The curved stairway sweeps down to the foyer. On the floors above are the doctor's office (both traditional and Western), the masseur, the exercise room (with bike, rowing machine, free weights, treadmill), the sauna, the hair dressing salon, the barber, two gift shops, a huge dining room. In the foyer is yet another gift shop, tucked away across from the reception desk, which is in front of the bar and lounge.

And hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the foyer is a huge, globe-shaped chandelier, light sparkling through its tiers of glass drops and finials. It's the swaying of this chandelier which reminds me that I'm on board a ship cruising down the Yangtze River. The motion of the ship is sideways - rocking gently but constantly from side to side, like a duck waddling down a path. When the traffic on the river is particularly heavy, the wakes from passing river barges reverberate between the river's shores, increasing this sideways motion. This sets the chandelier swaying in a more pronounced fashion. This motion, augmented by the steady hum and vibration of the engines, and the frequent blasts on the ship's horn, are the background sensations of our five-day 1350 km journey westward into the heart of China.

In the foreground are my visual memories of the shores of the river, and the constant activity there. In the beginning, the shores - only a couple of feet above water level - were sheared off clay banks with vegetation coming right to the edge. It was obvious that the clay had been eroded recently by the heavy flow of the river. Herds of water buffaloes grazed on the lush green grasses. Soon we watched large crews of workers reinforcing or building anew high embankments back from the river, using concrete bricks in ascending rows against the erosion we had seen earlier. All day as we passed by, we watched this erosion control in various stages of completion, on both sides of the river. I could only guess at the number of people involved in this work. There were no backhoes or bulldozers or trucks - just people passing bricks along a line, or digging with shovels or raking and hoeing.

Later at the Three Gorges Dam Site, we saw countless oversized trucks, 8-storey high cranes, massive earth movers at a site which is impossible to describe. It's so big. Scrambling over every part of it, were workers welding, using pick axes and hammers, carrying equipment, guiding the cranes and earth movers, dwarfed like us by the immensity of the site. And across from the construction were single-storey rough brick buildings with corrugated metal roofs, and windows covered with plastic, set around dusty dirt courtyards. Shirts hung from make shift clotheslines; men carried cooking pots and utensils.

As we passed through the glorious scenery of the Three Gorges: Xiling, Qatang and Wu, cliff faces confronted us at every turn. Lush green vegetation covered every surface able to sustain life. Mountains disappeared into the mist. Water cascaded from huge heights in falls which tumbled into the river. And along the shores were small villages, set halfway up a height of land which was planted to the river bank with row on row of crops: cabbages, corn, lettuces, bananas. And far above these villages were large white signs painted with black numbers. The closest read 135 m and the one farther away 175 m. These are the flood levels which will occur when the Yangtze is dammed... starting next year. These people's villages will be gone. They will be moved further up the mountain side, and will begin a new way of planting crops -- with their gardens upland from their village. Those whose entire mountain will be under water will be relocated elsewhere -- a place chosen by the government, not by the farmers.

On Sunday, people came to the river to fish. With an umbrella to ward off either the sun or the rain, a family sat with a large net which was cast repeatedly into the water and retrieved in anticipation of a catch. Other groups arrived at the river bank by small river barge or sampan, drew the craft up on the shore, and wandered among the rocks and shubbery making mysterious collections of materials. Still others walked from the river bank up the side of a mountain, weaving to left and right ever higher. We could see them by their brightly coloured umbrellas, which marked their progress until covered by the dense tropical foliage.

On that same Sunday, further down the river, coal mines continued to rumble, sending their coal down long shutes to the river bank, where it filled waiting river barges. High up on one mountain face, construction continued on a new highway and high level bridge, scoops of earth falling hundreds of feet into the river from above. The lower level bridge nearby would no longer be useful -- it also would be under water.

When we arrived at Chongqing, our departure point from the cruiseship, we were warmly sent on our way by the polite and helpful crew who had kept us in such comfort for the past five days. With our hand luggage trailing us on its small wheels, we boarded a funicular to take us up the height of the river bank to the street just visible above. Once on the street, we were hit by the hot, humid, smoke-filled air of this industrial city of 31 million people. As we had experienced before, once more, we were accosted by street vendors pushing their wares into our faces, demanding that we buy post cards, umbrellas, fans, paint brushes and maps. Others grabbed our luggage, insisting that they carry our bags. We crowded together for protection and doggedly walked on, anxiously scanning the street ahead for our modern, air conditioned bus.

Judy and Ken Thomson recently returned from a 2 week trip through China. They live on the shores of Georgian Bay near Annan, Ontario.