"See Them Again": A 90-Year-Old Chinese American in Emeishan, Zhangjiajie, Huangshan

Sometimes, when you set out on a trip, you realize it might be the last time you ever see a place. This is what Kiko, the daughter of Mr. Li, a Chinese American in his nineties, told me.

She was inquiring about a very special trip to Mount Emei, Zhangjiajie, and Huangshan in China for her father. Mr. Li had left China as a child and lived in the United States for most of his life. The years had stooped his back, and he needed a cane to walk, stopping to rest every few steps. Yet, his eyes were still clear, and his longing for his homeland had never faded. In her email, his daughter wrote that the doctor had said her father's health no longer allowed for long-distance travel, but this might be his last chance to return to his home country.

With such limited physical ability, how could I make that heavy desire to "see them one last time" a reality?

Custom Itinerary for a Frail Traveler

After reading the email, I was silent for a long time. Each of these three places is known for its steep and winding paths, a challenge even for the leg muscles of a young person, let alone an elderly man with a frail gait. But I knew there was still a way to make this journey happen.

I began to plan, not daring to miss a single detail. I contacted the local guides to carefully measure the physical effort required for each location, repeatedly confirming the routes for electric carts, the wheelchair rental spots, and the locations of benches and resting points. I confirmed that these scenic spots could be navigated.

On Mount Emei, I skipped the main stone steps and arranged for a shuttle bus to go directly to Leidongping, followed by a cable car ride, ensuring he would only have to walk a short distance on flat ground.

In Zhangjiajie, I arranged for the eco-friendly shuttle bus to connect all the main spots on Tianzi Mountain and Yuanjiajie. We avoided all climbing and chose platforms with wide views and benches to rest on. As for Huangshan, famous for its unique rock formations and known as the most difficult mountain in China, I checked the feasibility of using sedan chair services, confirmed which areas still allowed traditional porters, and set aside plenty of time. This allowed him to slowly stop at the famous Guest-Greeting Pine without having to rush.

On the day of their departure, I wasn't with them, but my heart followed them every step of the way. Every morning, I would receive a short message from the guide: "Today's trip went smoothly. The old gentleman is in good spirits and sat on the viewing platform for twenty minutes." Another day: "The weather is clear, and the sea of clouds is beautiful. He kept looking at the mountains over there and didn't say a word." These simple sentences put my mind at ease.

On Mount Emei, as the clouds parted, the Golden Summit shone in the sun, surrounded by a churning sea of clouds. The old man stood at the railing, leaning on his cane, as the wind stirred his thin white hair. He looked carefully and said, "This is the last time I looked back at these green mountains before I left."

In Zhangjiajie, the peaks were like blades, piercing the sky, and millions of years of geological wonder unfolded before his eyes. The guide said that the old man sat on a bench near the Bailong Elevator, happily gazing at the stone pillars rising from the ground, as if recognizing a long-lost memory. His daughter later told me that her father had spent his life teaching in America, often describing Zhangjiajie to his students, but only now was he truly standing in the landscape he had talked about countless times.

The last stop was Huangshan. At five in the morning, before dawn, the porters were already waiting at the starting point. The old man was gently helped onto a sedan chair and moved slowly but steadily upward. The first ray of sunlight hit the gnarled branches of the Guest-Greeting Pine, and it also shone on a heart that, for him, would never grow old.

The journey ended, and the old man returned to the United States. A few weeks later, I received a handwritten letter over two thousand characters long. There were no fancy words, just a calm description: he saw the mountains he had heard about as a boy, felt the wind he had imagined as a young man. He was grateful for every flat path we paved for him, grateful for the guides and drivers who quietly watched over him, and grateful for everything that allowed him to complete his return journey in his frail body.

My job is to light a smooth path for travelers from a thousand miles away. This time, it was a path home, a path leading to a mountain, a sea of clouds, and a memory.