A railroad tunnel crossed beneath the Yangtze.

I had wanted to ride it ever since I saw a photograph of its swirling lights years before.

Only now did I realize the tunnel belonged to Shanghai.

I stood outside its entrance reading the signs.

I shook my head.

“It’s a tourist attraction.”

The fare cost nearly a hundred times more than the ferry beside it.

We kept walking.

~

At the ferry terminal the ticket clerk handed us orange ping-pong balls instead of tickets.

We stood in line holding them until we reached the turnstile, where we dropped them into a white bucket before boarding.

We had missed the previous ferry by seconds.

The boat crawled back across the river while the crowd slowly grew around us.

Families.

Office workers.

Students.

Cyclists wheeling their bikes onto the dock.

By the time the ferry docked, hundreds of people waited with us.

The gates opened.

Everyone rushed for the enclosed cabin.

Dani and I ran the opposite direction.

The upper deck stood nearly empty.

We leaned against the railing as Shanghai slipped away behind us and Pudong’s skyline grew larger ahead.

Wind whipped across the river, carrying away the smell of diesel and the crush of the crowd below.

The crossing lasted barely ten minutes.

Dani smiled.

“This counts as our Yangtze cruise.”