This Rubble Reminds You - Neal Engstrom

The longest train ride in mainland China is the 1,428 mile trip from Guangzhou to Beijing. Every travel guidebook will tell you to NEVER book a fourth-class hardseat for that trip—or at least that’s what they said in 1989 when I was there—because the seats are angled at 90 degrees, have no arm rests, and they’re built out of hard plastic. Three days and two nights, and you won’t sleep a wink on those prison-inmate style benches. But, by the time I arrived at the train station fourth-class hardseat was all they had left.

However, the ride ended up not being so bad, because the Chinese people all throughout the train car treated me extremely well. I had a blast sharing my Walkman—fortunately the music of Eric Clapton and the Rolling Stones seem to be universally beloved—and communicating in sign language, grunting when necessary for emphasis. I was the only foreigner and when my fellow travelers weren’t taking photographs with me, they fed me continuously.

And, what an awe-inspiring landscape unfolded before us. Farmers working the crops in loose dark-blue clothes and straw hats. Humongous communal brick huts and buildings, with red soil in many places. It looked like tomato soup pouring out of the hillsides when it rained.

After a night of recovery at a hostel, I finally reached my ultimate destination in China. The Great Wall. The only manmade structure visible from space. It traverses steep mountains, conquers the deepest gullies, and goes on as far as the eye can see. If you hike out past the tourist area where the wall has been repaired, you eventually reach the ancient portions of the wall that have been weathered by wind and rain for centuries.

I walked out to those primeval crumbling fortifications—a mile or more away from everyone else—so I could be alone with my thoughts. Not a soul in sight. I pulled my journal and a bottle of sweet Yutalong beer out of my backpack. The icy winds from Mongolia whipped at my pen as I started to write.

I was 23 years old, and after graduating from college into the infamous Black Friday stock market collapse and recession a year earlier, I had gone to Japan to teach English and have adventures. Now, after saving up some travel funds I was traveling around the rest of Asia. No timetable. Not a care in the world. Occasionally mailing a postcard home to my family when I felt like it and could find a post office. Life was still like that in the 1980s.

I continued writing, “Looking at this rubble reminds you that nothing—not even the most magnificent of undertakings–-lasts forever. But, then again, great accomplishments can go on for a damn long time, as this still standing wall proves. It stopped serving its function a long time ago, but is still famous through the world. Can I ever achieve anything to match its longevity?”

As I finished my writing, I saw two blonde women walking my way atop the wall with a man a bit behind them. I was surprised to see anyone else this far out here. The way the woman in front was walking straight towards me seemed strange. She whispered barely loud enough for me to hear, “Can we walk with you? This man followed us out here, and we don’t know if he’s being friendly or wants to rob us.”

I put my journal, pen and the empty bottle into my backpack. “Absolutely. I’m heading back now anyway, and I’ll keep an eye on him.” The ladies were Canadians, and I had thought the guy was a hired guide. So, this all made the return hike a bit more interesting. We made it back to the tourist area without incident. Fantastic opportunity to rescue not just one, but two damsels in distress!

I was dirty and exhausted by the time I made it back to the hostel. As luck would have it, some Pakistani friends I’d made the day before informed me we’d all be going out for Peking duck—(or “Beijing roast duck” as it is now known)—and I told them they’d get no argument on that from me. As I rinsed the stone dust from my skin, my mind wandered.

Over the last few months I had seen incredible temples in Kamakura, towering skyscrapers in Hong Kong, the Taj Mahal in India, and now the Great Wall. A grain of an idea had begun to sprout. Yes, I enjoyed teaching English in Japan, but I think I want to work with massive and well-designed buildings. I think I want to be a builder.

I didn’t know exactly what form that impulse was going to take at that time. But my adventures had led to self-knowledge. And that self-knowledge, along with other experiences during that time period, had revealed my calling. And had illuminated my mission. I would go on to build a real estate investment fund, and work with my colleagues to acquire, improve, and maintain commercial buildings and hotels. I would build Engstrom Realty Fund, a vehicle for pursuing fulfillment, serving our tenants and guests, leading and teaching others, earning money for myself and my investors, and making a contribution to the world.

Neal Engstrom, President of Engstrom Realty Fund, is responsible for overseeing ERF’s investments and investor relations. Prior to establishing ERF, he served as a development project manager with Lowe Enterprises Commercial Group in its downtown Los Angeles office.

Subsequently, he syndicated a series of income property acquisitions on behalf of high net worth individuals through an entity that became the nucleus of Engstrom Realty Fund.

He is a B.A. Economics with honors graduate of Harvard College, and an M.B.A. graduate of the Stanford Graduate School of Business with significant coursework in real estate investment analysis.

Find out more at https://engstromfund.com.

Article published in The Relatable Voice Magazine - May 2025.

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