By Freighter to China II
The trip fell naturally into three parts. The first was embarking from Los Angeles and the early days of getting used to being at sea. The second was what I thought of as the middle period, when I was most at home on the ship, and the third was coming back to land. We were now well into the middle period, and I found that time was starting to change its shape, losing its contours and sharp edges. The days seem to meld together, and peacefulness descended on them.
Rather than being always aware of what time it was and what I needed to do as I was at home, time now opened up and allowed me great freedom. I didn’t have to do anything except eat and sleep. This might have seemed unnerving since we are used to such structure in our lives, but it wasn’t. Without the demands of time, I actually did a great deal, becoming more and more absorbed in my reading of Chinese poetry, history, and art. Without distractions, I sank into this Chinese world which at first had seemed so strange to me, but was becoming more and more familiar as the days went by, I wanted to hold on to this feeling of timelessness as long as I could, knowing I would lose it when I returned to land.
I also found that, in this middle period, my imagination grew larger, particularly with regard to the sea. In today’s world, we have lost our sense of the lure of the sea—the sense of mystery, danger, and grandeur it always evoked. When I was in the middle of the Pacific, I felt that grandeur again. I could imagine Magellan setting out on his voyage, the Mayflower crossing the Atlantic, the whaling vessels heading into the Arctic, and even Nelson’s great battles. The longer I was at sea, the more my imagination opened up, and the more the age-old mystery of the sea came alive for me.
It was also during this middle period that I talked most with the crew. Once we were settled into the trip, there was a certain monotony to the days, so many of the crew were glad to have someone new to talk to. The person I talked with the most was the First Officer, who was often on duty on the bridge when I was there. He was a large, friendly, and very experienced Filipino in his mid-forties who had been at sea most of his adult life. As a senior officer, he had three months off each year to be home, and he talked about how hard that was on his wife and four children. To help out, his wife’s parents had lived with them for many years. His own mother died young of cancer, and he was now worried about this father who was showing signs of Alzheimer’s. Although new technology allowed him to be in touch through email and cell phones, it was still hard to be an ongoing presence in the life of his family. Other crew members said the same thing—how hard it was to balance a normal life of home and family with a life at sea.
In the slow momentum of these middle days, I also found that my diary became mostly jottings—about the weather or meals or stories the crew told me. Some days were punctuated with something new: “Life boat drill today,” “Beautiful rainbow,” or “Spotted a whale off the starboard bow.” One day we crossed the International Date line. Almost every night we put the clock back one hour—a sign outside the dining room read ‘Retard clocks one hour tonight.” Going to China, we lost one day when we crossed the International Date line; we had no Thursday that week. Coming back from China, it was the opposite; on my trip home, I had two Fridays.
I also found as these middle days passed that I was reading less about China in general and more about the remarkable Zeng Bells I was going to see. The emptiness of the sea and the distance from everyday life allowed these ancient bells to come alive for me. The more I read about them, the more amazed I felt that I was actually going to see them. And when I did see them, they were even more overwhelming than I expected, which is why they became the first story in the book.
I was now well into my second week of the trip, and, checking with the Captain one morning, I saw that we were past the Aleutian Islands and headed down toward Japan. He told me that we would see land the next afternoon. Suddenly, we were coming into civilization, nearing the end of the trip. I felt surprised by this and reluctant to let go of these peaceful days at sea. By morning, there were sea gulls flying near the bridge and fishing boats around us. In the evening, we passed through the Japanese islands into the Sea of Japan.
We had one stop to make before we reached Shanghai, which was at Busan in South Korea, where we would unload and load cargo. As we approached the harbor, the Captain put in the call for the pilot boat to guide us in. As the boat came along side, the pilot latched on to the long gangway that had been let down and climbed up onto the ship. As he came aboard, he was greeted warmly by the Captain: “Oh, its you again!” And there was coffee all around. Slowly we edged into the dock, and immediately the port crew started unloading and loading the containers. By evening, we were ready to leave.
Captain and Pilot at Pusan
As we sailed out of Pusan, the sun was just going down behind the soft hills. Small fishing boats surrounded us, highlighted by the red afterglow of the sunset. In the soft evening light, surrounded by the misty hills and the silhouettes of the small fishing boats, I felt I had arrived in an ancient time that would soon be displaced by the modernity of Shanghai. And that was true. We had one more day at sea, but already the world was catching up with me. I was getting a signal on my cell phone with two weeks of backed-up emails, and I got in touch with my travel agent to arrange for my arrival in Shanghai. Around 11:00 the next morning we arrived in Shanghai.
After we docked, I went down for lunch but soon heard on the loud speaker, “Mrs. Whitehead, please report to the ship’s office.” A Chinese medical officer was there to check my temperature because the H1N1 flu epidemic was going on at that time. A little later, I met with the ship’s agent who had my luggage brought out and escorted me down the gangway to go to immigration and meet my Shanghai travel guide. As I stepped off the gangway, I saw that a number of the crew were lined up on the deck, waving good-by to me. As much as I was looking forward to my journey in China, I felt I was leaving something special behind, not only the crew who had so generously included me in the life of their ship, but the great beauty and peace I had felt during these lovely days at sea.
Share your own memories, thoughts, and stories about bells with Jaan at: jaan@thebellsbook.com