FOUR DAYS THIRD-CLASS ON THE YANGTSE
     Larry Jer, On the Yangtse River, China

Traveling solo in China and a few months into my trip,
I took a four-day, three-night river cruise from
Chongqing to Wuhan, down the Yangtse. Cruising. The
word tweaks the imagination. Faraway places, forever
sunshine, preposterously handsome couples dining on
gourmet food.

This was none of that.

If I had the soul of a poet, I would describe the
beauty of the land. If I had a muse on my shoulder, I
could make good reading of the history and the future
of The Three Gorges. I have neither--only words of
encouragement: By all means, go. Experience this
yourself.

I traveled third class, only because the ticket teller
refused to sell the lowest level (fourth class) to a
foreigner. I have been traveling on the theory that
the less money I spend, the more adventure I'll enjoy.
My boat trip did not disappoint. Joining me in the
cabin of six beds, three stacked to a wall, was a
family who immediately warmed to me. Were I two shades
cuter, adoption could have been on the cards.

Seeing my Lonely Planet Phrasebook, they peppered me
with bold questions. Where are you from? How much
money do you make? Are you married? Do you want a
girlfriend? What kind? Hard-working? Or tall? I
answered what I could with the pocketful of Mandarin I
had mastered. Their curiosity kept me up well into the
night.

Finally, preparing for bed, I made the mistake of
applying lip balm. As benign staring is a national
pastime, my every action fascinated them. Mama held
out her hand to examine the mysterious tube. In a
flash, she whipped the Chapstick across her face, from
hairline to chin, from ear to ear. If the blurb is to
be believed, her entire head was now "soothed and
protected against harmful effects of chapping from the
sun, wind, and cold." She handed it back, a few
eyebrow tufts embedded in the gummy part. I offered
she keep it as a token of international friendship.

When we ran out of words, there was nothing left but
sleep.

"Baaaachh...baaaach." I looked around the dark cabin,
trying to focus, cursing whatever was depriving me of
sleep. The incessant hum of the boat's engine and the
gentle sway of the cabin reminded me where I was.

My mind drifted lazily back toward
unconsciousness...then, "Baaaaaaaaaaach." This time I
knew I wasn't dreaming and looked around the room.
Peering straight at me, leashed to my bedpost, was a
chicken.

At midnight, our cabin's residents had turned in. I
hadn't taken a head count--all humans please step
forward--but I was certain no animal under two feet
tall was in our midst when the light quit for the
evening.

I lay back down and stared at the ceiling, refusing to
make eye contact with our stowaway. Acknowledging its
existence would mean I'd have to act. Denial was my
strongest ally. Others in the cabin were unaffected.

It occurred to me that our fine-feathered friend was
scheduled to be a meal. Today's pet, tomorrow's stew?
Kung Pao Cabin Mate?

The next day for my new extended family was business
as usual. Home-cooked meals came out of cotton tote
bags, passed around and washed down with tea in
recycled Nescafe jars. Traditional snacks were trotted
out...chicken feet, pigs' feet, and several feet of
instant noodles.

In some crazy way, I empathized with that chicken.
Kindred spirits pounding our way through China. I took
quick stock: sleeping upright for days on end...not
being understood most all the time...hoping for the
best and expecting the worst...meandering down a
river, not knowing what's around the next
bend...relying on strangers, new friends...doing the
best we can.

Copyright 2002 Agora Ireland Publishing & Services
Ltd.
This article appeared at www.internationalliving.com in the Postcards section -- a department of their online magazine. 

When: September 3, 2002
A few words:  Budget travel has its own rewards.  This episode includes travel with an uninvited guest.