When I got off the train at Badaling to see the Great Wall of China, I stepped into an arctic blast. By the ticket office, a woman was selling pancakes from a counter window. It wasn’t a fancy affair; it was meant to be eaten by hand. It wasn’t the most flavorful thing. But it was warm, and that’s all that counted.
After spending time at the Great Wall, I had lunch in a restaurant in the tourist village at Badaling. I must have been sat in the section for foreigners because the tables were set with forks. There were no chopsticks to be seen.