Barbara J. Hamby

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A Sunny Day in Dalian, China

Street Vendor in Dalian

We awoke just as we pulled into the ship’s berth in Dalian, about 7:00 a.m. We had our pre-breakfast coffee, while we watched CNN news. After breakfast, we got our cameras and hats and prepared to leave on our tour, E Z Dalian. If it was the easiest of the several available tours, I’d hate to have taken any other one. However, we enjoyed most of it very much.

We had a photo stop on a high hill overlooking the city and got a few shots through the early morning haze. Our second stop was the People’s Square. Our guide told us it’s larger than Tiananmen Square in Beijing. After walking across it, I suspect he’s right. Street vendors wearing medical face masks (to protect themselves from tourists/SARS/Bird Flu?) were plentiful. Most were selling attractive kites. A butterfly kite appealed to me, but we determined none of them would fold up small enough to fit in our luggage.

Using the restroom there was an unforgettable experience. I had only American money, so the guide put a coin in for me. I picked up a square of toilet paper, which I refolded in the hope it might be slightly sanitary. Inside, everything seemed clean, but the “toilet” was floor height.

When we had to cross a couple of streets on foot, we learned that pedestrian crossings mean nothing to Chinese drivers. We had observed some such behavior in Shanghai, but Dalian seemed worse. Drivers looked right at us, pointed their vehicles at us, honked their horns and barreled through.

While we traveled through city streets, our guide pointed out buildings that were constructed during the Russian occupation in the late 1800’s, some that went up during the Japanese occupation of World War II, and more recent buildings. The great variety of architectural styles caught our attention.

After we left the People’s Square, we took a long drive through lovely winding hills covered with trees and overlooking the Yellow Sea. The sharp turns had mirrors to aid drivers in negotiating them in heavy traffic that included our tour bus and many others. While driving there and in the city traffic, we saw one funeral procession and many wedding processions. White-gowned brides posed on the beach, in open convertibles, and at picnic sites where it appeared a reception might be in progress.

At the next rest stop, I paid $1.00 just to get in the door and provided my own toilet paper (Kleenex) I had with me. The second stop was less appealing than the first, but everything looked as if it had been hosed down, so I took my chances.

Our last stop was at a huge square along a beach. On a sunny Sunday, throngs of people were everywhere. A young Chinese girl came up to us while we were trying to locate our tour guide and wanted to play the harmonica for us so we could take her picture. I had to apologize and tell her we didn’t have time. “Only five minutes,” she said. I shook my head and told her, “Sorry.”

At that stop, we finally found our group, but the 20 minutes we had been allotted stretched into an hour when the guide had to escort others to rest rooms. At each stop, his announced time was always exceeded. As a result, the last stop, for shopping, had to be canceled so the bus, already late, could be returned to the ship. A few women were loudly disappointed and berated the guide. I was delighted since I’d planned to stay on the bus anyway, having already suffered an overdose of crowds.

Back on the ship, we had lunch on the windy deck and went to our cabin to rest. I packed the one bag to be sent ahead to the hotel and stretched out for a nap. After a very short rest, I heard the boat horn blow and we pulled away at 3:00 p.m.

Last minute sorting of other items to pack and various errands such as picking up passports and handing in comment sheets, took up most of the time before dinner. We ate barbecued chicken sandwiches in our cabin and I began writing this journal. Doing this each day as went along made it so much easier to remember the events of the day.

While Al finished packing and read at double-time, trying to finish a book to return to the ship library, I went to the last-night show, featuring a pianist and the Australian singer I’d heard earlier, Seamus Early. Both put on good programs with the same back-up band that I’d enjoyed before. The pianist said he’d started playing at age four, which I would judge was somewhere between fifty and sixty years ago. He said he grew up on a farm and as long as he practiced piano every day, he didn’t have to do chores. Apparently he’d not done many chores, but practiced a lot.

Back in the cabin I ate fruit for dessert, since we were advised we could not take it with us. Then I got ready for bed.