I liked Zhang Shan Quan the minute I laid eyes on him. Tan and strong, he had the look and composure of a man in charge. He was busy supervising an army of stickmen who were bouncing up and down narrow gangplanks unloading bricks from his boat. Zhang and his wife, Zhou Shu Yan, live aboard their flat-bottom canal boat and ply the Da Yunhe (The Grand Canal) north and south of Suzhou in Jiangsu province, China.

Spanning 1,100 miles, the Da Yunhe is the world's longest canal. Construction began in 600 A.D. and lasted many centuries, a massive and brutal endeavor that once linked Beijing with the Yellow and Yangtze river basins.

My traveling partner, Aisha, and I dreamed of sailing the Grand Canal on a family-owned workboat, but the language barrier was our problem. Zhang did not understand and thought we were joking. Still we were optimistic. Finally, he gave us a cell number and we hurried back to the hotel to contact a bilingual friend who could interpret for us. They agreed that we could sail a leg with them.

Soon they would sail for Wuxi, but when? We were invited aboard and spent the afternoon exploring the boat.

Dressed in long polyester pants, a polo-style shirt and rubber slippers, Zhou was busy adjusting the gangplanks and counting the stickmen's loads. Attractive and fit with broad shoulders, strong forearms and tough working hands, she also exuded confidence. When I attempted to help, she flashed a smile and motioned me to stay out of her way. Later, I watched as she hoisted a large bucket of canal water with a rope and washed her long black hair on the deck of the boat.

OFF AND SAILING

Early the next morning, we rode our bikes back to the pier. The boat looked different. The stickmen were gone. Yesterday, loaded with bricks, the boat floated low in the water. Today, unloaded, it towered eight feet above the canal, and there was a mound of bricks the size of a department store on the pier.

Zhang welcomed us and then quickly hoisted our bikes aboard. The boat shuddered as the huge diesel came to life. Zhou coiled the mooring lines and grabbed a heavy wooden boathook. With startling strength, she poled the bow away from the pier, and suddenly we were cruising the Grand Canal.

We were thrilled. There was an endless stream of boats coming and going, other families hauling coal, rock, sand, scrap metal, oil and gas, bricks, cement, lumber and iron. We were part of a parade of boats feeding China's economic giant. We sailed, serenaded by ships' horns, the roar of diesels, a rhythm, a hum, the music of industry on the Da Yunhe.

Under way, Zhang and Zhou were a confident and well-oiled team. They have worked the Grand Canal for 20 years and raised four children aboard the boat. Zhang relaxed at the helm and Zhou, a figure of authority, stood on the bow, waving her arms to signal their intentions on this crowded waterway. We could sense their pride. They have owned their boat for three years, have paid it off in full and maintain it in ship-shape condition. They are proud to be working for themselves. Happy, independent, successful, a life of freedom on the canal.

Southwest of Suzhou, they moored their boat against another boat on the outer ring of what looked like a boat city. Zhang and Zhou knew everyone. Families dropped by to gawk at us, the waiguoren (foreigners). The atmosphere became jovial. We told them we were from Meiguo (America). With much fanfare and laughter, we shared our phrase book and discovered many things. Zhang was 50 years old, Zhou 45. They have three daughters working in Suzhou, and a son away at college. Some boats had three generations living aboard. One lady was so proud that her new grandchild was a boy. She dropped his pants to show us.

A FEAST IN STYLE

We were invited to lunch, and soon Zhou was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and mincing pork. She welcomed Aisha's help, and the four of us feasted on prawns, chilled seaweed, chicken's feet, pork and vegetable dumplings, chow mein noodles and many rounds of bing pijiu (cold beer). We dined in their living room on the stern of the boat, an immaculately beautiful room with tile and hardwood flooring and varnished walls, ceiling and doors. It was tastefully decorated with traditional landscape paintings, fine calligraphy and red curtains for good luck. Against one wall stood a row of the ubiquitous Chinese thermos bottles. We wanted to share in the expense of the lunch, but in typical Chinese fashion, they refused.

The next morning, we pedaled back. It was time to bid farewell. We presented gifts and thanked them again for their hospitality. It was a sad moment. As we walked away, they were preparing to move the boat.

It is said that you will never know the soul of a people until you can speak to them in their own language. Unfortunately, this was proving to be true. Although we laughed, ate and drank and sailed the Da Yunhe together, we were still worlds apart. We watched them cast off, into the canal, picking up speed, Zhou on the bow, one last wave, smaller and smaller, finally gone.