I found out that Friday's classes were canceled. Instead, this was the first day and Opening Ceremonies of the SWFU Sports Festival. The sports meet is a huge deal in China, three days of track and field extravaganza. I was asked what I did for Sports Meet in America. I told my astonished colleagues that we don't have such a festival. Everyone participates, or at least attends. Mrs. Jiang of the Foreign Languages Dept. showed up to my Thursday class with a sleek black track suit (my students told me it's a famous Chinese brand, and very cool); all of us in the department would be wearing matching uniforms in the meet. Thursday afternoon was spent practicing our marching, learning where to stand, and when to wave the little green flag. Every department from the college was practicing in a different area: students, teachers, staff, administration.

On the big day, we all lined up at 7:50 a.m. outside the soccer stadium. I was the only foreigner in the ceremony. Some march music played over the loudspeakers. It was just one song that played over and over the entire three days. It was something I never heard before, but will recognize for the rest of my life. We marched a lap around the track, chanting "Yi, er, san, si (one, two, three, four)," trying to keep in step. This is where my four years of high school marching band practice came in handy. However, the department seems to be full of nonconformists (a good place for me!), as I heard many people counting off in English, and even one guy in Japanese. We also chanted, "Jia you!" which means, "Let's go!" I looked this up in the dictionary to find out the Chinese characters, and this term can literally mean, "Add oil," or more loosely, "Fill'er up!" People also say "jia you" at the gas station, but imagine it's said less enthusiastically.

After the circuit, we marched to the center of the field and faced the stands. There were a few hundred in the field, and the bleachers were packed. The crowd went wild. People pounded on big drums and blew through noise makers. There were some obligatory speeches made by some of the "big cheeses," or "top bananas" as my Chinese colleagues like to say. Then we did an about-face and watched some military people raise the Stars-&-Stripes, er, 5-Stars-Red-Flag. The Chinese national anthem, "March of the Volunteers," was playing. Out of habit and respect, I put my right hand on my heart as we do in the US. Then I noticed that no one else was doing this. However, some people standing near me saw this and quickly placed their right hands on their hearts as well.

The Chinese flag is not as prominent in China as the American flag is in the US. It is found in front of government buildings and schools (I don't believe it's lowered at night), usually accompanied by pastel-colored flags on either side. I have yet to find out what these other flags signify...they are just solid colors. I have never seen a flag for Yunnan Province or Kunming City. My university has a flag, but I have seen it very rarely.

Then the festivities began. I wouldn't be participating until the next day, so I watched a few events then headed home. I needed to get caught up on grading papers. Friday night, I met a former teacher of this school, an Australian who sold his house and is hanging out in Dali, writing a book. We went to the Camel Bar (expat hangout, and I've heard a 24-hour bar) and had a Western meal with four Americans, three Chinese, and an Australian. Of course, the inevitable question comes up: "Why did you come to China?" Some people here, many people I know, "just bailed." Usually the people that say this to me are in their 50s, single or recently divorced and sick of life in the US. Coming to China is a chance to start over. Some people are searching for something, and China is often a pretty exotic place...if you're bored here, it's your own fault. So in the midst of Chinese life, something is bound to to be found. Other people are secretly missionaries.

Why did I come to China? Well, right now is a great moment in history, and this my chance to be a part of it. What is happening in China has never happened before--at times the entire country seems like a giant construction site. Development is occurring on insanely fast scale. In four months, in my neighborhood, I have seen buildings--entire apartment complexes--go up. People are working from before dawn to well after dusk. In many ways, this is a Renaissance that will probably dwarf the Italian Renaissance, but no one knows what will happen. China isn't just emerging, it's re-emerging. Remember, this is a great civilization--one of the oldest in the world, and the people are very aware of their history. It is commonly believed that the almost all significant inventions were created in the Western world. However, this is not true. The Chinese are the people who invented or discovered magnets, movable type (printing), paper, gunpowder, compasses, wheelbarrows, row planting, parachutes, paper currency, and toilet paper. There is a great optimism here, an optimism usually associated with Americans.

This development is very interesting because it's not happening in neat squares: it's growing organically. Take my block, for example. I see third-world poverty, open sewers, horse-drawn carts. But on the end of my block, 50 meters away, there is a Land Rover and Jaguar dealership. I have been in the nicest restaurants of my life maybe ten minutes away. Downtown, I have even seen a Maserati dealership. And Kunming is not considered a "developed" city by any stretch of the imagination. There is a great and growing disparity between the extremely rich and the extremely poor, something causing great tension in society, something that the government is trying hard to alleviate by developing the western and rural regions. However, this is a difficult task. There are 1.3 billion people here. The US, the third most populous country in the world, has 9 cities with a population over 1 million; China has 100. Kunming, at 3.5 million, is a medium-sized Chinese city. Have you heard of Chengdu or Tianjin or Chongqing? They are each larger than New York.

But I digress. I have always been interested in China. When I was 20, I made it a goal to learn Mandarin, and now that goal is coming true. So, in short, I was curious and I came to check it out, and I am glad that I did. Soon China will be the world's number one tourist destination. Please come check it out before everyone else does. The food is great, by the way.

Back to my first Sports Festival. Saturday morning came around, and it was time for me to take part in the 4x100 meter relay. I would be running with some other English faculty (the under-35 age group) against six other departments. Our team practiced our handoffs, and I did a couple quick sprints that even impressed myself. However, we are above 6000 feet, and I am not used to running. It became very difficult to breathe, especially toward the end of my turn. We were already behind, and I didn't help. We came in fourth place for our heat. However, it was all in fun. My boss told me, "You run like a tiger!" and also proceeded to ask me questions about the non-existent American sports day, and then cheerleaders.

I watched a few other events: hurdles, shot put, javelin, 800m races, etc. and went home to take a nap. After this, I biked downtown to treat myself to some coffee and doughnuts (I found a Chinese-owned Dona Doughnut shop). As you are probably aware of now, there seems to be no traffic laws in China, so bicycling is not simply a recreational activity. It requires full concentration, a clear mind, and a tai chi-like form of negotiation. People drive cars like they are on bicycles. I stole a joke from someone, and my classes thought it very funny: "In the US, we drive on the right side of the road. In Japan, they drive on the left side. In China, people drive on *both* sides! " It's pretty true. Usually, there are off-road paved bike lanes, so I'm not worried about cars but negotiating with the thousands of cyclists. It is a form of dancing.

I was thinking about stop signs. In the US, of course, they say, "Stop." In Spain, they also say "Stop." In Morocco, they say "Qefa," and the writing looks like two people sledding on a toboggan. In Mexico, they say, "Alto." In Japan, they say "Tomare." I was trying to think of what they say in China. Then I realized I have never seen a stop sign in China! I have seen plenty of stoplights, but absent of these, it's just an open intersection. Then, on Saturday, I saw my first stop sign. It was on a side road that ran parallel with a canal. There was little, if any traffic on it, a very residential street. Up a small slope was a railroad crossing. At the crossing was a diminutive sign, but the familiar red-octagonal shape. It said, "停"/ting. I will go back to take a picture of the first Chinese stop sign I have seen in almost four months.

At Dona Doughnuts, I had some delicious pastries and sat in the first "No Smoking" section I have seen in China. This has got to be one of the most smoker-friendly countries in the world. The Chinese are 20% of the world's population, yet smoke 30% of the world's cigarettes. It's mostly the men who do the smoking. A man entering a bar or restaurant will, before even sitting down, first pull out his pack of cigarettes and pass it around to his companions. I am offered at least one cigarette each day, usually more. I always decline, but people often look confused. I have seen some Vietnamese students smoking in the classrooms during breaks and many people smoke in the school hallways and offices. If I have a guest in my apartment, no one asks whether it's ok to light up...they just ask me where the ashtray is. In some rural areas, I'm told, over 90% of the men smoke. However, the percentage of Chinese women who smoke is much less than the percentage of American women who smoke. So I saw this "No Smoking" section sign and thought it was a joke, especially when a guy in his 20s sat down and lit up. But sure enough, an employee came by and told him to put it out. He held it under the table while he finished it.

One time my dad asked me about Chinese gas stations--if they are similar to American gas stations. I had never been inside one. There is one at the end of my block, with a traditional Chinese sloped-roof over the station and the filling island. I decided to check it out. It was much smaller than a 7-11. There was some engine oil for sale, but no funnels. There were some soft drinks for sale (no soda fountains), but no coffee. You could buy bottled tea, but there were nothing cold (no coolers). You could buy some salty snacks such as the ubiquitous sunflower seeds, potato chips, etc., but no chocolate. Of course, as anywhere, cigarettes were available, but no beer. There were some interior auto accessories that people like to hang from their rear-view mirrors: red Chinese knots that say "fortune" at the bottom, in a locked display case, some gold Buddhas that people put on their dashboards for protection, some very expensive glass thermoses. There was also some shampoo for sale, dish soap, and floor mops. This is the Sinopec gas station in Bailong (White Dragon) Village.

I also went to my first Chinese Christmas party on Wednesday night. It was organized by the undergraduate English majors. It was held in a classroom with a small Christmas tree, some streamers and balloons, some ornate Christmas designs on the chalkboard, and many Chinese students eager to celebrate Christmas with foreigners. So of course, I was obligated to come. We played musical chairs, had a gift exchange (I got a Santa hat), and of course the foreigners had to sing some Christmas carols for the students. There were a lot of oranges, bananas, peanuts, and sunflower seeds. A French girl who is on an intensive Chinese course at Yunnan University also showed up. She sang a beautiful Spanish song. A Chinese student sang an English pop song. Then it was time go.

Last night I gave my first guest lecture. I talked about the Great American Road Trip, and the allure of the open road. I had some technical difficulties in the presentation. First, the room that was reserved was taken, then my music and video files wouldn't work. But all in all, it went pretty well. The students were mostly English majors, and the room was packed, and overflowed into the hallway. They were most astonished when I told them that my family has five cars. "Wow, you are rich!" one student said. Then I told them that this is pretty typical for Americans--one car per person. In China, only 5% of the population can afford a car, and being middle-class is owning a scooter. If the family is fortunate enough, they will have a car. Of course, this is changing very rapidly, and already Kunming has a bad traffic problem. However, as an American, I always find it strange that there are so few cars on my college campus...maybe a total of 11 at any given time for a campus population of 10,000.

Yesterday, I went to a meeting in the Foreign Affairs Office. We four foreign teachers were told that we will be moving tomorrow to the new building on campus. Initially, I was hesitant on moving at the end of the semester...there is too much going on, and the building was rumored to not be ready. But as my boss outlined it, everything seems to be very organized. We were asked to have three students show up on Saturday at our old place, and load everything into a waiting truck. The truck will take everything up to new building, and we can put it on the newly-operational elevators. There is no furniture to move, so it should be a lot less painful than past moves.

We were also told that we would be getting paid for the months of January and February in advance. I was told that there is an extra DVD player they forgot to put in my old apartment, and it would be installed in my new one. I may be getting a cellphone from the college. And then they gave me 300 yuan for the bike I purchased (I just have to leave it here when I go back to the US). So I was very happy. Then they gave us a tour of the new building, which I haven't been in yet.

We will be living on the 9th floor, the top floor, which overlooks the entire city of Kunming. The view is great. The main floor of the building will is a giant lobby with an enormous chandelier and marble hotel desk (and clocks indicating the time in Beijing, New York, Tokyo, London, and Moscow). There also will be a restaurant soon. The bottom six floors are dorm rooms for freshman girls. The top three floors, inaccessible from the rest of the building without a key, are hotel rooms and apartments for the "foreign experts." Then I saw our new homes.

This is by far the nicest place apartment I will have lived in: 40 square meters, all wood floors, big windows, two balconies, a large, open, fully-furnished kitchen, all brand new furniture, leather sofas and chairs in the living room, classy wooden chairs and desks in the bedroom, a swanky shower (no curtain needed--all enclosed by glass), and a 27 inch television. I told my boss this was too nice for me. Even by--especially by--American standards, this is luxurious. I asked for the west side of building, hoping to take in the night view of the city on either of my balconies. I'll take some pictures tomorrow during the move.

This morning I saw my cleaning lady, and even she seemed excited about it. She said (in Chinese--she doesn't speak any English)--"It's beautiful. You must be so happy, so happy!" Yuka will be here in less than three weeks--I think she will be really excited. Now I just received a call from the Foreign Affairs office, and my January paycheck is here, so I can pick that up a full two weeks early. I'm off.

This is a fortunate way to end 2006. 圣诞快乐！(Merry Christmas, all!)

It's mid-December in Kunming and the cherry blossoms are blooming. Other leaves are changing colors. Nature is in a state of confusion. One of my students, from the cold, cold north of China, remarked that she didn't even know what season it was. It's Christmas season, and there are a few Christmas trees in the shops, some tinsel here and there, and pictures of Santa. But Christmastime in China is very low-key, and I like it that way. I spent the past two holiday seasons working in big-box consumer electronics retail, clocking in at 4:00 the day after Thanksgiving for that 6 o'clock mad dash of greed, stacks of cash, and thinly veined accusations that I was actually hiding that product that we claimed to be out of stock. The pressure to sell extended warranties on "anything with a current passing through it." The same songs over and over on Muzak. Sleet and snow and stress.

Here in Kunming, it's palm trees, sunny skies, and highs in the upper 60s. It's like a Corona commercial but no beach (no, Lake Dian doesn't count). I've been invited to a few Christmas parties--most students I've talked to seem eager to celebrate Christmas with foreigners, so I'll do my best to bring the yuletide Christmas cheer. No eggnog this year.

During my speaking class yesterday, Bruce, the Foreign Language Dept. secretary, ran into my classroom in a state of panic. "It's an emergency!" he shouted. I stepped out in the hall as he ran down the FedEx guy. My package had finally arrived. My aunt and grandmother had shipped me a box of treats last week from Iowa. Thanks! It made it to Kunming in three days, but promptly got shipped back across the country to Shenzhen. The tracking information on the website said, "Clearance Delay." My grandmother was worried that the customs officials were eating my chocolate.

I got a call a few days later from a Ms. Lai, I assume from FedEx. "I have a box of commodities for you. The customs declaration says it's coffee and chocolate. Are these commodities for business purposes or personal use?" I told her it was for me, because those two items are like gold here in Bailong Village. I wasn't going to sell anything...but perhaps I could use it as a bribe to get my students to talk in my English Speaking classes. She promptly informed me, "Then please fax us a copy of your passport and a statement saying so." So now I have a box of Christmas sweets in my apartment, coffee, a hunk of fudge shaped like the great state, and a pile of chocolate packaged as an "Iowa cow pie." I opened this box in my class and taught my students some new vocabulary. And no, Grandma, the customs officials did not eat anything.

Last Friday night I stopped by my local for a quick beer and a chat with the owner, a Mr. Xiao Ma (Small Horse). There were some musicians setting up, and I ended up getting fed and sticking around for a night of Chinese death metal. Three bands, and one was quite good. The drummer was a girl from Beijing named Rosa Lee and she played a mean double-bass drum. There was some excellent shredding on the guitar, flashy keyboard skills, some head banging, but fortunately no moshing (too small of a venue). I've heard some great Chinese rock since I've been here: if you can find it, check out Muma, Zi Yue ("Confucius Says"--at first I thought it was Primus singing Chinese), Zhou Yunpeng, Bu Yi Ding, Zuoxiao Zuzhou (like Nick Cave/Tom Waits), Badhead and Modern Sky Records. I've also heard some very cheesy Dongbei rap, cheesy enough that I'm gonna have to buy it.



On Sunday I went to Cuihu Park with my good friend Định of the Forestry University of Vietnam and a Chinese girl named Panda. I think they have some sort of budding relationship, but, alas, he's now in Hangzhou studying bamboo and rattan and such for two months. Along with the rest of the population of Kunming, we saw thousands of beautiful Siberian gulls (Larus heuglini) who are wintering here in Kunming. They (the birds) will catch a piece of bread tossed into the air, midflight. We also saw seemingly thousands of beggars.


I am jealous how quickly the Vietnamese students are picking up the Chinese language. The two languages are from different language families, but China has strongly influenced Vietnam for thousands of years (I'm often reminded that Vietnam was a part of China longer than Yunnan Province has been). Much of the vocabulary is the same. Vietnamese and Chinese are both tonal languages. There is significant overlap of cultural cues. Vietnamese names are readily made into Chinese characters (as the entire language was formerly written), but mine is a clunky Sino-fication of "Ryan." Etc. Over the past three and a half months, I have learned much more Chinese (and Kunming-hua) than I expected to, but I am frustrated to have so far yet to go.

Another fine Sunday, I met a Chinese Lily and a Japanese Daisuke at the 1200 year-old Yuantong Zen Temple. We arrived in time to watch part of a service. There were thousands of practitioners in brown robes singing and chanting melodic hymns, bowing simultaneously, praying in front of a statue depicting the Bodhisattva of Compassion Guan Yin (Avalokiteśvara/Kannon/Gwan-eum/Quan Âm), thick clouds of incense blowing in the breeze, monks ringing bells, turtles and carp and goldfish swimming in the moat, arched bridges, fruit and red envelope offerings, the works.

We had lunch up the hill near Yunnan University. There are many foreigners and places catering to foreigners in this area, resembling a typical Eugene, Oregon Saturday Market if it suddenly became a global village and dropped into SW China: the scruffy-looking backpacking type "on the way to Laos or Chiang Mai or wherever," Frenchmen with dreadlocks, Italian punks, goateed-shaved head-pierced-&-tattooed Americans, Chinese hipsters smoking expensive cigarettes. Nobody seems to speak much Chinese in these parts. However, there are a couple good spots in this area including an English language book bar that stocks smuggled Beer Lao (both light & dark flavors).

I am hoping to get my online magazine up and running soon. Things have been really busy lately as the semester will conclude in about four weeks. Right now I am trying to get caught up on correcting all the papers from my composition classes (about 150 assignments coming in on a weekly basis and I'm seriously behind), teaching a group of 12 year-olds once a week, teaching a group of 5 year-olds once a week, writing lesson plans, teaching grad students 16 hours a week, taking Chinese classes whenever I can, popping in on a third-semester Japanese class conducted in Chinese (now that's tricky), running a weekly film club, tomorrow I'm giving a thematic lecture to the English major undergrads on the Great American Road Trip and the Allure of the Open Road (in pop culture and personal experience), Saturday morning I'm participating with the Foreign Languages Dept in the school-wide Sports Day, and hopefully tomorrow afternoon I'll have some time to do some weightlifting with one of my students named Earth. I still have time for a three-hour siesta each day. Some Chinese people expressed concern that we Americans don't typically have a rest in the middle of the day. Also they are concerned that we drink ice water even in winter.

I am missing something in my routine. It's called music. Also I am very excited for Yuka to come next month, and possibly Mariko. And as always, I enjoy hearing from all my friends and loved ones!

Thank you and goodnight.

Amateur - Lasse Gjertsen

On a fine sunny Sunday, I ventured down to Cuihu Park, Kunming's answer to New York's Central Park or London's Hyde Park and a little of Marrakech's Djemaa dl-Fna thrown in (although at night, my own neighborhood looks like a tiny nighttime Djemaa el-Fna, can't beat it). Cuihu's got to be one of the best parks in the world. The name means Green Lake and it dates back to the Ming Dynasty. It's right in downtown Kunming, a breath of fresh air amid the drab concrete buildings and honking cars. It's got Hanzhou-style arched bridges crisscrossing four small willow-lined lakes, brightly colored pavilions, vendors selling food, and traditional Chinese musicians. Beautiful Siberian seagulls spend the winter here. Did I mention it's free? On a sunny Sunday, this scene is nothing short of glorious.

I was asked to pose for four or five photos with Chinese strangers, but really when are the Chinese strangers? I saw an old minority woman in traditional clothes and bound feet. She hobbled along. I saw a beautiful young Bai woman in traditional dress out for a stroll with her parents. I heard some amazing music and listened for an hour or so. During this time, I read some Jack Kerouac: "Food is always better eaten in doleful little pinchfuls off the ends of chopsticks, no gobbling, the reason why Darwin's law of survival applies best to China: if you don't know how to handle a chopstick and stick it in that family pot with the best of 'em, you'll starve. I ended up flubbing it all up my forefinger anyhow." I can't remember the last time I used a fork or knife.

Right now is dry season in Kunming, so the sun is bright and the sky is majestic. Just about every day. The mornings and evenings are a little chilly, jacket weather, but by the afternoon the weather's figured itself out enough to be perfect. Some leaves have turned colors, but other flowers are blooming and the grass is green. I stepped inside a music shop and tried playing the erhu, a Chinese two-stringed violin. Also I dabbled with the yueqi, the "moon guitar." They had a few more instruments, but I had an intense cold and a runny nose, so it was time to stop sniffling and head home. I stumbled through the flower and bird market in Kunming Old Town (or what's left of it, unfortunately), very fascinating. I peeked in a Chinese antique shop--these are always the best. Old coins, stacks and stacks of Little Red Books (required reading during the Cultural Revolution), Mao buttons, the obligatory Japanese samurai swords leftover from the occupation.

I have been here three months now. I have had three colds. Each cold was treated quite effectively with Chinese medicine and a trip to the mountains and fresh air. Last weekend I had a cold and went up to Xi Shan/The Western Hills with one of my classes. "Hills" is an understatement. We left early Saturday morning and found a "bread bus," a 17-seater that would drive us from the bus station up, up, up into the hills. It started out pleasant: students taking turns singing folk songs, including a new one about the railway to Tibet. Soon it became apparent that this driver was extremely aggressive, his right hand permanently pressing the horn, cigarette dangling from his mouth, occasionally driving the bus into the bicycle lanes when traffic was too congested and ignoring red lights. He did not relent when we reached the winding roads of Xi Shan. We zigzagged up into the mountains, whizzing past 500 year-old Buddhist and Taoist temples, dodging dogs and pedestrians, horses, cars. Soon some students became carsick. By the time we reached the village at the top, each side of the bus had a girl hanging out the window, vomiting, gasping for fresh air and escape from nausea. The driver did not relent with his mad dash to the top or blaring that horn.

We stayed at a hotel in the mountains that served us a home-cooked meal in the courtyard. Some students elected to play mahjong or sing karaoke, but it was too nice to be inside. A few of us hiked up through the karst topography of Little Stone Forest. It is obligatory to shout a "Hoo!!!" at any significant peak. Others will respond. I think the Chinese, being mountain people through-and-through, do it best. Maybe this is worldwide. I don't know. I'm from Iowa, where the highest point is Hawkeye Point, on the Sterler Farm in Osceola County, a pitiful 1670 feet above sea level. As I write this, from the ground floor of my apartment building, I am already 6,265 feet up, 1000 feet higher than Denver. Lhasa, that city down in the valleys of Tibet, is twice as high as here. And that ain't nothing. We peered down hundreds of feet off sheer cliffs to the massive and toxic Lake Dian (an unnatural chemical green from all the surrounding factories). In the middle of the rocks, wherever possible, were boards set up vertically, holding about 36 brightly colored balloons. For 2 yuan, you could shoot a BB gun and try to pop them. These were all over, along with people selling plastic bird-shaped whistles that gave a tweet tweet. Way up in the mountains! Where did they come from? We talked with some Kunming locals way up there, whose dialect was difficult even for the students from neighboring provinces. One man in a worn suit jacket told me, "Be careful up here. Your life is valuable but mine is worthless." What do you say to that? Even if you could speak Kunming-hua?

After returning to the hotel, I had a long nap. I got my own room, and the door opened out into a view that stretched into eternity sunshine Shangri-La. We had a home-cooked supper, this time inside, and persuaded the hotel owners to get a bonfire going in their courtyard. So they took a big old wok, filled it with wood, and we had a warm fire going in no time. There was some fire dancing, a game of "hot potato," but instead of a potato, it was played with a chopstick. And we played some truth-or-dare. This was nothing like American truth-or-dare. I think the most risqué moment was when a male student had to carry a female student around the circle on his back. In front of everyone! Or when a girl had to call her boyfriend in Inner Mongolia and tell him that she loved him. In front of everyone! There is an innocence and freshness here that we have somehow lost in America.

The next day, we hiked up another hill, this time straight up, through a tree (not stone) forest, to a summit that gave us an inspiring view of all of the whiteness of Kunming City and beyond. At top was a 150 year-old Buddhist pavilion and a very modern military radar station, done in traditional Chinese style, arched roofs and all. After returning for lunch, it was soon time to go back to Kunming. I was exhausted and slept on the bus.

One student woke me up. "Koby wants to meet us at Baita Road." "Huh? Why?" "I don't know." So we got off at Baita Road. Sure enough, Koby was there in suit and tie along with a friend. They quickly escorted us to a fancy karaoke hall, to a private room filled with about 10 familiar faces. They insisted that I sing some English hit songs. Let me warn you about Western pop music in China: it's bad. Everyone loves Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On," (and all of Titanic for that matter) which they insisted I sing. Also, they wanted to hear me sing some Michael Jackson (who is still huge here, along with Michael Bolton and Kenny G and the Backstreet Boys, seriously). One time, a friend, a really cool and trendy guy, broke out his top-of-the-line MP3 cellphone and played "Right Here Waiting" by Richard Marx.... The cheesier the better. "Sleepless in Seattle" is by far one of the most popular movies in China. So please, America, please Europe, please whoever, send some better Western pop culture over here to China, at least for my sake.

After karaoke, we went out to eat, had some delicious lotus root (a delicacy I haven't seen in the States), eggplant, tofu, and a big pot of sour fish soup. About ten people came back to my place for a night of singing and playing guitar and drinking beer and by then I was really exhausted.

Thanksgiving was last week. Many students wished me a happy Thanksgiving, but it didn't really feel like Thanksgiving. First of all, I had to work. Second of all, Lester and I went for supper at a Xinjiang restaurant and ate naan bread and watched Uighur traditional music videos. The only pilgrims around were those on the road to Mecca.

This week I've gotten a couple of calls out of the blue from parents in the neighborhood who want me to teach their kids English. The first group was four 12-year-olds, very well behaved, two of them who spoke better English than some of my grad students. I showed them Google Earth on my computer, zoomed in on my school where I teach. I zoomed in on my Kunming apartment, then I whisked them around the world to show my father's house, zoomed out to show my tiny hometown, then to Oregon to show my girlfriend's apartment, and back to China to show the Forbidden City of Beijing. I love Google Earth. It was fun.

Tonight, however, was different. I had five 5-year-olds show up, and two parents to supervise. It was madness from when I opened the door. I tried to teach them some vocabulary, but when I could get two or three of them to focus, the other ones would start digging through my apartment which was not kidproofed to begin with. They broke two things, shouted, and fought over markers. I finally got them to focus and draw pictures of Yuka and me (Yuka, you are blond and have green skin). They liked to draw pictures of butts (Pigu! Pigu!).

I've been here long enough that life is starting to eek out some sort of pattern. So I'll try to elaborate the best I can on daily life in my home, Bailong Village.

1. Midnight.

Chinese people typically go to bed early and get up early. After 11 or so, the bustling street that runs past my house is dead. Maybe you can see one or two people going home, and a guy selling barbecue under a red lamp, lit by a car battery under his grill. By now the bars are closed, the street vendors are packing up, and most people are asleep. Up and down my street there are about 20 hotels with flickering neon signs; many students live here illegally instead of in the dorms. Bailong Village isn't really a tourist destination. However, a little outside my village, on the main road connecting Bailong Village and downtown Kunming, I do still hear the big blue construction trucks blaring their air horns up and down the street 24 hours a day. The mosquitoes are a nuisance year round.

2. Morning.

I usually wake up between 5:30 and 6 a.m. I go to the kitchen, turn on the propane-fueled hot water heater, and hop into the shower. Chinese bathrooms of the middle-class lifestyle typically have a sink, a western-style toilet, and a very, very small bathtub. There is no shower curtain, so water sprays everywhere. Apparently, you can buy a shower curtain & rod (very rare items) at one of the Wal-Marts downtown, but I don't go to Wal-Mart, not even in China. The sink has two faucets, but no hot water comes from them. On top of most of the apartment buildings here are giant solar panels that heat tanks of water. Most people get their hot shower water this way, and don't have water heaters. You can't flush toilet paper down the toilet as the sewers can't handle it.

One superior form of Chinese engineering is the thermos. You will see these thermoses everywhere. The thermos is huge, holding about 2L of water, and keeping it hot for *days.* I boil a kettle of water a few times a week so I can enjoy a cup of Nescafé instant coffee or a glass of water in the morning. (Coffee and chocolate are very hard to find here, especially those of decent quality. There are a few coffeeshops downtown, but it's expensive.) Also, you can't drink the tap water, so the water must be boiled or bottled.

Each morning at about 6:30, I hear a person dribbling a basketball down to the apartment complex's court. At about 7:30, young children start swarming the preschool next door to my apartment. Around 8:00, senior citizens congregate on the basketball court to practice tai chi, tai chi with fake swords, tai chi with folding fans, traditional dancing, balancing a tennis ball on a racket while moving around, basketball, anything. Senior citizens in China lead very active lives. There is a bus from my apartment complex up the big hill to the college. I live away from campus, a good 20 minute hike up a steep hill. So the college bought a bus to ferry the teachers up and down a few times a day. It's pretty crowded in the morning as most teachers have class at 8:00. Many things here are pretty crowded.

I put on my jacket and usually have breakfast at the open market; a big bowl of freshly made rice or wheat noodles, mint, cilantro, pickled vegetables, and chili pepper set me back 2.5 yuan, about 30 cents. I see people brushing their teeth and women washing their hair in the street. Cleaning ladies are sweeping all the garbage and other debris up. There are a lot of stray dogs, but all of them are very small. I am told that owning a dog is forbidden in Kunming, but it hasn't stopped anyone. At the open market, you can get dogmeat noodles, so I am told.

Alternately for breakfast, I'll buy a piece of pocket bread stuffed with grilled tofu and other mixed vegetables and spices for 1 yuan, about 12.5 cents. It is unbelievably delicious. The owners make everything from scratch and cook it up on the back of their bicycle. You'd be surprised at how much goes on and comes off of bikes here. Sometimes I ride my bicycle up to school instead of taking the bus.

It is also convenient to take the sanlunche (三轮车), one of the splendors of the Orient. This is a three-wheeled vehicle; the front half resembles a motorcycle, and the back half is an enclosed square box with two padded benches and curtains for privacy or warmth. It's usually powered by a motorcycle--some call it an auto rickshaw, but sometimes it's powered by foot. It's very important to negotiate the price before getting in! The driver wears a thin red plastic helmet.

I teach in the main teaching building, a seven story contraption that many people here call "Budala-gong" (布达拉宫) because of its resemblance to Potala Palace in Lhasa, Tibet. Chinese buildings six stories or less do not typically have elevators. Almost everyone, including myself, lives in six-story concrete buildings that bear a striking resemblance to one another. Almost every building here is made of concrete and covered with white bathroom tile. I walk down the dark hallway to my class. The hallways are usually unlit. No buildings in Kunming have central heating. I have about 35 students in each class, a blackboard, and chalk. There are no computers, overhead projectors, or texts in my classes. Each class lasts two hours with a ten minute break halfway through. I also take Chinese classes in this building. The bathrooms in the building are somewhat clean, although a bit smelly. The men's restroom is indicated with a "男" and the women's with a "女." The toilets are the typical squat toilets and there is usually water all over the floor. When you use a squat toilet, your back faces the wall. Toilet paper and hand towels are almost never provided in Chinese restrooms, so remember to bring your own. Also, did you remember not to throw the toilet paper in the toilet?

Afternoon.

I usually eat lunch with my students or with my Vietnamese classmates from my Chinese class. It is very rare to eat alone in China. My college has two main dining halls (very crowded at meal time), a Muslim restaurant (my favorite place to eat, although it's usually a 10 minute wait to get in the door), and a third small dining hall. Near the Muslim restaurant there is a long line of students filling their thermoses up with hot water. I often see my students lugging their thermoses to class. The metal school-lunch tray comes with a large serving of rice (0.7 yuan, about 9 cents), then a variety of fixin's in the buffet line, ranging in price from 0.6 yuan to 2.5 yuan per item. Chinese students often complain about the quality of cafeteria food--I assume this is the case of students anywhere--and I assure you that Chinese cafeteria food is much better than the cafeteria food I ate in the US & England. Also there are a few a-la-carte options such as noodles cooked in a clay pot, fried rice, Chinese burritos, bread, sweets. There is an attached convenience store where it's even possible to buy beer. It's not too bad eating there, although I pass on the ever-popular "Coffee Cola."

Most people have a two or three hour siesta after lunch. I have a three hour break and usually come home after lunch, check my email, and chat with Yuka whenever she's online. I am constantly reminded that it's important to take a nap, so I try to do that, but it's very strange for me to sleep during the daytime. I head back up the hill for my afternoon class, and have supper around 5 p.m. with my students. I often eat with Koby, the basketball superstar who knows everyone in Bailong Village. He tirelessly recruits other students to come with us, and usually tries to invite pretty girls he doesn't even know (it hasn't worked yet). He is the kind of student who learns more outside of class than inside, so it is a great opportunity for him to improve his English (and he is undoubtedly improving).

In the late afternoon, the street fills up with fruit vendors selling apples, oranges, pomegranates, pomelos, durians, bananas, pineapples, grapes off the back of bicycles. Also there are a few larger horse-drawn carts selling watermelons. There are many people selling snacks from their stalls. This chaos is set in the middle of the street, with all the vehicles, bicycles and pedestrians, and the shepherd boys bringing their flocks home from a day at the pasture. Each day it's a sight to behold and a chance to pinch myself and remind me that I'm in China. Wow.

Evenings.

After supper, I usually return home again. This is one thing I like about China: not so many cars, so people are always out walking around; it's inevitable that you will run into people you know, especially if you're a foreigner. It is a good time to make plans for the evening. Around dusk, all the barbecue people set up their red canopies and knee-high tables and ankle-high stools for a night of some serious grilling. Next to my apartment complex there is a restaurant of some repute. People go here for birthdays, celebrations, and occasionally weddings. It is a rowdy restaurant. Public vomiting is not really frowned upon here like it is in the US, and more often than not, you must watch your step in front of this restaurant, if you know what I mean. My colleague & friend Marietta said, "It must say something about the food there."

At the entrance of my compound, a guy on a motorcycle brings a daily big barrel of milk and people line up with their pots to fill up. Milk is popular here, but scarce. It usually comes from Inner Mongolia. I say, if you want to make money in China, sell milk. I've often been given a packet of milk as a treat, although I'm not a big fan of milk, I must be polite as it's relatively expensive. It is a person of status who is a milk drinker.

At my apartment complex in the evenings, the center of everything is the basketball court. The activity lasts from about 8 p.m. until 11 p.m. There are kids running around with toy battle axes, games of soft-volleyball with serious officials and whistles and cheers and flipping scores; old men standing around, smoking, and shooting hoops (simultaneously).

This is a bare-bones view of what goes on in Bailong Village daily life. There is plenty more that adds color and confusion and joy to my experience, and I'll get to that next time.

Chairman Mao gave me a call on Saturday morning to let me know there was a bus load of Vietnamese students waiting outside my gate. I hopped in and we all headed to the zoo, up in the mountains northeast of Kunming. As you remember, this is not Mao Zedong, the founder of this great nation, but Prof. Dr. Tran Van Mao, the director of the Center for the Environment and Sustainable Forestry Development at Vietnam Forestry University. His business card reads, "Outstanding Scientist of the 21st Century."

Chinese zoos are not like American zoos. And this happened to be a wild animal park. If you want to have your picture taken holding a monkey, you can do that. If you want to take a bamboo fishing rod and lower a hunk of meat down to a tiger, you can do that. If you want to climb on a (tamed) tiger and take a picture, you can do that. Etc. The animals' living conditions weren't as bad as I initially feared and there were some interesting species: Himalayan griffins, red pandas (they look like raccoons), white tigers. Oftentimes in China, I feel like I'm an animal in a zoo and people are watching me. This wild animal park was a pleasant diversion from all that--people had *real* animals to look at rather than random foreigners.

As far as I could tell, kids were turned loose in this huge park (it took us all day to go through). Next to the leaping tigers and somersaulting bears, I saw some 12 year old boys chugging a beer, but none of the adults around seemed to mind. Times like these remind me I'm not in the US. We often ran into a group of 12 year old girls. It was fun trying to communicate with them because none of us foreigners spoke much Chinese (the Vietnamese are here on a language program and are also beginners, most of them at about the same proficiency of Putonghua as I am).

I think we stopped at least eight times for a snack/meal break. When I had earlier stepped onto the bus, I noticed bags and bags of bananas, apples, oranges, potato chips (Oishi brand--cucumber, wasabi, and spicy flavors), bottled water, peanuts, sunflower seeds, etc. I thought this was for lunch, but instead we were constantly stopping to eat. I suppose the Vietnamese are just as crazy about food as the Chinese. These breaks lasted at least 20 minutes, so you can imagine the amount of food eaten by about 25 youngsters.

When it came time to leave the park, the large group had split into two. I was part of the first group, and waited about an hour for the second group to come. In the meantime, I bought a boiled ear of corn and enjoyed some corn on the cob like I was home in Iowa. One distressed-looking Chinese woman came up to me. "Excuse me, do you speak English?" Of course. "Well, I'm trying to get back to the Sakura Hotel and I'm afraid I missed the last taxi. I'm from Hong Kong and don't speak Mandarin too well. Can you help me?"

A Chinese woman asked me to help her with Chinese. For all of you who think that "Chinese" is just one language, here is your counterexample. In Hong Kong, they speak Cantonese which is completely different from Mandarin (which is spoken in Kunming, although Kunming has its own dialect, still more or less Mandarin). The similarity between the languages is something like Spanish and French. The written language is basically the same, but Hong Kong uses traditional Chinese characters while Mainland China uses simplified Chinese characters. So even a short note may be very difficult to understand, and many people here are only semi-literate.

I mustered up my best Chinese and asked one man how she could take the bus back. "Mei you," he shot back..."don't have" or "no" or "I don't know what to say to this foreigner." She tried her best in Mandarin. Her tones sounded very natural but her language flow was stop & start just like mine. Eventually, we got her a taxi and she was very grateful. She said if I am ever in Hong Kong and need a help, I can call her. All in all, very strange.

We posed for some pictures with the 12 year-old girls. They were delighted to jump on my back (two at a time) and make funny faces around the foreigner. I'm not sure who the culprit was, but someone yanked out one of my hairs for a souvenir!

Later that night, a few close friends and I went out for dinner at a fancy Thai/Burmese restaurant set up in an old house. We got to sit out in the courtyard. Very nice. But our lingering there inadvertently caused some hurt feelings.

I told my students and some other people I would be having a party at the Lao Chang Ji Jiu Ba (The Old Record Player Bar), which serves as my local. I told them it would begin at 9:30. Due to some traffic jams and other nonsense, we didn't end up getting back to Bailong Village until 10. I thought, no problem. No one comes to a party at the beginning, right? Like with my French friends...if a party is supposed to start at 9:30, no one will show up until after 11. But in Chinese culture, if a party begins at 9:30, people start showing up at 9. Some people were worried that I had forgotten about them and wasn't going to show.

But the mood quickly changed. As soon as I entered the door (actually as I was coming down the street), I was showered with balloons, gifts, a bouquet of 2 dozen red roses, an enormous cake, and tons of cheers. I was overwhelmed. I've never had a birthday like this. I started to become a little emotional, tears welling up in my eyes, my voice cracking a little, until....POP! POP! POP!

One of my mischievous students named Koby (presumably after Kobe Bryant) held a candle to the balloons nearest my face and I was met with an explosion and an immediate smell burnt rubber and scorched hair. I had pieces of melted balloon all over my head, my eyebrows were singed, my sideburns toasted. Happily, Koby got it too. He disappeared after that, and reappeared about 40 minutes later with his head shaved.

We carved up the cake and the festivities truly began. In China, a cake is a big, big deal. I cannot overstate it. It is not only admired and eaten, but also smeared all over the birthday boy's face (students' too, can't forget that). At midnight, a completely unassociated patron came down from upstairs and started breakdancing.

All in all, it was a great celebration. I had my hair plucked out, lit on fire, and cake thrown in my face.

I took it easy the next day. Some students showed up at my apartment and took me out for lunch at a nearby restaurant. For supper, one woman who teaches philosophy at a nearby university took Lester and me out to eat at a very fine Chinese restaurant. This time it was bamboo root, goat cheese and tomatoes, some vegetables I've never seen before in my life, and braised tofu. She took us for desert to the Prague Cafe on Wenlin St. and treated us to cheesecake, something I thought I would never see in China. It was delicious.

This woman's English name is Emily and she is from Lijiang, a UNESCO World Heritage town in Yunnan. She is ethnic Naxi and can read and write the Dongba script, which is the only remaining hieroglyphics system in the world. She's been to Hawaii and Europe to give lectures on it. So a very entertaining lady. I think Lester has a crush on her. She invited us to Lijiang (the old part of the town) to her house and promised to treat us to authentic Lijiangese cuisine. I will take her up on that.

Many holidays in China are based on the lunar calendar. People have two birthdays in China--solar & lunar, and the big day is on the lunar (I found out that my other birthday was back in September, too late). I am beginning to appreciate the lunar calendar. At first, I thought it was some arbitrary and unpredictable, outdated system for keeping time. But I'm realizing that this calendar is much more in touch with the change of seasons, the weather, the rhythms of every day life. Perhaps the good ole solar calendar is best for iron-clad accuracy and leap years and such, but isn't it strange that the first day of winter is December 22 this year? Hasn't it been winter for a few weeks before that? To the Chinese, Winter Solstice (Dec. 22) is "Midwinter," which makes more sense to me.

On Tuesday, November 7, it was noticeably cooler, as if there was a distinct change in seasons. One of my students told me, "Today is the first day of winter, so we must go out to eat something hot and then we can stay warm all winter long." Two other students found another way to keep me warm: they gave me a small bottle of Erguotou Jiu ("twice distilled spirits"/二锅头酒), which is 56% V/V firewater from Beijing. I'm a little nervous to open that, so it remains on my kitchen counter...

So we went out to eat with four Chinese and a Vietnamese. After the lengthy meal (no, I didn't eat dog) and plenty of toasts, including being encouraged to shout "Vietnam Mun Nam" which apparently means "Vietnam is Number One," we went next door to my friend's pub. They had a small campfire burning on the sidewalk. It was actually very cozy and reminded me of home. Until someone showed up with a serving of fried grasshoppers (I had to try that...they remove the legs and it's not too bad, a little oily). The owner of the bar, who speaks very good English, broke out his erhu (二胡/two-stringed Chinese fiddle) and started playing folk tunes. His friend builds traditional Chinese instruments, and he plans on introducing us when the opportunity arises. I've been very keen in learning a Chinese instrument even before I arrived here in the Middle Kingdom. Here is a video of Wang Guowei playing the erhu.

My film club continues well attended, and volleyball has ended tonight with a sound drubbing by the administrative dept. The coach of the Foreign Language Dept. is a Ms. Jiang, a former sergeant in the Chinese Army. I was a benchwarmer, but still part of the team. ....! Hao qiu! I am seeking redemption once basketball starts. Last year, the Foreign Languages Men's team was last place. That will not happen again this year, I assure you. Most people here stand about eight inches shorter than me.

Last weekend, I ate. And ate. First, I got invited to go out to eat with one of my students for her birthday. We went to a Chongqing hotpot restaurant. As soon as I walked into the haze, my eyes started burning and I had to sneeze. Food from Chongqing and Sichuan (Szechuan) in general is HOT. People were coughing and noses were running. It was a fine meal. Not sure about the duck intestines. In hotpot, anything goes. And afterwards, about 15 of us hit the KTV (karaoke) palace for a grand ole time singing Hotel California and drinking Coors Light in a private room.

On Saturday, I visited Heilongtan (Black Dragon Pool/黑龙潭) and took in the beautiful park, the enormous gold temple carp (koi), the paddle boats that look like goofy cars on the water, the ancient Buddhist temple, and fragrant incense. There was a pagoda from the Han Dynasty, a Ming Dynasty inscription, a tree from the Sung Dynasty, you name it. History was rich there, a thousand years back in one place. Even got in free, because my friend's sister works for the Parks Bureau.

That afternoon, we went to a teahouse Golden Horse Gate, drank some fine Yunnan tea, and met some cousins of my friend's. These people whom I have never met before took us out to a very fancy restaurant serving mushroom hotpot. This time the crazy ingredient was sheep stomach. I was glad to meet a Thai woman who speaks very good English, an adorable three year-old girl and her new Barbie, a man called "The Graduate," and another man curiously named "Saddam Confucius." The host provided a large plastic Coca Cola bottle filled with bootleg baijiu from Xishangbanna.

On Sunday evening, my student Koby showed up with two other students and invited me to eat at a Hunan restaurant. I have a lot of stories about Koby. I believe his heart is entirely made of basketball. He speaks a thick Hunan dialect which makes it hard for his countrymen to understand him. He likes to flirt with girls, although he doesn't seem as successful as he wishes. He also adores Michael Jordan. (And it goes without saying, Yao Ming.) Koby's a great guy.

The Hunan food was delicious, and very different from the Yunnan food I've been eating. I've heard that each province in China is like its own country, and I'm beginning to believe it. We had braised bean curd, carp soup, some mysterious thing that my students claimed was tofu but tasted like sausage, and huge river snails. On the way back, I expressed a curiosity in some long sticks a man was selling off the back of his bicycle. What was it? I ended up shoving two five-foot sticks of sugarcane into the back of a taxi. That's the snack for my 8:00 a.m. writing class tomorrow.

To eat sugarcane, you need a machete; that's how cool of a snack it is.

Later on, I got a massage on the street, right in front of the Guangdong Development Bank's front door. There are usually three or four older blind people giving 45 minute massages for 10 kuai (about $1.25). They laugh at my poor attempts at speaking Kunming dialect. The massages are different from the US, and seemed to be based on some Taoist principles. This time the massage was mostly directed at my head, including a painful thirty seconds when I thought the old man was going to crush my skull. But, as always, I came away feeling like a million bucks and slept like a baby.

Chairman Mao gave me a call on Saturday morning to let me know there was a bus load of Vietnamese students waiting outside my gate. I hopped in and we all headed to the zoo, up in the mountains northeast of Kunming. As you remember, this is not Mao Zedong, the founder of this great nation, but Prof. Dr. Tran Van Mao, the director of the Center for the Environment and Sustainable Forestry Development at Vietnam Forestry University. His business card reads, "Outstanding Scientist of the 21st Century."

Chinese zoos are not like American zoos. And this happened to be a wild animal park. If you want to have your picture taken holding a monkey, you can do that. If you want to take a bamboo fishing rod and lower a hunk of meat down to a tiger, you can do that. If you want to climb on a (tamed) tiger and take a picture, you can do that. Etc. The animals' living conditions weren't as bad as I initially feared and there were some interesting species: Himalayan griffins, red pandas (they look like raccoons), white tigers. Oftentimes in China, I feel like I'm an animal in a zoo and people are watching me. This wild animal park was a pleasant diversion from all that--people had *real* animals to look at rather than random foreigners.

As far as I could tell, kids were turned loose in this huge park (it took us all day to go through). Next to the leaping tigers and somersaulting bears, I saw some 12 year old boys chugging a beer, but none of the adults around seemed to mind. Times like these remind me I'm not in the US. We often ran into a group of 12 year old girls. It was fun trying to communicate with them because none of us foreigners spoke much Chinese (the Vietnamese are here on a language program and are also beginners, most of them at about the same proficiency of Putonghua as I am).

I think we stopped at least eight times for a snack/meal break. When I had earlier stepped onto the bus, I noticed bags and bags of bananas, apples, oranges, potato chips (Oishi brand--cucumber, wasabi, and spicy flavors), bottled water, peanuts, sunflower seeds, etc. I thought this was for lunch, but instead we were constantly stopping to eat. I suppose the Vietnamese are just as crazy about food as the Chinese. These breaks lasted at least 20 minutes, so you can imagine the amount of food eaten by about 25 youngsters.

When it came time to leave the park, the large group had split into two. I was part of the first group, and waited about an hour for the second group to come. In the meantime, I bought a boiled ear of corn and enjoyed some corn on the cob like I was home in Iowa. One distressed-looking Chinese woman came up to me. "Excuse me, do you speak English?" Of course. "Well, I'm trying to get back to the Sakura Hotel and I'm afraid I missed the last taxi. I'm from Hong Kong and don't speak Mandarin too well. Can you help me?"

A Chinese woman asked me to help her with Chinese. For all of you who think that "Chinese" is just one language, here is your counterexample. In Hong Kong, they speak Cantonese which is completely different from Mandarin (which is spoken in Kunming, although Kunming has its own dialect, still more or less Mandarin). The similarity between the languages is something like Spanish and French. The written language is basically the same, but Hong Kong uses traditional Chinese characters while Mainland China uses simplified Chinese characters. So even a short note may be very difficult to understand, and many people here are only semi-literate.

I mustered up my best Chinese and asked one man how she could take the bus back. "Mei you," he shot back..."don't have" or "no" or "I don't know what to say to this foreigner." She tried her best in Mandarin. Her tones sounded very natural but her language flow was stop & start just like mine. Eventually, we got her a taxi and she was very grateful. She said if I am ever in Hong Kong and need a help, I can call her. All in all, very strange.

We posed for some pictures with the 12 year-old girls. They were delighted to jump on my back (two at a time) and make funny faces around the foreigner. I'm not sure who the culprit was, but someone yanked out one of my hairs for a souvenir!

Later that night, a few close friends and I went out for dinner at a fancy Thai/Burmese restaurant set up in an old house. We got to sit out in the courtyard. Very nice. But our lingering there inadvertently caused some hurt feelings.

I told my students and some other people I would be having a party at the Lao Chang Ji Jiu Ba (The Old Record Player Bar), which serves as my local. I told them it would begin at 9:30. Due to some traffic jams and other nonsense, we didn't end up getting back to Bailong Village until 10. I thought, no problem. No one comes to a party at the beginning, right? Like with my French friends...if a party is supposed to start at 9:30, no one will show up until after 11. But in Chinese culture, if a party begins at 9:30, people start showing up at 9. Some people were worried that I had forgotten about them and wasn't going to show.

But the mood quickly changed. As soon as I entered the door (actually as I was coming down the street), I was showered with balloons, gifts, a bouquet of 2 dozen red roses, an enormous cake, and tons of cheers. I was overwhelmed. I've never had a birthday like this. I started to become a little emotional, tears welling up in my eyes, my voice cracking a little, until....POP! POP! POP!

One of my mischievous students named Koby (presumably after Kobe Bryant) held a candle to the balloons nearest my face and I was met with an explosion and an immediate smell burnt rubber and scorched hair. I had pieces of melted balloon all over my head, my eyebrows were singed, my sideburns toasted. Happily, Koby got it too. He disappeared after that, and reappeared about 40 minutes later with his head shaved.

We carved up the cake and the festivities truly began. In China, a cake is a big, big deal. I cannot overstate it. It is not only admired and eaten, but also smeared all over the birthday boy's face (students' too, can't forget that). At midnight, a completely unassociated patron came down from upstairs and started breakdancing.

All in all, it was a great celebration. I had my hair plucked out, lit on fire, and cake thrown in my face.

I took it easy the next day. Some students showed up at my apartment and took me out for lunch at a nearby restaurant. For supper, one woman who teaches philosophy at a nearby university took Lester and me out to eat at a very fine Chinese restaurant. This time it was bamboo root, goat cheese and tomatoes, some vegetables I've never seen before in my life, and braised tofu. She took us for desert to the Prague Cafe on Wenlin St. and treated us to cheesecake, something I thought I would never see in China. It was delicious.

This woman's English name is Emily and she is from Lijiang, a UNESCO World Heritage town in Yunnan. She is ethnic Naxi and can read and write the Dongba script, which is the only remaining hieroglyphics system in the world. She's been to Hawaii and Europe to give lectures on it. So a very entertaining lady. I think Lester has a crush on her. She invited us to Lijiang (the old part of the town) to her house and promised to treat us to authentic Lijiangese cuisine. I will take her up on that.

Many holidays in China are based on the lunar calendar. People have two birthdays in China--solar & lunar, and the big day is on the lunar (I found out that my other birthday was back in September, too late). I am beginning to appreciate the lunar calendar. At first, I thought it was some arbitrary and unpredictable, outdated system for keeping time. But I'm realizing that this calendar is much more in touch with the change of seasons, the weather, the rhythms of every day life. Perhaps the good ole solar calendar is best for iron-clad accuracy and leap years and such, but isn't it strange that the first day of winter is December 22 this year? Hasn't it been winter for a few weeks before that? To the Chinese, Winter Solstice (Dec. 22) is "Midwinter," which makes more sense to me.

On Tuesday, November 7, it was noticeably cooler, as if there was a distinct change in seasons. One of my students told me, "Today is the first day of winter, so we must go out to eat something hot and then we can stay warm all winter long." Two other students found another way to keep me warm: they gave me a small bottle of Erguotou Jiu ("twice distilled spirits"/二锅头酒), which is 56% V/V firewater from Beijing. I'm a little nervous to open that, so it remains on my kitchen counter...

So we went out to eat with four Chinese and a Vietnamese. After the lengthy meal (no, I didn't eat dog) and plenty of toasts, including being encouraged to shout "Vietnam Mun Nam" which apparently means "Vietnam is Number One," we went next door to my friend's pub. They had a small campfire burning on the sidewalk. It was actually very cozy and reminded me of home. Until someone showed up with a serving of fried grasshoppers (I had to try that...they remove the legs and it's not too bad, a little oily). The owner of the bar, who speaks very good English, broke out his erhu (二胡/two-stringed Chinese fiddle) and started playing folk tunes. His friend builds traditional Chinese instruments, and he plans on introducing us when the opportunity arises. I've been very keen in learning a Chinese instrument even before I arrived here in the Middle Kingdom. Here is a video of Wang Guowei playing the erhu.

My film club continues well attended, and volleyball has ended tonight with a sound drubbing by the administrative dept. The coach of the Foreign Language Dept. is a Ms. Jiang, a former sergeant in the Chinese Army. I was a benchwarmer, but still part of the team. ....! Hao qiu! I am seeking redemption once basketball starts. Last year, the Foreign Languages Men's team was last place. That will not happen again this year, I assure you. Most people here stand about eight inches shorter than me.

Last weekend, I ate. And ate. First, I got invited to go out to eat with one of my students for her birthday. We went to a Chongqing hotpot restaurant. As soon as I walked into the haze, my eyes started burning and I had to sneeze. Food from Chongqing and Sichuan (Szechuan) in general is HOT. People were coughing and noses were running. It was a fine meal. Not sure about the duck intestines. In hotpot, anything goes. And afterwards, about 15 of us hit the KTV (karaoke) palace for a grand ole time singing Hotel California and drinking Coors Light in a private room.

On Saturday, I visited Heilongtan (Black Dragon Pool/黑龙潭) and took in the beautiful park, the enormous gold temple carp (koi), the paddle boats that look like goofy cars on the water, the ancient Buddhist temple, and fragrant incense. There was a pagoda from the Han Dynasty, a Ming Dynasty inscription, a tree from the Sung Dynasty, you name it. History was rich there, a thousand years back in one place. Even got in free, because my friend's sister works for the Parks Bureau.

That afternoon, we went to a teahouse Golden Horse Gate, drank some fine Yunnan tea, and met some cousins of my friend's. These people whom I have never met before took us out to a very fancy restaurant serving mushroom hotpot. This time the crazy ingredient was sheep stomach. I was glad to meet a Thai woman who speaks very good English, an adorable three year-old girl and her new Barbie, a man called "The Graduate," and another man curiously named "Saddam Confucius." The host provided a large plastic Coca Cola bottle filled with bootleg baijiu from Xishangbanna.

On Sunday evening, my student Koby showed up with two other students and invited me to eat at a Hunan restaurant. I have a lot of stories about Koby. I believe his heart is entirely made of basketball. He speaks a thick Hunan dialect which makes it hard for his countrymen to understand him. He likes to flirt with girls, although he doesn't seem as successful as he wishes. He also adores Michael Jordan. (And it goes without saying, Yao Ming.) Koby's a great guy.

The Hunan food was delicious, and very different from the Yunnan food I've been eating. I've heard that each province in China is like its own country, and I'm beginning to believe it. We had braised bean curd, carp soup, some mysterious thing that my students claimed was tofu but tasted like sausage, and huge river snails. On the way back, I expressed a curiosity in some long sticks a man was selling off the back of his bicycle. What was it? I ended up shoving two five-foot sticks of sugarcane into the back of a taxi. That's the snack for my 8:00 a.m. writing class tomorrow.

To eat sugarcane, you need a machete; that's how cool of a snack it is.

Later on, I got a massage on the street, right in front of the Guangdong Development Bank's front door. There are usually three or four older blind people giving 45 minute massages for 10 kuai (about $1.25). They laugh at my poor attempts at speaking Kunming dialect. The massages are different from the US, and seemed to be based on some Taoist principles. This time the massage was mostly directed at my head, including a painful thirty seconds when I thought the old man was going to crush my skull. But, as always, I came away feeling like a million bucks and slept like a baby.

Last Friday I went to a presentation at my college, given by a student named Victor who speaks very, very good English. He is one of the lucky few Chinese who have had the opportunity to travel abroad. He just returned a few weeks ago from a trip to Thailand and Australia, visiting a former English teacher from this college. It was a fine presentation, given in English, and included plenty of pictures. It was very interesting hearing a Chinese person's take on Western culture, which is just as alien and wild as what I am experiencing here. But I was mostly amazed with his experiences in Thailand.

In the West, we have the tendency to lump Asian cultures all together. My students were shocked when I told them that many, if not most, Americans think that Japan, Korea, and China are all basically the same. Victor showed some pictures of Thai high school students. Each day starts out with a 25-minute meditation session. There is great respect for the teacher in Thailand. When students have a question for their teachers, they kneel on the floor and ask, looking down the entire time, while the teacher sits in a chair. Although most students are very respectful here, I assure you this never happens in China!
On Saturday, I went to my colleague Marietta's birthday party. I was given the task of carrying the birthday cake to the restaurant. As I wrote earlier, cakes are a big deal in China, enough to make men sigh and women swoon. They are not as sweet as in the West, but still delicious, and exquisitely decorated with fine cuts of fruit and cherry tomatoes. The cake comes in a hard plastic box, and there is a ribbon around the box that functions as a handle. We boarded the bus and rode downtown to a restaurant, with this heavy cake suspended from my right hand.

Of course, the bus was very crowded when we boarded, and continued filling up as we got closer to downtown. Kunming buses are not unlike Tokyo subways during rush hour. I was smothered by the back door, and had to dodge the sheer humanity pouring out of the bus at each stop while jostling to make room for an influx of new commuters. All this with a heavy birthday cake dangling from my right hand. The ribbon cut into my hand. My fingers were beginning to go numb.

I was too tall to see out the windows, so I had no idea where we were, and had no idea when we were getting off. Stop after stop after stop. I was hungry. I get irritable when I'm hungry. I'm from rural Iowa, and sometimes feel stress at having to deal with so many people in such a confined place. I mean, come on, China's huge, let's spread out, people! I couldn't transfer the cake to my left hand because an elderly Bai woman had me pinned to the wall. The bus reeled to a stop. People lurched forward. The cake swung forward too, like a heavy pendulum from my purple and blue right hand. At this point, the cake became my sworn enemy.

After about an hour bumps, jerks, sways, and other lessons in momentum, it finally came time to get off this rolling coffin. I quickly shifted the cake over to my left hand. But remember this hand was also tired. This was the trusty hand that was gripping the overhead bar for the past 60 minutes. This was the hand that held both me and the cake in place, rather than careening through the mass of people in front of me, rather than toppling over the hard plastic seats and grandmothers and infant children beside me. So this heavy cake now dangled from my left hand, like a loaf of lead. I wanted to eat this cake, not out of hunger but out of animus.

We walked a block or so down Wenlin St. and met up with the rest of our party. There were three other Americans, a Swiss German, and three Chinese. We stood in a circle and chatted. On the street. I dared not put the cake down on the street due to propriety. I've seen what people and stray dogs do on the street, especially on a Saturday night, especially in this area, a center of Kunming nightlife. Why don't we just continue to the restaurant? Surely it must be near. Surely we could sit down and eat and have a very nice conversation. We could admire this cake, we could carve it up and devour it until it was no more. But the conversation continued, the cake wrenching my hand down to the center of the Earth.

Suddenly there was a moment of relief. It was like the angels had flown down and were supporting me. There was no burden. At this moment I looked down and saw the ribbon snap. The weight of the cake was too much. Marietta's birthday cake plummeted from my left hand and toppled to the ground. It somehow landed upside down, splattering frosting across our shoes and smearing white glaze across the concrete.

No one said anything for a few moments. Finally someone reached down and picked the cake up. It was still edible, however mangled. I was given the task of carrying this cake, this time supporting it from the bottom, into the restaurant. I got many strange looks from the restaurant staff...what's this strange foreigner doing carrying a busted cake? My fingers were sticky. We finally arrived in our private dining room, and the cake got placed on a side table.

Later, as we left the restaurant, the aftermath was still there on the street.

We went to a karaoke bar. In China, karaoke is very popular, almost like a religious experience. Friends will rent a private room with a TV, microphone, jukebox, and a case of beer. I danced with 60 year old women. It was great.

On Halloween, I went out to eat hotpot with Chairman Mao, his son, and my friend Dinh. My volleyball game was rained out. I'm on the Foreign Languages Department volleyball team. So I went down to a Halloween party at the Lao Chang Ji Jiu Ba (The Old Record Player Bar), my local. There were decorations, a few masks, but not many costumes. One girl dressed in a space-age uniform was selling Coors Light for 10 kuai a bottle. It got a little out of hand, though. One guy started smashing glasses and flipping tables. He was trying to fight another guy. I got out of the way and went upstairs. The police came, but I made sure not to be involved.

My English film club got off the ground last week. I had one student working diligently to reserve a room for showing movies. Finally, we got a hold of the person in charge. We needed a room with a DVD player, a sound system, a projector, a big screen, and lots of seats. I thought this would be a very difficult thing to procure. She asked me how many students. I went for the gold. I said all of them...about 150. She asked me how many times I would need it. I told her I needed it every week for the rest of the semester. No problem! This was about two days in advance, so I didn't have a chance to communicate the good news to everyone. However, it was well attended. Keeping with the holiday theme, we showed Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas to about 60 students. I had to leave in the middle of the movie to play a volleyball game. We beat the Landscape Design Dept.! I made it back in time for the final credits, but this was for my students, and they truly enjoyed it. They even brought popcorn, which is popular here. I expect this week to be bigger.

Last weekend was my birthday weekend, and I am working on writing all about that, but I'll save that for next time.

Today marks two months in China, from when I first walked across that small bridge linking Hong Kong and Shenzhen. So I thought I had it all figured out. I was invited to another student retreat out in the countryside, and I thought I would be prepared this time. For once, I thought I had the upper hand and would be able to anticipate what China was going to throw at me. Boy, was I wrong.

Once again, on Friday, we clambered into buses and headed out past the northeastern limits of Kunming. But this time, we kept going and didn't stop until we reached a completely different resort called the Double Dragon Fishing Village (no, I am not making this up). I roomed with Lester, a fellow American teacher whose students also came along. We were the only teachers this time. A game of basketball unfolded. Being taller than everyone else playing, I staked out a position in the post where rebounding, blocking, and lay-ups were no problem. Our team also had some great perimeter shooters and ball handlers so we did quite well.

The food was completely different this time as well, served in even more rustic surroundings. I had corn on the cob, fried potatoes, spicy cucumber, and some rice noodles (can't get away from that in this part of the country). There were fewer "ganbei's" this time, and the beer consumption abruptly stopped at the conclusion of the banquet. After eating, we congregated in the main hall of the resort which is reserved for the holy act of karaoke. Chinese people love to sing. It is a rare day when I am not asked to sing a song. And once you are asked to sing, there is no escape. The only excuse that suffices is sudden death. You must sing. So I sang a quick verse of "You Are My Sunshine" for my students and Lester did a rendition of "Lord of the Dance." The karaoke continued through the night and all day the next day. From what I have heard coming from the KTV (karaoke) rooms in my two months here, most Chinese people are tone-deaf. I didn't sleep much that night because of Lester's incessant, thunderous snoring, which matched the room's resonant frequency and shook my bones down to the marrow. At two separate times in the middle of the night, we received a knock at the door. The second time Lester got up and answered it. There were two sheepish-looking, intoxicated male students from another college looking for some girls and presumably what Garcia Marquez calls "emergency love."

The next morning we had a couple bowls of spicy rice noodles and some Maxwell House instant orange-flavored coffee. Not recommended. Then we took off for a hike in the hills. When Chinese students go on these retreats, they pack very lightly, meaning they bring nothing. The hotel provides a toothbrush (but no towels). The same clothes are worn the next day. So you can imagine a long line of about 40 students dashing through the thick undergrowth of rural Yunnan, some in stiletto heels, abruptly pausing to look at an interesting plant or leaf or mushroom (they are mostly horticulture majors), thus backing up everyone else in the hike. Our fearless leader got us completely lost in a thorny patch where we had to get on our hands and knees to get out of. Most of the hike was a mad dash, which was great exercise, but I often wondered why we ventured off the path and into impenetrable thickets of vines, branches, and shrubs.

I spent the rest of the morning reading and removing burrs from my clothes, taking obligatory photos with students of other colleges, and talking with one of my most well-informed students about Miller's Crossing, Aphex Twin, and On the Road. When we returned in the afternoon, I kept an earlier promise by attending a Cultural Communication Club meeting in one of the auditoriums at my college. There was a calligraphy demonstration, a German singing a traditional Chinese song, a Thai playing a wood flute, and two kung fu guys twirling nunchucks ( 雙節棍) to heavy metal music. One of them was so good that he dissected a cucumber into thin slices and took the lid off a water bottle.

Strangely, after this performance at my far-away campus, I met a Ukrainian named Andrey who has hitchhiked all the way to Kunming from his hometown of Kharkiv, across Russia, Kazakhstan, and Uzbekistan. He was on his way to Laos, Thailand, and India. He made me want to visit Uzbekistan. Apparently, in the western Xinjiang and Sichuan provinces of China, many towns are closed to foreigners. He would get dropped off at these places in the middle of nowhere only to be run out by the police. In Chongqing, he was held by the police by the side of the road for a few hours, until a higher official came. Then he was told to start walking. "Where?"

The police said, "It doesn't matter." So he started walking. Soon a van showed up with a video camera sticking out the passenger-side window, filming his long march. It was a local news crew. "What are you doing?" they asked. "I'm hitching to Kunming." He was broadcast all over the news. They did buy him a bus ticket to Kunming.

We talked for a long time over some beers at my local pub, generally about literature, specifically about Jack Kerouac. He had read On the Road many times in Russian, and had much to say about the "lost generation" of the beatniks, and how this lost generation was surfacing again in the post-Soviet states. He had some great stories about hitching in Uzbekistan, where there is never a problem finding a place to sleep or a ride. All of this while listening to the pub's great selection of music: Bob Marley, the Eagles, some Arabic music, and Chinese rock. I ended up giving him my copy of Steinbeck's Tortilla Flat.

On Monday, I really pushed myself. I taught two hours of English writing, then took two hours of Chinese speaking. After lunch, I taught two hours of English speaking, then went to a two hour Japanese class. This was a total mind-bending experience, not unlike the state my brain entered the first time I heard Phillip Glass.

Although I have been not-so-steadily learning Japanese for the past three and a half years, this was the very first time that I set foot into a Japanese class. I am applying for the 2007-2008 JET Program (teaching English in Japan), so I am trying to brush up on the language in any possible way. The teacher was Chinese, but she spoke Japanese very well. It was her major in college, and she has spent some time in Japan. I recently found out about this class, so I joined it eight weeks into the semester.

The (Chinese) students were performing their oral examinations. This is where my mind started becoming twisted. The class is taught in Chinese with the students reciting in Japanese. I was picking up words and phrases in both languages, and started to notice I was no longer able to distinguish what I was hearing. Other than the writing system and a few borrowed words, Chinese and Japanese are completely unrelated languages. The grammar is totally different, Japanese has a near absence of tones (unlike Chinese where each syllable is one of four [some say five] tones), etc., etc. It was also very strange to see Chinese students acting like Japanese people, constantly bowing, being polite to an almost comical level, and using honorifics in their speech. Some students sang Japanese pop songs. One student, in a restaurant scene, ordered "washoku" and was given the food prop, a box of chalk. I felt like I had entered a parallel universe. A girl I was sitting next to wrote me a note in English that simply said, "You are a dream runner." I told my soul, I like that!

Yesterday, I returned to the Japanese class, after teaching two English writing classes and attending a Chinese writing class. I witnessed more mind-bending Sino-Japanese oral recitations of fear-stricken undergraduates...twitching facial muscles, trembling hands, and rapidly blinking eyelids. Unfortunately, this was the conclusion of this year's Japanese class. My teacher told me, "Owarimashita," and it took me a few moments to put this familiar-sounding word into cognitive context. "The class is finished." She did offer one-on-one lessons, which I really appreciate and will try to take up.

I struggled to respond with my ever-small Japanese mind, holding back my tiny Chinese mind, and yearning to use my well-worn English mind, but alas, she doesn't speak much English. Occasionally fragments of Spanish crept in, but that's less of a problem nowadays. The last time I used Spanish was with Jason Walker in Eugene, Oregon at Max's Tavern (supposedly the basis for Moe's Tavern of the Simpsons), late, late in the evening, speaking with some Mexicans in cowboy hats from Michouacan, with our heavy gringo accents.

Another linguistic adventure is learning some basic phrases in Kunming-hua (the local dialect which is unintelligible to most Chinese). I always get a smile from the locals when this foreigner utters "tei ban zha la" (how great!) or "ni you ke-na die ke?" (where are you going?) or the greeting "wo qin ni shui fan ke?" (have you eaten?). Chinese people are always asking me, "Have you eaten?" which is a standard greeting here like "what's up?" At first I thought that was a strange way to say hello. Perhaps it has to do with the national obsession of food. Perhaps it has to do with famine, which is clearly in living memory for many, if not most, older adults.

Tonight I played some more "soft" volleyball with the Chinese staff of the Foreign Language Department. The volleyball court is very small, so a plastic inflatable volleyball is used, not unlike a beach ball. When struck with any amount of force, it zips and zigzags along in unpredictable paths. After each good play, I heard a hearty "hao qiu!" which I believe to mean "好球/nice shot." After a really good shot, I heard "piaoliang!/漂亮" which means "Beautiful!"

Tomorrow I will attend the college's English Corner. I have made it this long without going, but it's time to pay my dues. From my understanding, it's a huge group of people getting together to practice their English, with native English speakers completely overwhelmed and outnumbered. They are barraged with the standard questions, "How long have you been in China/Do you know Yao Ming/What sports do you like/How long have you been in China/What sports do you like/etc.?"

But you can never guess what will happen while in China.

Last Friday I was invited to a retreat for the first-year graduate students (or as they are called in China, post-graduates). They are from all over China so this is an opportunity for them to get to know each other, as well as teachers and administrators. So I was happy to go. I've been here for about eight weeks now and I can usually sniff out a good time.

The class monitor (sort of like the class president/secretary/liaison) had reserved a microbus and we all piled in. I was offered the front seat since I am a teacher and also taller than everyone else. We drove about 30 minutes out into the countryside to a beautiful hotel resort on the side of a forest-covered mountain. We played some Chinese card games (I was awful), air hockey, and ping pong under a red hammer & sickle. After that, a few of us went for a hike to take in the beautiful views of the mountains surrounding Kunming. This was the first day that it hadn't rained for three weeks, the sun was out, and China was glorious. We found a massive bridge being constructed, about 200 feet up, linking two mountain peaks, threading its way through a gorge, six lanes, but not quite yet ready for traffic. We were able to walk part of it. It was a long way down.

We arrived just in time for supper. We were led to some thatched-roof cabins where some farmers had prepared a banquet for us. Spread on a grill in the middle of the table was a whole sheep cooking over embers. A hotpot was boiling in another corner of the spread. Boxes of local beer piled up seemingly to the ceiling. We quickly dug in. Soon two of my students came up behind me and toasted me. They also toasted another teacher in the grad school. "Mr. Barnes! To a great year!" Two more students came and toasted me. Then two more. Then three. The three said, "Mr. Ryan. We are from Dongbei (Manchuria/northeastern China, near Siberia), and drinking for us is a piece of cake. So...ganbei!"

Now in English, we have "Cheers!" which precedes taking a sip. In China, they have "ganbei" which more closely resembles "bottoms up" (it literally means "dry glass"). Of course, I was not expected to drain my glass each time my students saluted me, but these people where from the Dongbei. These Manchus are different from the rest of the Chinese: very tall, well-built, accustomed to Iowa-like winters, and they drink like Russian sailors. They would not take my sips as veritable toasts. No, I had to down three glasses, one for each of them. No problem, I am from Iowa, but things got hazier after that.

I made up for my dizzy head with eating more, and sipping less and less at each toast. But at the end of the meal, I met Director Lou, the dean of the grad school. And his rambunctious wife. She shouted encouraging but somewhat heated things at me in Chinese. They each demanded a toast. Then it was time for fire dancing.

We were led to another area of the resort, with some girls in traditional costumes leading a dance around a bonfire. We all held hands in a large circle and danced to Chinese disco music. Occasionally, a man in an army uniform would throw gasoline on the fire and everyone would shout in wonder at the enraged flames. There also was a little slow-dancing and Mrs. Lou pulled me out of the crowd for a number. Then it kicked back into disco and she kicked into high gear. I've never seen someone with so much energy.

After the dancing, we went into the hotel, upstairs to the karaoke lounge. People in China love to sing. You always hear it on the street and almost daily I am asked to sing a song. "No" is not an acceptable answer. I looked through the short list of strange English songs and finally decided on "Hotel California." Fortunately, I was a long way down on the list, and was hoping that people would forget about it by then or it would be time to sleep. But Director Lou intervened. He used his influence to put me next on the list. So there I was, singing the Eagles in rural Yunnan Province, SW China.

Eventually, they put me in my own hotel room and I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, I woke up freezing. Apparently the window had been wide open and I had neglected to check that when I came into the room. It was a nice room, just like any American hotel, although I could have done without the unflushed toilet. I mean, come on, that's the most obvious thing.

I went down for breakfast--rice noodles and a hard boiled egg, and was ready to go back home and get some work done. I was told I would have to wait a little bit before we went back. No problem. I went up and played some ping pong (getting better all the time) and air hockey. Watched some students fish. Killed time before lunch. We went down to the restaurant and I took a seat with some of my students. But soon, the monitor came and said, "No, you must move. It's too crowded for you at this table." I was tired, and a little grumpy. I said, "I'm ok. I don't want to move. I'll stay here." He then grabbed my arm and forcibly drug me to a separate room and brought in a few students.

This is where I first experienced China-weariness. The lunch was splendid enough, but the conversation was an exercise in sheer tedium. I had earlier been told that we were going back in the morning. I didn't expect to be staying out here so long. I wanted to go home. I wanted to take a long nap, and get to work on grading papers. Most of all, I wanted to be alone. I didn't feel like talking, just sleeping. Instead, I was bombarded with questions:

"Hey Ruyan!...How long have you been in China?" --Seven weeks.
"Hey Reiuyn!...What sports do you like?" --basketball's ok, i guess.
"Hey Ruan!...Do you know Yao Ming?" --yup.
"Hey Lyan!...How long have you been in China?" --didn't you just hear me answer that question???
"Hey Ryan!...Do you know [some Chinese celebrity]?" --nope.

There were copious toasts and drinking, but I preferred to keep to the tea. Soon stumbling, red-faced students emerged from the larger dining area. Each time they seemed like they carried urgent news:

"Ryan! Ganbei!! Ryan!...Do you like China?" --not at the moment
"Ryan!...How long have you been China?" --...
"Have you been to Beijing/Shanghai/Xiamen

/Tianjin/etc.?" --I've only been here for seven weeks.

I love my students. I really do. But at this moment in time, I could have done without human interaction. Instead, the lunch dragged on. After we finished eating, we just sat there, in that little room, for another hour or two. The questions never ceased and never varied. Finally it was time to leave.

As an aside, my classes really picked up this week with groups 7 & 8. The students were much more eager to participate and much more relaxed. We now know each other and are capable of great things. I am thankful for this trip. I have been invited to another one tomorrow night with my other two classes, and am looking forward to it. I am beginning to understand that having good relations is an important thing in China. However, this time I am bringing a change of clothes, a guitar, and homework to grade.

Later that day, I biked downtown with Lester to the Prague Cafe. There we met up with a n American named Will who had a great story about the Czech jazz keyboardist Joe Zawinul stepping off an elevator in Detroit and bumping into Van Cliburn himself. Said Zawinul: "I'm better than you!"

Will lived on San Juan Island in the Pugent Sound for 30 years. Very interesting guy. He's also lived in S. Korea and been to Japan. As to why he moved to Asia: "I just bailed." I also met a man that Lester keeps telling me about: John Thorne. He received his Ph.D. in anthropology from Hong Kong University and is writing a book about the earliest Western travelers in Yunnan. Very interesting guy. Marietta and Janet were there too, so it was great company. We went to eat at a Sichuanese restaurant and talk at Chapter One, an expat hangout/English book bar. I listened to Lester and John go off, everything about the history of the sugar trade in China, how the Mekong divides rather than unites, the arrogant G.E. Morrison, etc. Really, it was fascinating, although I had a hard time keeping up. By now I was pretty tired.

The next morning, I woke up early and went to the provincial-wide CCTV Cup English speaking competition. It was held at Yunnan Agricultural University here in Kunming, and I went along with some students to support Kaylen, the champion of our school's competition that I had previously judged. In this competition, Marietta was a judge, along with some other Americans from various universities in Yunnan and assorted Chinese faculty. There were 24 contestants and around 21 superb speeches. The top two move on to the national competition. Fortunately, I was just a spectator.

After the four hour competition, we all went out to eat at a fine restaurant, and then I took a long nap. That evening, my boss Mr. Li met us foreign teachers at the gate of the living compound with some sleek, black hired cars. We went out with the president of the college and some other officials to the nicest restaurant I've ever been to in my life. In the middle of the floor, barely visible between beads of crystal draped from the ceiling, was a banquet table on a raised glass platform.

However, this was not for us. Instead, we went to a slightly less opulent private dining room and were served course after course of delicacies. On the wall was flat-paneled TV screen, presumably for karaoke. At my table was the director of a nature reserve in Xishangbanna (one of Yuannan Province's four key nature reserves), the dean of the Science department, a Japanese teacher from Osaka, and Gary from Idaho. He is the college's resident foreign expert and the director of the forestry museum on campus. He had some interesting stories about refugee work Somalia, Cambodia, and being hit by a car in front of the US Embassy in Bangkok (he caused more damage to the car than the car did to him). Apparently Coca-Cola owns massive shrimp farms off the coast of California.

We went for a stroll after supper, stepping into a B&Q, which is much like a Home Depot. It was interesting checking out a high-end Chinese home improvement store, seeing the fancy toilets, bathtubs, and fixtures that the newly rich Chinese are putting in their homes. The staff were in orange uniforms and black aprons. Their nametags had both Chinese and English names. Cheesy muzak played overhead, exactly the same soft rock shlock I remember from my days at Staples.

After that, I indulged myself in a 45 minute massage on a street corner near my living compound. Some older blind people set up shop in the early evening and give a full body massage for 10 kuai, about $1.25. I joked around with my masseuse, reciting all the Kunming dialect I could remember. All my sore muscles from hiking in the mountains two days previous suddenly were pacified. I went home and fell into a deep sleep.

This week I went out with Lester for some Dongbei food (the closest thing I've had to Iowa cuisine since I've been here--I especially enjoyed the sweet potatoes in caramelized sugar) and some Xinjiang cuisine. There is a sizable Xinjiang community in this part of Kunming, and eating at this restaurant is always an exotic experience. Xinjiang (Sinkiang) is the Wild West of China, bordering the nations of Afghanistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan. The people are of Turkic descent and use the Arabic script for their Uighur language. They are Muslims and look like any other Central Asian. Bollywood rock music played on the TV, and herb-infused naan bread and kebabs made our mouths water. Yes, this too is China.

Today I played volleyball with the foreign languages department, which was great fun. It was my first chance to hang out with some fellow teachers (besides the wedding). Most of them are in their late 20s or early 30s, so it should be a great time getting to know them better. Next Thursday is more volleyball. Soon we will be taking on other departments at the college.

Please cheer for my comrades and me.