Tai Shan is the holiest mountain in Taoism.  Several emperors climbed it. Others tried and failed.  It was believed that the gods would never allow someone unworthy to reach the summit, so a successful climb was a sign that the Emperor had the Mandate of Heaven. Likewise, an aborted effort was a pretty bad omen.

Climbing Tai Shan was easier for us than it was for those ancient rulers.  We are able to travel light, since we don’t need to bring along an imperial entourage.  Plus, now there are steps that lead all the way to the top.  Thanks to those steps, Tai Shan is the most climbed mountain on Earth.

The Lonely Planet Guidebook warns that you need to set aside at least eight hours to get up and down Tai Shan.  We thought we could do it faster.  There are stairs, we thought, so how hard could it be?

Pretty damn hard.  Those steps keep going, and going, and going.  And we also had the heat working against us.  China is experiencing a heat wave, so while it is not as hot here as it is in the States, it is hotter than ideal for climbing a mountain.

We spent the night at a hotel at the foot of the mountain, and we started climbing the steps at nine-thirty in the morning.  It was three o’clock before we reached the top.  Along the way we climbed past forests of pine and cedar, the occassional temple, and countless souvenir shops.  In addition to the predictable t-shirt sellers, there were also vendors of incense and joss paper, to be burned in prayer.  There were also miniature locks for sale.  The faithful buy them and lock them onto the fences of the temples and shrines.  The effect of hundreds of these locks together is really beautiful.  They look like little, yellow jewels.

Tai Shan is also a museum of outdoor caligraphy.  The sides of the mountain are carved with poetry.  Since we don’t read Chinese, we missed the literary and historical allusions, but we could still appreciate the beauty of the script.  At one point, we took a side path that cut away from the direct route.  It added an extra hour to the trip, but it gave us a chance to see an enormous poem the size of half a football field, etched on a huge sheet of rock.

The temple at the top was worth the climb.  I haven’t seen such a beautiful and peaceful temple in China.  It was full of statues and incense, and it was painted in reds and pinks.

The way back down was even harder than the initial climb.  The steps were so steep, and slippery in some places.  We saw a few young Turks running, but we thought it would be better to go slowly.  Our legs were shaking.  We had to keep going so we could get off the mountain before sun set.

Nearing the end of our descent, we saw a Taoist monk sitting outside one of the temples that dot the path. He had long, stringy hair and wore what looked like black pajamas. His face was worn and leathery, but warm.  He got up from his stool and picked us out of the crowd of people coming down the mountain. He greeted Josh with a toothless smile, shook Josh’s hand, opened his arms and gave Josh a long, strong hug. Then he did the same to me. He pointed at his bearded chin and at Josh’s beard and said “OK. Zaijian (goodbye).” and flashed a thumbs up sign.  

I don’t know if there has ever been a surer sign of the Mandate of Heaven.