Barney Loehnis wasn't quite the stereotypical backpacker when he left home in the UK and traveled to China 20 years ago. Sure, he was young, possessed a keen spirit of adventure and was determined to scrape by on a shoestring budget. But instead of planning an itinerary involving rickety overnight trains or packed buses, he hiked 9,000 kilometers across China to retrace the Red Army's historic Long March.

"I wake at six and it is barely light. My heart is pounding. I am riddled with apprehension about the endless unknown before me. I cannot speak the language. I do not know the laws concerning travel in China," Loehnis, then 22, wrote in his journal on the eve of his trek in October 1993, which began in Yudu county, Jiangxi Province.

"I have only managed to obtain a three-month visa for a nine-month journey. I have not walked more than a gentle stroll in the past three years. And now before me is 6,000 miles of remote and unchartered country."

Despite its uncompromising terrain including 18 mountain ranges and 24 rivers and a propaganda-rich hangover, the Long March still beckons Chinese and foreign adventurers as a "red tourism" pillar. However, surprising derision directed at some people who trek it today has raised doubts over whether Long March nostalgia has reached the end of the road.

Following history's footsteps

Loehnis had been warned of bandits, bureaucratic police and even wolves while planning his Long March journey, yet he was prepared for the adventure of a lifetime with his 30-kilogram backpack containing his tent, sleeping bag, clothing and other provisions.

Loehnis was following in the footsteps of Communist forces led by Mao Zedong 59 years after their famous retreat from Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek's Kuomintang Army. In a circling retreat to the west and north covering 14 provinces over 370 days, the journey ended on October 19, 1935, in Yan'an, Shaanxi Province. 

Loehnis ended his trek in Wuqi county, north of Yan'an, in June 1994, becoming the first foreigner to conquer the Long March route.

"Even now, I still feel the pains in my body," recalled the scholarly-looking Loehnis, lost in thought over a tumbler of vodka in a downtown Beijing Irish pub. "Blisters on my feet were always tough, but you get used to these things. Pain is a temporary problem, but memories are eternal."

Loehnis, who now works for an advertising agency in Hong Kong but still routinely visits Beijing, has taken the final step of modern Long March trekkers by writing a book titled The Long March Revisited, which will be published next year.

Different historical depictions

The Long March, which helped seal Mao's rise to power, remains one of the most storied events in the Party's history. The epic retreat's completion despite fatigue, hunger and sickness claiming nearly 70,000 lives inspired a spirit among Chinese of overcoming hardship, no matter how grave, at all odds.

In October 2006, the Party marked the 70th anniversary of the end of the Long March with books, a 20-episode TV series, documentaries and a musical production depicting heroic actions and drama of the trek. Even China's family of indigenous rockets used to launch satellites into orbit is named after the Long March.

Away from its glorification, controversy has been stoked by some scholars who question the Chinese historical account of the event. British historian Ed Jocelyn, who in November 2003 completed the trek with compatriot Andrew McEwen, writes in his book The Long March (2006) the 25,000 li (12,500 kilometers) Mao claimed the retreat spanned was a gross overestimation, with the real distance being closer to 6,000 kilometers.

Sun Shuyun, who wrote The Long March: The True History of Communist China's Founding Myth (2007), also questioned the historical accuracy of the 1934 Xiang River Battle in Jiangxi Province, arguing Communist troops had suffered a major loss due to widespread desertion rather than a heroic victory.

Answering the call of patriotism

Unlike history buffs, Loehnis' interest in retracing the trek was sparked by reading The Long March: The Untold Story (1985) by American journalist Harrison Salisbury.

Having already walked 6,000 kilometers from Istanbul to London just a few months after the collapse of the Eastern Bloc, Loehnis undertook the Long March to experience the remote Chinese countryside and examine the original trek's effects on locals.

But for Chinese adventurers, tackling the Long March can be a quest rooted in nationalism and nostalgia.

Yang Bo, a 41-year-old Guizhou native who in March capped off his Long March odyssey, said he wanted to experience the hardships the Red Army endured firsthand.

"Life is short and people's souls are weak. I felt my life would be more meaningful if I completed the Long March. The hike has indeed brought me many breakthroughs," said Yang, a former education training company worker in Guangzhou, Guangdong Province, who survived his 21-month trek with 50,000 yuan ($8,145) from his family.

"Only around one-tenth of the Red Army survived the Long March, but nevertheless the Party was able to take over the country. The Long March spirit played a major role in this accomplishment."

Pushing a 70-kilogram metal cart, Yang visited local Party offices during his trek to have his notebook stamped. He also spoke at schools to share his own experiences and keep the Long March spirit alive.

Same terrain, different receptions

The most difficult sections for both Loehnis and Yang were transversing the snowy Jiajin mountain range in Sichuan Province and crossing the high-altitude grasslands and marshlands between the Tibetan Plateau and the Sichuan Basin.

They often had to turn to locals to retrace the original route because some sections were either lost in under-developed mountainous regions or had been altered for road construction.

"There is such a fear of the grasslands in history and reality," said Loehnis, whose lack of spoken Chinese meant he relied on English teachers in the countryside when he encountered problems with village heads or the police.

An experienced traveler despite his youth, Loehnis had a valuable instinct for retracing the route when directions led him astray.

"When climbing mountains, I aimed for the lowest horizon. When coming down, I followed the water because I knew it would always bring me to a village at some point. I stopped and listened for sounds. Dogs, chickens and ducks would always lead me to a village," he said.

Setting off in summer last year, it was late October when Yang reached the Jiajin mountain range in southwestern Sichuan. Overrun by thick vegetation, paths were slippery and the high-altitude triggered constant headaches.

The temperature was -20 C at the summit, and Yang battled continuous drizzle and snow on his lonesome.

"There was hardly enough air for to breathe, and I was almost too tired to survive the altitude sickness," said Yang, who mustered all his strength to keep pushing his cart. "If I had fallen from there, my life would have been in extreme danger."

While Yang could handle the rugged terrain, harder to take were the jeers and condescending comments some of his compatriots gave him along his journey.

Dressed in a gray Red Army uniform and hoisting a red flag, Yang's mission to spread the Long March spirit was sometimes met with cynicism even from locals in "revolutionary" counties.

"Most people think the Long March belongs in history and advocating spirit is unrealistic. People are busy making money nowadays, and are also cynical about society in general," he said.

But when Loehnis made his landmark journey as the first foreigner 20 years ago, the situation could hardly have been more different.

Despite the language barrier, he was welcomed and encouraged by almost everyone along the route. Knowledgeable locals often shared their expertise and helped Loehnis map out each phase of his trek.

"Almost everyone I met seemed to love the fact I was walking across China. They seemed particularly delighted that I was following the Long March," he said.

"It struck me that [Chinese villagers] held a great deal of admiration for those early pioneers, for their sacrifices and struggle. The fact that I was doing the Long March also helped me when the police stopped me."

'Red tourism' resistance

The reason for such contrasting attitudes, said Yang, is that growing materialism in society over the past 20 years has eroded the sense of community.

"People are getting rich, but they are still poor in regards to their spiritual pursuit. 'Red tourism' at revolutionary sites could help people feel more fulfilled and inspired," Yang said of a government-initiated tourism drive launched on the 70th anniversary of Long March in 2004.

Loehnis, now 42, still taps such a "spiritual" value from his Long March trek, using the event to remind him there are few insurmountable challenges in life.

"In some ways, it gives me inner-strength to know that it (the Long March trek) was not easy. There were at times a lot of pain and a lot of danger, yet to persevere was a big achievement. Today … I can more readily put 'small' things into perspective," he noted.

While conquering the Long March route might not be for ordinary tourists, "red tourism" appeals largely to middle aged Chinese travelers.

But for many young people whose main link to China's revolutionary past lies with their parents or grandparents, visiting sites made famous in history textbooks holds little allure.

Benjamin Tian, who studies political science at China Foreign Affairs University, said he has never visited a "red tourism" site even though his hometown of Changzhi, Shaanxi Province, has a Red Army museum.

"The idea of 'red tourism' is akin to indoctrination of an ideology. The revolutionary spirit promoted by the Party is too far away from reality, and a lot of young people are more engaged in striving for a better life. They just aren't interested in such ideology," he said.