The sun was shining as we arrived at the boat, far earlier than most others of course. We sat on our bags and waited for the usual panic. Sailed past customs only having to show our cameras. After all our receipt saving and preparation! Oh well, better this way than the hours of interrogation we had been expecting. I guess the dearth of visitors since the Tiananmen Square event has relaxed some bureaucracies. There were maybe ten other backpackers in what seems to be a half full boat, the rest being Chinese- men in shiny suits and ladies in short skirts with knee high nylons showing beneath.
Our boat looks like a murder took place on it in 1920 and it hasn’t been cleaned since.
Rusty and decrepit. The few wicker deck chairs almost all have large holes in the seats preventing one from actually sitting in them. The swimming pool is a square cement hole in the stern, empty of water but full of brown and green sludge, of interest to a marine biologist but not much to a swimmer. Most of the door locks do not fulfill their purpose, nor do some of the window hatches. Fabric on the indoor chairs is faded and torn, with grubby lace antimacassars hinting at thousands of greasy heads. The air is forlorn. It’s perfect. 
Our cabin has three bunks, but we’re the only ones in it. We even have a porthole. There are three sinks, a loo and a shower, ceramic mugs with lids and piping hot water in three of those amazing Chinese thermoses. Stiff white sheets and scratchy blankets tucked mercilessly into bunks. As luxurious to us as any cruise ship could ever be. We have three days on a slow boat from China!
Our boat looks like a murder took place on it in 1920 and it hasn’t been cleaned since.
Rusty and decrepit. The few wicker deck chairs almost all have large holes in the seats preventing one from actually sitting in them. The swimming pool is a square cement hole in the stern, empty of water but full of brown and green sludge, of interest to a marine biologist but not much to a swimmer. Most of the door locks do not fulfill their purpose, nor do some of the window hatches. Fabric on the indoor chairs is faded and torn, with grubby lace antimacassars hinting at thousands of greasy heads. The air is forlorn. It’s perfect. Our cabin has three bunks, but we’re the only ones in it. We even have a porthole. There are three sinks, a loo and a shower, ceramic mugs with lids and piping hot water in three of those amazing Chinese thermoses. Stiff white sheets and scratchy blankets tucked mercilessly into bunks. As luxurious to us as any cruise ship could ever be. We have three days on a slow boat from China!
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