After our first-day wandering, we were hungry and headed back to the Riverside Family inn for dinner. The inn’s caretaker was waiting for us. His family name was Yu, and his ancestral home was in Shandong Province. Yu had been helpful in booking the accommodation at what was a particularly busy time. He picked us up from the airport, and we drank and ate together. As the evenings wore on, we would head out to gaze at the night sky and count the stars. We shared stories and chatted about life under candlelight, since power cuts were frequent in the evening.

I didn’t want to leave. But I had to, and after returning to Beijing, I felt much more at ease, if a little dejected. The verdant fields and the lazy Heilongjiang River stayed with me in my memory, and soothed me on my return to the choking gridlock of Beijing’s streets.

A Park at the End of China

The northernmost point in China is a 10-minute car ride from the village. I expected barrenness, but was pleasantly surprised to find a lovely little park. There is a wooden plank road around it, which takes about an hour to circle round to where we started. The aroma of grass and the forest was strong, and the blue sky was somehow even more brilliant than in the village. We were on the boundary of Russian Siberia, but found nothing as harsh as that place name suggests. Winter, I’d imagine, is a different story.

 

A massive rock is carved with the proclamation the “Northernmost Point of China.” Three tall sculptures stand nearby, in the center of which is a pyramid marking the location: 53°29’29.58 N and 122°20’43.48 E. On the marble-paved ground are figures marking the distance to China’s big cities. A log signpost features distances to big cities around the world. Seeing “Sydney” there reminded me of the long flight I once took to Australia.

In one grassy field, totems stand tall among the wild flowers. Some have been carved with smiling faces; others were made to resemble monsters and demons. For an instant I couldn’t remember where I was – was it in Stanley Park in Vancouver, or in a Maori village in New Zealand? Totems were common to many ancient cultures around the world. The Tungusic people who formerly inhabited this part of Manchuria produced particularly striking works of totem art. Mohe County was actually named after one of these Tungusic peoples. Admiring the totems, I could almost hear the ancient inhabitants of the land calling out to me.

Walking on, I was disheartened to see that a number of trees had been chopped down. Approaching the stumps, I realized I was too quick to judge – they were an exhibition showing the variety of local species. The annual rings were clearly defined, and I learned that the oldest tree had 240 rings. Surviving 240 winters in this place made one think of the fragility and brevity of human existence. Nature travel, at least, affords us the opportunity to contemplate our insignificance in the face of nature’s awesome grandeur.

 

In the park I met four retired army officers who had driven there in an old Volkswagen Santana from Beijing. They were busy taking photos, and we chatted for a while, sharing travel stories. As I walked away, I couldn’t help turning back and shouting, “You know, making a road trip like this means that you’re still young!”

In many ways, life is one long road trip, full of unexpected pit stops, fleeting highs, companionship, breakdowns and beauty. We keep moving on, but hope is always before us.