Sherrill, my wife, and I visited together more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 years of marriage. This is number 41 of a series about our lives and travels. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series about much later travels.
"They're going to dam the Yangtze," Sherrill told me. "We have to go there soon."
We wanted to experience those spectacular, deep gorges before they were filled with water and silt, but, she explained, we had to travel with an approved tour company working under the Chinese system—much as we had in the Soviet Union. This, we discovered, would lead to some much-too-interesting experiences.
Flying in China in 1993 was not just an adventure; it was a pinball game with death, a comic book version of Ingmar Bergman's chess game with the Grim Reaper. All of the interior walls of our ancient China Air 747 (it once had belonged to Aeroflot) had been removed so that we could see the lack of service from one end of the plane to the other.
We're going to have to be flexible," Sherrill whispered.
This turned out to be the monarch of understatements.
We wanted to experience those spectacular, deep gorges before they were filled with water and silt, but, she explained, we had to travel with an approved tour company working under the Chinese system—much as we had in the Soviet Union. This, we discovered, would lead to some much-too-interesting experiences.
Flying in China in 1993 was not just an adventure; it was a pinball game with death, a comic book version of Ingmar Bergman's chess game with the Grim Reaper. All of the interior walls of our ancient China Air 747 (it once had belonged to Aeroflot) had been removed so that we could see the lack of service from one end of the plane to the other.
We're going to have to be flexible," Sherrill whispered.
This turned out to be the monarch of understatements.
Sherrill: China street scene with pedicabs Beijing then was a city of ten million people and nine million bicycles. Every day, we encountered thousands of those bikes carrying people to and from work and everyplace else. Most of them didn't bother with lights or reflectors at night. At least, we told each other, they weren't cars.
Private businesses, we were told, had just become possible in China.
Private businesses, we were told, had just become possible in China.
"We all want our own business," "Rick," our young Chinese guide explained. "It is part of new Freelance Responsibility System. We can even buy stocks in new state-owned businesses. We line up when certificates that let us buy shares are offered—sometimes all day and all night. No more communes. Farms private owned. Farmers pay some profit to government, keep rest."
"Doesn't that go against communist-socialist beliefs?" I asked.
"No. Like Chairman Deng say, no matter cat black or white if catch rat."
"Doesn't that go against communist-socialist beliefs?" I asked.
"No. Like Chairman Deng say, no matter cat black or white if catch rat."
Beijing, 1993: Kingdom of Bicycles
We were free to wander on our own, when we had the opportunity, but had to spend most of our time under Rick's helpful guidance and protection. He showed us the expected sites, the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, the Chinese opera, and, in side trips, the Ming Tombs and the Great Wall and factories where we could buy souvenirs ranging from cloisonné to woodblock prints to silk clothing and needlework. Along the way, we also managed to see a lot more, as well.
Sherrill, Hall of Heavenly Favor, Ming Tombs In a couple of parks, we watched a stately herd of middle-aged couples fox-trotting to old American songs and another group of elderly men and women practicing slow motion Tai Chi. As we explored Beijing and later Shanghai, Xian and other cities, we came across many old, traditional neighborhoods being torn down. Progress, no doubt, Rick would have insisted. We saw construction workers busy day and night in every city and noticed that no safety precautions seemed to be taken either on the rickety bamboo scaffolding or around the building sites: wires, broken tiles, building supplies, and other debris were scattered everywhere.
"Tell us more about you," Sherrill asked Rick on the bus, one morning.
Surprisingly, he was very open about his life. His father had been an engineer until the Cultural Revolution, when he was sent to do manual labor on a farm, plummeting his family from prosperity into poverty. However, as a small child Rick was selected because of his body type for the state's special athletic school.
"I was happy that because of me my family now had better life. Swimming and table tennis were my sports. World championship my goal. I worked at them thirteen hours a day, but was miserable because I was growing up uneducated. Finally, when fourteen I quit that school and went to Language Academy to learn English, but then I have to serve state as tour guide."
Surprisingly, he was very open about his life. His father had been an engineer until the Cultural Revolution, when he was sent to do manual labor on a farm, plummeting his family from prosperity into poverty. However, as a small child Rick was selected because of his body type for the state's special athletic school.
"I was happy that because of me my family now had better life. Swimming and table tennis were my sports. World championship my goal. I worked at them thirteen hours a day, but was miserable because I was growing up uneducated. Finally, when fourteen I quit that school and went to Language Academy to learn English, but then I have to serve state as tour guide."
Sherrill & Bruce on Great Wall From Beijing we flew to Xian, a growing city of nine million, its dusty streets crowded with bicycles. Our next flight, a few days later, after we'd explored the area with Rick and visited the first emperor's terra cotta army, did not go smoothly. After checking into the little airport at 6:30 AM, we heard that our flight to Chongqing was delayed. It seemed that a workman had poured something into the wrong hole on the airplane, so the airport needed to find another plane for us.
Finally, we reached Chongqing, then China's most populous city, with 13 million people. This was where we were supposed to begin our Yangtze River cruise, Rick told us, but because of recent storms the currents were too fast for our ship to make it upriver to the Chongqing dock. Then he told us that a smaller boat would take us downriver to meet the ship, instead. Other tour groups in other buses joined ours and all five buses wound through the narrow streets toward the river. Driving through what once was the heart of the city, we passed old office buildings, hotels, and stores, now abandoned and waiting to be demolished. We stopped in a grimy alley perched above the wide brown river.
Young porters eager to carry bags to ship, Chongquing Filthy gray shanties were jammed like rotten teeth against the remains of decaying commercial buildings. All of this area would be flooded when the Yangtze dam was finished. Soon, our buses were surrounded by young men in rope sandals with poles and baskets. They wanted to carry our bags down the flights of slimy, broken steps that descended to the water's edge. It turned out, though, that no boat had come to take us downriver to the ship.
All the tour directors and guides conferred and returned. Now, Rick told us, the five buses would go over the mountains to the waiting ship, maybe a two-hour trip, although since none of the guides and drivers had ever done it, nobody could say how long it would take. The buses wove like a covered wagon train on the narrow roads out of the city and into the mountains. The roads we were following weren't on any map our drivers and guides had. The country we passed through grew lush and tropical, with terraced rice and lotus fields, occasional villages and farmsteads, everything shimmering shades of yellow-green.
Mountain village herb shop At first, the detour over the mountains seemed like an adventure, but the road, although paved, wasn't much wider than the bus. When we passed farm houses or villages, local people stared at the spectacle. How could five full-sized buses attempt this steep, constantly switch-backing road over the mountains? Swaying and groaning, our bus would abruptly descend, then climb again. Often, we couldn't see either the buses in front or behind us. After more than two hours, our bus lurched off the paved road and stopped in a wide muddy place near what might have been called a village. The first two buses were already there. Eventually, the last two caught up. Passengers had the choice to use the very primitive lavatories—or go into the rice paddies.
"We're seeing a part of the country we never would have," Sherrill commented.
"But did we want to?" countered another passenger.
The detour was turning into more of an adventure than most of the passengers wanted. Wandering over the mountains, we were losing time on the ship, and people were worrying that we wouldn't reach it by dark. Did the drivers know where they were going? The dirt road was twisty and often steep, not built to accommodate large tourist coaches. From time to time, we passed farmers or children on the road, as well as carts, small trucks, and tiny tractors, and once a battered mini-bus. Occasionally, we skidded in the dirt, sliding sideways before moving forward.
"But did we want to?" countered another passenger.
The detour was turning into more of an adventure than most of the passengers wanted. Wandering over the mountains, we were losing time on the ship, and people were worrying that we wouldn't reach it by dark. Did the drivers know where they were going? The dirt road was twisty and often steep, not built to accommodate large tourist coaches. From time to time, we passed farmers or children on the road, as well as carts, small trucks, and tiny tractors, and once a battered mini-bus. Occasionally, we skidded in the dirt, sliding sideways before moving forward.
The five buses on the mountain detour "Don't look!" Sherrill told me.
Then muddy pockets opened up in the road, which the busses churned through, roaring up and out of them as quickly as possible, but they came more and more often as the road became narrower and steeper and the buses slid and maneuvered more. A storm the day before had washed away parts of the cliff, possibly sections of road. Finally, as the sky darkened, we spied a wedge of greenish-gray water in the distance, between two mountainsides: the river—the end of this impromptu and frightening journey—but it vanished again.
Then we came to an abrupt stop.
Something had happened in front of us. Rick jumped out of our bus and ran to the coach ahead. On a narrow curve, trying to pass a small tractor pulling a load of rocks through deep muddy tracks, the second bus had lost momentum and slipped in the mud until its right rear wheel was hanging over the cliff edge. Rocks were placed under the other three wheels and the hysterical passengers—a group of Canadian Chinese—got off the bus.
Then muddy pockets opened up in the road, which the busses churned through, roaring up and out of them as quickly as possible, but they came more and more often as the road became narrower and steeper and the buses slid and maneuvered more. A storm the day before had washed away parts of the cliff, possibly sections of road. Finally, as the sky darkened, we spied a wedge of greenish-gray water in the distance, between two mountainsides: the river—the end of this impromptu and frightening journey—but it vanished again.
Then we came to an abrupt stop.
Something had happened in front of us. Rick jumped out of our bus and ran to the coach ahead. On a narrow curve, trying to pass a small tractor pulling a load of rocks through deep muddy tracks, the second bus had lost momentum and slipped in the mud until its right rear wheel was hanging over the cliff edge. Rocks were placed under the other three wheels and the hysterical passengers—a group of Canadian Chinese—got off the bus.
The first bus had got around the tractor, but it wasn't going to be easy to get the second bus back on the road and three other buses were trapped behind it, with passengers of all ages and conditions. Any one of the coaches could have slipped and fallen over the edge. Everyone was terrified in retrospect—and equally outraged.
Rick told us that the ship was only a mile or so away, mostly downhill. Some passengers from the other buses were striking out, carrying their hand luggage, to walk to the ship. Local farmers would be hired as porters to carry bags for anyone who couldn't carry his own.
"All the larger bags are already on the ship."
"Wanna bet?" one of the passengers countered.
"Ship?" said somebody else. "You think there's a ship down there?"
So, four busloads of tourists from around the world began trudging through the slippery mud on the cliff-side road. Then, moments after everybody had started hiking: rain.
Sherrill pulled her folding umbrella and rain hat out of her purse, I rolled up my trouser cuffs, and we continued the trek along the rain and mud-filled tracks. Sherrill loaned the rain hat to an eighty-one year-old woman we'd got to know. Rick trotted up and down among us, grinning and joking, apparently trying to keep up our spirits.
"All will be okay! Be happy!"
Rick told us that the ship was only a mile or so away, mostly downhill. Some passengers from the other buses were striking out, carrying their hand luggage, to walk to the ship. Local farmers would be hired as porters to carry bags for anyone who couldn't carry his own.
"All the larger bags are already on the ship."
"Wanna bet?" one of the passengers countered.
"Ship?" said somebody else. "You think there's a ship down there?"
So, four busloads of tourists from around the world began trudging through the slippery mud on the cliff-side road. Then, moments after everybody had started hiking: rain.
Sherrill pulled her folding umbrella and rain hat out of her purse, I rolled up my trouser cuffs, and we continued the trek along the rain and mud-filled tracks. Sherrill loaned the rain hat to an eighty-one year-old woman we'd got to know. Rick trotted up and down among us, grinning and joking, apparently trying to keep up our spirits.
"All will be okay! Be happy!"
Sherrill, Jingzhou Museum Eventually, we began the descent down a gooey trail toward the ship. There she was: the White Emperor. Low slung, tired looking in the gray drizzle, three decks high, white paint dirtied by the storm, the ship waited like a beached whale beyond sprawling mud flats. Slowly, we all crossed a bridge of loose planks floating on the mud.
"Welcome," we were greeted by several young hostesses in burgundy velvet dresses slit to the thigh as they passed out wet washcloths to us, and we maneuvered through the lobby crowded with luggage to get our room keys. The moment everyone was on board, the ship's engines jerked into action, trying to make up for lost time.
In addition to everything else, this ship wasn't the one we were scheduled to be on. That ship, the new Yangtze Princess, had been commandeered by the Chinese government for a group of VIPs, so five bus loads of less important tourists were put on this boat. That ship probably would have made it upriver to Chongqing. We soon discovered that the White Emperor crew wasn't used to western tourists. Few of them spoke English or other European languages.
"We're on the Yangtze!" Sherrill exclaimed, giving me a nudge. "Be happy!"
To be continued....
"Welcome," we were greeted by several young hostesses in burgundy velvet dresses slit to the thigh as they passed out wet washcloths to us, and we maneuvered through the lobby crowded with luggage to get our room keys. The moment everyone was on board, the ship's engines jerked into action, trying to make up for lost time.
In addition to everything else, this ship wasn't the one we were scheduled to be on. That ship, the new Yangtze Princess, had been commandeered by the Chinese government for a group of VIPs, so five bus loads of less important tourists were put on this boat. That ship probably would have made it upriver to Chongqing. We soon discovered that the White Emperor crew wasn't used to western tourists. Few of them spoke English or other European languages.
"We're on the Yangtze!" Sherrill exclaimed, giving me a nudge. "Be happy!"
To be continued....
Rice terraces and the Yangtze viewed from the mud road
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