I had just gotten a new pair of boots suited for the Shanghai winter, which is not particularly cold but has a penetrating damp. They cover the ankle and have heavier soles than shoes, but the point is that I can wear them all day, so they are not what I would call serious boots. And what do I do the first week after I buy them but climb a volcano in winter.

Changbaishan (“shan” means mountain) is a dormant volcano on the border between China and North Korea. It has a big caldera with a lake in it, and this lake is said to be the birthplace of the Korean people. It is the source for the three main rivers of northeast Asia: the Yalu, the Tumen and the Songjiang. The north flank of the mountain, where the Songjiang arises, is said to be the birthplace of the Manchu people, who ruled China as the Qing dynasty from the 1600s to the 1910 revolution. More importantly, Changbaishan was the destination of one of the first trips that HIHO Shanghai and I took together, and could be said to be the birthplace of our relationship.

But on the bus from the tourist center to the base of the mountain, which my colleagues and I were to climb (I do this kind of thing for my job,) I was in a rotten mood. Early March in Manchuria is still winter, and Changbaishan is 8000 feet high, well above the treeline and the highest peak for thousands of miles around. I have lived in northern places long enough to know that you do not fool around in such places; you prepare well or you do not go. But we were completely unprepared, and we were going anyway. We had thought that we would simply be doing competitive analysis (that is, visiting places like the one we are planning for) in the area of the mountain, looking at hotels and tourist attractions and such, and so my thick sweater, extra socks and lip gloss were back in the hotel. I had not brought an extra hat, sunglasses or real boots at all. But once at the tourist center, it seemed silly not to see the mountain, and the staff assured us (truthfully) that we could go up and come down in a few hours. I did not think we were going to die – this is a reasonably well established tourist location, and we were going to get bussed and then snowmobiled to practically the top of the mountain – but I did think it likely that we would get damned cold, and that it was not impossible that someone would get frostbitten. My colleagues are all from southern China; a snowbank is remarkable to them, and they had no preparation for the top of a mountain in winter.

Worse, the scenery was lovely, and I had lugged my trusty camera from Shanghai only to discover in the hotel that its battery was still in the charger back home. So I was highy annoyed with myself, and then further annoyed at the realization that I am becoming one of those people who, if they can not photograph a beautiful scene, can no longer fully enjoy it.

Finally, I was travelling back to a significant spot in my romance with my wife without her – in fact, while she was at home angry with me. I had made a dumb mistake (no, do not think Tiger Woods, but a mistake) and so she was at home taking care of HIHO XX, also resentful because daddy was away, by herself while I was out traveling. In such circumstances it is difficult to explain that spending the day in breathtaking scenery taking pictures is work.

So there I was, inadequate boots and hat, cellphone for camera, and with wife and son making common cause against me at home. I am fairly sure one of the Greek heroes was in exactly the same situation, but I forget which one. As it turns out, of course, while it was indeed cold on the peak (and even colder on the snowmobile) overall it was a magnificent experience. The snow was hard and pure white, the sky was a deep blue, the exposed peaks of the caldera were charcoal black. When the wind died down it was intensely quiet. As I climbed the last few steps up to the ledge overlooking the frozen lake, I stood in awe at the tremendous scene – until the cellphone of the girl in the other consultant team behind me rang with a dippy pop song and she answered in a heavy local accent: “Wei? Hi, Teacher Zhao, I’m on Changbaishan, you called at just the right time!” – a classic China moment. I could easily have slaughtered her.

Anyway, since then I have come back, and gone and returned again. I am made up with the wife and child, and have showed them my inadequate cellphone pictures (and cellphone video – one advantage over the good camera.) But I realized how much I miss the north country – the squeak of the snow, the burn of the wind, the bare white birch trees against the blue sky and black pines.