Everybody Has a Story: Impromptu trip to China becomes a great adventure

We hadn’t planned to go to China — but then we saw this ad in the Sunday Columbian. A tour scheduled to depart from Portland in three weeks hadn’t filled up, and the discounted prices were irresistible. So we booked the trip, adding a week’s cruise in the Yangtze River Gorge — one of the last before completion of the dam that was to flood the gorge. With expedited visas, we left on our adventure without much time to reconsider.

And for two weeks, everything exceeded expectations. We reveled in all the usual Chinese tourist experiences — climbing the Great Wall, touring the Forbidden Palace, gazing in awe at the terra cotta warriors, exploring museums. The guide was excellent, the scenery magnificent, and as we mastered the art of dining with chopsticks, Western cutlery seemed almost primitive by comparison.

But the greatest adventure awaited. We were the only ones who’d booked the additional cruise. The guide assured us that a representative of the steamship line would meet us at the airport when everyone else boarded fights home. Nobody showed up as we stood there forlornly with our vouchers, our luggage and airline tickets that wouldn’t be good until a week hence.

“No problem!” said our guide, booking a taxi and prepaying our fare to the river port. “The ship sails tonight, and you should be there in plenty of time.”

The cab drove us through a bewildering maze of narrow streets before stopping on the edge of a dark road at the top of steep riverbank. He pointed down at the distant docks, indicated our ship, unloaded our bags and sped off. The bank was paved with bricks, but had no path or steps, so we grabbed our suitcases and started scrambling and sliding. When the wheeled bags were behind us, they threatened to run us over, but in front of us, they dragged us down the bank at alarming speed.

Finally we stumbled onto a narrow street that provided access to the docks. Our driver either had been unaware of it or had declined to take it. Perhaps the guide hadn’t tipped him — we’ll never know. But the gangplank was still down; we had made it!

We scrambled aboard and handed our vouchers to a purser, who examined them, examined us, examined the list in front of him and shook his head slowly. Motioning for us to wait, he disappeared into the ship. After several anxious minutes he reappeared — accompanied by a resplendent figure who could only be the captain.

His gold braid and epaulets would have been perfect in a production of “HMS Pinafore.” He greeted us in proper BBC English: “Your voucher appears to be in order. Unfortunately, the steamship line failed to inform us of your existence.” After a pause that seemed designed to maximize the drama, he declared with a big smile: “But all is well. We happen to have one unoccupied stateroom, and now it is yours!”

The river voyage lived up to the standards of the rest of the trip, with excellent food — except for one unfortunate dinner when the chef tried to replicate an American “picnic.” The tasteless burgers and soggy fries weren’t enhanced by the ersatz catsup. We longed for rice and vegetables.

Midway through the voyage, I contracted a flu that confined me to our tiny stateroom for a couple of days. The ship’s doctor, whom I knew from his leadership of an early morning tai chi class, dispensed some traditional medicine, including the worst-tasting and most effective cough lozenges I’ve ever encountered. He also prescribed a shampoo to be administered by the ship’s hairdresser. Puzzled but obedient, I showed up in the hair salon, where a diminutive woman poured shampoo into my dry hair and then gave me an amazing scalp and neck massage that worked wonders on my aching head.

China is still a land of both mystery and perceived hostility, so we were bombarded with questions when we returned — especially, “Were you ever scared?” Well, yes. Standing in the dark on that high bank, with no one in sight and no good way down, I felt a bit like Indiana Jones, but without his whip, his nerve and his agility. And quaking before that self-important captain who held our fate in his hands, I wasn’t at all sure our story would have a good ending. But it certainly ended up better than “Stranded in Beijing.”

Everybody Has a Story welcomes nonfiction contributions, 1,000 words maximum, and relevant photographs. Send to: neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA, 98666. Call “Everybody Has an Editor” Scott Hewitt, 360-735-4525, with questions.