that hugged my ankles wantingly.

I made my way down the mountain and edged back into the taxi… yes, he had a similar situation upon our return, nodding off while driving. I tried to ignore it, but good heavens… seeing your vehicle swerve willy nilly, here and there… it was all I could do not to grab the wheel, let alone throw him out of the vehicle to get myself home safely… who tries to drive while sleeping?!?!

At any rate, another delightful night spent in the heavenly cloud bed, I headed back to Beijing on the sleeper train, reinvigorated, the dark mood ruined by the light of newly learned history, regret ruined by experience, I felt nothing but elation upon my return.

A worthwhile trip indeed.