Nine days after reaching Yünnanfu we started on our journey eastward. No one who has not experienced it can imagine the thrill of delight with which we set forth in search of adventures! We said good-bye to many helpful friends, got all our papers in order, and a letter of recommendation to the Governor of Kweichow; at an early hour of the day an escort of ten white-uniformed soldiers was waiting outside, ready to accompany us. We had seventeen coolies, and looked quite an imposing procession. First came our two four-bearer chairs, then the interpreter’s three-bearer chair, the cook’s two-bearer chair (it is important to preserve the etiquette of position), and finally four coolies carrying the luggage; part of the escort led the way and part brought up the rear. How amusing it is to see the way in which human nature asserts itself, and how many are the little comic touches of travel, which are too small to enumerate, but which lend such charm to daily life, when you have a congenial fellow traveller at your elbow! Very soon our interpreter found his mountain chair not suitable to his dignity, and told me he had decided to travel in a “paper box”: this is an accurate definition of the chair which is commonly in use, and which is so carefully enclosed that from its depths you can scarcely see anything of the scenery. When the front blind is down there is nothing to be seen, but the passenger in this chaste seclusion can indulge in philosophic meditation—or sleep. Our cook, on the other hand, found his chair an unnecessary luxury, and soon the thrifty fellow asked permission to have the money instead of the coolie hire. I willingly agreed, as he never lagged behind and was always eager to do any stray job, and to collect wild flowers for us from the fragrant rose bushes and hedgerows. That first day from Yünnanfu we passed fields full of beans and corn and rape, not to mention opium poppy, which was to be the main crop we saw all along the way in these southern provinces.