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China through seven provinces, before emptying into the East China Sea near Shanghai. The voyage from Shanghai to Chongqing takes at least eight days.
    At first the riverbanks were out of sight, one or two kilometres away. Later the river became less immense. It was still very wide, but the trees and greenery on its banks could be seen occasionally. By mid-morning, passing kilometres of smoke stacks and grey buildings, we came to the large city of Nanjing. This was the ancient capital of China and has a recorded history that dates back to the Warring States Period in 476 BC. Here the sluggish brown river was crossed by a good-looking bridge, which our boat pulled to one side to pass under as though the captain knew the channel well. This impressive double-story bridge – road on top, rail below– is one of the world’s longest.
    After Nanning, rice paddies and rushes lined the muddy shore from which now and then rows of green fishing nets protruded, while men in small boats fished close to the banks with nets that stuck out in semi-circles from their sides. Behind the paddy fields trees marched to the skyline. On the two or three stops we made during the day I took the opportunity to pound across the barges that were used as pontoons and landings and investigate the riverbank stalls that sold supplies to passengers. Here I obtained beer, Coke (or a reasonable imitation of it), the pickled eggs that I had developed a taste for when I had got past their appearance, and other essential provisions. Once I leaned over the boat’s side as it was pulling away from the landing and bought two cans of soft drink. My change was getting further away from me very fast and I thought I could kiss it goodbye, when the vendor rolled the money into a ball and threw it at me. All those evenings playing cricket with the boys had not been wasted. I could still field a catch.
    Susan was good company once I got over staring at her bald head. She told me that she had shaved it in a moment of weakness, thinking it would be less trouble when travelling. It might have been, but she had forgotten that she was heading north into a bitter winter and she was already feeling the cold.
    We passed several of the ocean-going ships that navigate this river, countless hefty coal barges, and other large passenger riverboats like ours. One riverboat had a top deck that was covered by a roof with turned up corners and looked like a monstrous, multi-storied pagoda. Another looked like a tiered wedding cake. Towards sunset we pulled past one more big town, and after that the river traffic lessened somewhat.
    By this time I was fed up with the nagging voice that harangued us continuously with political propaganda from a loudspeaker on the wall of our cabin. It started at the crack of dawn, when all good communists should be up and about, but this bad capitalist had no intention of being so rudely aroused. Getting out my nail scissors I performed a highly successful laryngectomy on The Voice.
    Stretched across the ship’s prow was a sitting/dining room that was reserved for the use of the second-class citizens. Meals were not served here, but it was a comfortable place to sit and look out at the river. In the sitting room I met a businessman from Taiwan, and Susan and I went to lunch with him. The food was stone cold and not very appetising and the dining room was a dingy dump. Functional and institutional, it had a metal floor and unpolished wooden tables and chairs.
    In dramatic contrast, the second-class sitting room had no food but tables covered with white cloths and graced with plastic flowers, a sideboard full of cups and plates, lino tiles on the floor and an enamel po spittoon beside each armchair. I was fascinated by the overhead decorations. There was a large recessed square in the centre of the ceiling that contained white wooden panels embossed with dragons and two 1960s five-armed light pendants. And from all around the edges of the square purple