I used to think travel was just an escape. Now, I believe it's a chance to find yourself by losing yourself. Getting closer to nature, culture, and people opens up the heart and quiets the mind. It is in these moments—away from the daily grind—that true magic happens. Great travel isn't just about moving your eyes across a view; it's about touching something real and letting it touch you back.
I first climbed the Great Wall when I was ten years old. It must have been Badaling — China's first section of the Wall developed into a tourist attraction. I don't remember much about that day anymore.
Thanks to my job, I've had many more opportunities to visit different sections of the Wall as an adult.
But for a long time, my focus was on practical details: how well restored each section was, what the scenery looked like, how difficult the hike would be. I needed this information to help clients choose the right experience.
Then last year, on a personal trip, I tackled Jiankou — the steep and rugged section famous among serious hikers.
A fine rain was falling on the enemy tower covered in wild chrysanthemums. Standing there, I felt like I was watching a film playing out scenes of clattering hooves and soldiers in battle-worn armor.
I let go of the need to record data, and my senses sharpened. I began to notice things beyond the numbers — the human warmth and stories hidden between the bricks.
This year, during another Great Wall expedition, I came across a poem by General Qi Jiguang, inscribed on a wall at Gubei Water Town:
"When the wars are over and peace returns, I would rather live as a hermit in these mountains."
It struck me deeply. Here was the man who invented the hollow enemy tower and upgraded the Wall's defense system to a higher level — yet deep down, what he truly longed for was peace, and a quiet life close to the land he loved.
Later, at the Wuzihao Great Wall Protection Station, I read a line from William Edgar Geil's book The Great Wall of China:
"It is better to pile up stones than to throw them."
Geil, the first Western scholar to travel the entire length of the Wall in 1908, never looted or damaged anything.
In an era when China was weak and vulnerable, he showed restraint and respect. That moved me.
I think, across time, Geil might have understood what Qi Jiguang felt.
And if Geil knew that another Englishman, William Lindesay, later followed in his footsteps — and then devoted the rest of his life to protecting the Wall — I imagine he would have wanted to shake his hand.
The Great Wall is far more than the famous tourist sections like Badaling, Mutianyu, Jinshanling, and Simatai. Many parts remain wild and unprotected.
Local guardians patrol these remote stretches with modest pay, yet they carry out their work with dedication.
Li Yong, the guardian at Wuzihao Station, considers himself lucky. With help from "The Great Wall Small Station," a local NGO, he built a protection station that also serves as a guesthouse.
This allows him to protect the Wall while earning a living. He often reminds me that there are many others like him — some already advanced in age — quietly guarding the Wall year after year.
I feel fortunate to have heard so many moving stories and met so many people with pure hearts during my journeys along the Wall.
Qi Jiguang loved his country's mountains and rivers, so he wished for peace and dreamed of retiring to the hills.
Geil loved China, so he chose not to take or destroy.
Lindesay loved the Wall, so he stayed.
Li Yong loves the Wall and his hometown, so he left the city and returned.
Looking back on all these years walking the Great Wall, I've come to realize something: for me, the most profound journeys are encounters with pure-hearted souls.
There is something precious about feeling connected to people across time and space.
I am no longer just someone looking at a view. I begin to understand their commitment. I share their feelings.
My heart swells — because these experiences show me qualities that shine across centuries:
Qi Jiguang's love for his land and longing for peace;
Geil's restraint and respect in troubled times;
Lindesay's selfless devotion;
And, Li Yong's quiet perseverance.
This has also made me realize something as a travel product manager: I can design an itinerary. I can craft an experience. But I cannot design a moment of genuine emotion — the exact instant when a traveler is truly moved.
It might be a line of poetry by Qi Jiguang.
It might be a sentence Geil wrote a hundred years ago.
It might be a guardian saying simply, "The Wall is here, so I came back."
What I can do is create opportunities for travelers to connect with authentic goodness, beauty, and humanity. The rest — I leave to the travelers themselves.