With the help of the alarm clock, we rose early, finished packing, + with me at least experiencing the now-familiar pangs of apprehension, + feeling more than usually pessimistic as to the outcome, caught the bus down the hill. Even at this hour, the bus was crowded – it’s rare indeed when it isn’t. We stomped down the huge stone staircase leading to the jetty, + handed over our letter to the man punching tickets. It was a little while before he looked at it, for quite a few people were boarding, but again, the reaction was not encouraging. He read it, showed it to a colleague or 2, + finally deferred to the opinion of an even more than usually stern-faced gentleman who was there. No, no go, they vindicated firmly, + pointed away up the stairs. We tried to ask to go aboard to see the Purser, but again the same reply, the same wave away.
So, feeling pretty despondent but not wanting to give in quite as easily, we sat on the steps + waited while the passengers filed past. I envied every one. From time to time, Val (always the more stubborn in such matters) would broach the subject again, but she never got any further. Except once, when as sailing time approached, the guy with the punch agreed to hand over his duties to a colleague, + took the letter aboard for us, but he returned almost immediately with the same reply, + soon after a man who spoke English came out + explained that it would not be possible for us to travel with them, for they were full. It was fair enough, + it was us who were being entirely unreasonable, but having waited so long, we sat + watched the final act as the last few passengers hurried aboard, the warps were untied, the anchors weighed, + with some blasts on the horn – blasts of derision, it sounded to us – she moved away from the dock, + sailed slowly downstream.
The stern-faced man was not with her, obviously he was shore-based, + he waved at us again to go up the steps. I was a little surly at first, with disappointment + frustration, but somehow he seemed to suggest, tho’ he was still unsmiling, that he might be willing to assist us. So I bit my lip + we marched together up to the booking office. He led us to the window where the Yangtse tickets were sold, + sat us down. Was this to be the extent of his assistance? We knew where this was, having struggled in vain to buy tickets here 2 mornings before. But we sat ourselves down resignedly, while our guide disappeared into the office. We had quite a wait, for the window didn’t open till 9, + it was now but 7.30.
As the hour and a half ticked away, I became increasingly on edge, + was about to funk the issue + go off to buy dumplings at 9, when he re-appeared with a lady official, asking what tickets we required, + disappearing again with our money. It was almost beyond belief, + out of nervous excitement, I simply had to go out + buy a dumpling. (It wasn’t very good.) When I returned, Val was sitting there, clutching tickets for tomorrow’s sailing. I could have kissed our friend’s miserable face – luckily for him he’d disappeared. So it was done, + really the delay of a day made no difference whatever, tho’ I could have done without the anxiety – shortened my life by about a month, I’d say. And the letter probably did us some good, tho’ it seemed a pretty useless scrap of paper at the time. We felt light-headed with relief + elation, + caught the bus back to the hotel. There we calmed ourselves down with a cup of coffee, then went out to celebrate with a dumpling breakfast.
By the time we’d slowly managed that, then messed about doing other bits + pieces, the day was just about half gone, but we didn’t want to waste it completely, so decided to visit Chiang Kai-Shek’s prison, now a museum, quite a way out of town. The second of the 2 buses we needed to catch to get there took an age to come, by which time an absolute multitude had assembled. It was clearly going to be a struggle to clamber aboard. To my surprise, we didn’t do too bad, + even managed a seat, just one between the 2 of us.
At journey’s end, we refreshed ourselves with cold prune juice from a stall – truly delicious – before setting out to look for the museum. It was amusing when we wandered by mistake into a factory, were taken for distinguished guests by the gatekeeper, + were invited in to the gatehouse for a cup of tea, while he dashed off to find someone suitably important to welcome us. The mistake was soon discovered, of course, to the gatekeeper’s undoubted embarrassment, but we were nonetheless bidden most courteously to finish the tea before being directed to the museum.
This turned out to be reasonably interesting – Chiang Kai-Shek had, it seems, tortured captured Communists in 2 prisons just up the hill, + the museum documented this. But as there were no English captions to the photographs + exhibits, we could really derive little information. Perhaps since Chiang Kai-Shek was reputedly helped by American money + advisors, they have a prejudice against our common language. At one time, I understood, visitors from America weren’t allowed to visit the place, but it would seem that restriction has lapsed. We certainly weren’t required to show ID. More interesting to us was the memorial being built in a small park just above the museum. There has been a simple plinth-like memorial there since 1949, but they are now in the process of constructing something far larger + more elaborate. It was good to see it at such an early stage. Enormous blocks of stone were lying about with shapes marked upon them in pencil, waiting for the sculptor’s hammer, while elsewhere, moulded in plaster over a wooden framework, were giant heads, hands + feet.
We caught a minibus up to see the prisons themselves, but were annoyed at the price we had to pay, even more annoyed when the girl selling the tickets slapped a surcharge on us because we refused to pay in FECs. The prisons themselves were very small, tho’ kept in good condition. They had none of the atmosphere of horror about them that we experienced in Dachau, but then we knew absolutely nothing of the background. And there was one cell guaranteed to give anyone the shivers: a black hole carved out of rock, dripping with water, + so designed to allow no light whatever. People are bastards, aren’t they?
After such an early start to the day, our energies were flagging by now, + we were pleased to get back on the bus to town – I was lucky too, for the conductor gave me up his seat. We had a good evening, going first to a small café to have a couple of mugs of draught beer + some hors d’oeuvres – nuts + crisps + bowls of small dumplings. In fact, we were so much into them that we nearly messed things up, for when the time came that we felt we needed something more substantial, we discovered both the restaurant upstairs + the one we had gone to the first night had finished serving. We did find one still going strong, however, so more beer + a couple of tasty dishes. Once again I had to rush back to catch Sports Report on the radio, + being somewhat pickled, I was worried I would get lost. So it was with a hugely exaggerated + unnecessary rush of elation that I suddenly recognised where I was. Both Wimbledon + the 2nd Test are on at the moment – I sat up until the small hours listening to both.
A good example of the time we wasted, trying to get some sort of special deal for the boat. And meaning that we spent rather longer in Chongqing that we had intended (or that the place deserved.) But at least, with the help of an official, we are on the move again. so could relax a little and enjoy the place, safe in the knowledge that we had an exit the next day.
