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Show THE WAY TO TEHCHOW. IT WAS early in the morning of a cold day at the end of February when we arrived in Taku after having had a rough sea for our travel. Here the Hai Ho flows into the Yellow Sea, and passengers to Tientsin embark in another smaller boat which brings them after a day's journey to the English bund of the city. There wasn't much time to change boats, everything had to proceed in a hurry, passports to be examined (not in the simplest way), coolies carried trunks and suitcases to the river boat, officials were asking for vaccination certificates, small merchants tried to sell us Chinese curios just at the time when we could not move forwards or backwards, coolies wanted more money than we gave them, but finally we reached the deck of our little steamer. And after having reassured ourselves that all our luggage was there too, we settled down, ordered some tea, and relaxed after this exciting dis- and re-embark-ment. I could have slept immediately, but I kept myself awake by force because this was the land I had decided to come to, and now I wanted to get the first glimpses of the graceful pagodas, of those beautiful Chinese temples looking from a hillside towards the west. Now I wanted to see the rich Chinese merchants, wealthy and fat, riding in their strange carts, dressed in beautiful rich silk coats; and I wanted to see the ladies accompanying the men, in their luxurious embroidered dresses. In spite of the hot tea the boy had served me I shivered. It was misty, and a cold breeze came up from the sea. I put a blanket around my shoulders and got impatient to see the boat leave, to observe all the curious things waiting for me. Fortunately we departed soon. The boat wasn't one of those quick sailing boats cutting the water fast and smoothly as I expected and as would have fitted my restless impatience. It moved, slow and lazy, along the river, which seemed to have no current at all, and which had a funny smell of fish and dirt. There was no life on the water; no boats met us. Sometimes I couldn't believe that we were moving on at all; and suddenly the colour of the water, the grey sky, and the misty air fell on my soul. I felt lonely, distressed, abandoned. If only it had been a little warmer I would have felt better, but the second blanket I had taken out of my trunk didn't help very much. I started to walk around the deck looking at the barik right and left lest I should miss something in this strange new country. But where I expected the lovely hills there was plain without vegetation, sometimes some |
