Our tale continues; it is of what befell under the People's Republic of China, in the era of Chairman Hu Jintao: in that period of the 11th Five Year Plan known as "Peaceful Development." In that time, in the province of Yunnan, in the district of Panlong-qu, in the neighborhood of Bailong-si, which is part of the juridiction of Kunming-shi, your humble narrator experienced his second week in China.

First of all I really want to thank everyone for their kind thoughts and emails. Homesickness is not an accute affliction for me, but neither am I immune. Hearing from my friends and family, however near or far away certainly makes my day. I have been filling my days getting oriented with the city, riding the crowded buses downtown. It is not impolite to push your way onto the bus and there's no such thing as a linear line to embark. The bus's intercom system blares with announcements of the next stop and all nearby points of interest. Once in a while, I catch something in English but it jumps back mid-sentence into Mandarin. The screen at the front of the bus scrolls across the stops in red heiroglyphs and the LCD TV on the bus blasts, at full volume, public service announcements and entertainment programming. Usually these screens are visible because most people stand chin-height to me. The bus driver frequently honks at obstacles, perceived and real, and often I'll see a large potted plant and a jar of tea beside him. The ride is jarring and slow, but great fun. It costs 1 yuan to ride, less than 13 cents.

The Chinese are in fact very good drivers, although I would not feel comfortable driving here. It takes great courage to even cross the street. The one rule about China is that one does not travel in a straight line. The lane markers on the road are guidelines, not law-enforcebale forcefields like in the US. It is not unusual to see a traffic jam of 12 different types of wheeled vehicles, aimed in 12 different directions. But somehow, some way, it works.

I went to a English teachers' meeting, which was completely in Chinese. The upswing of it was being invited to a teachers' function, the first of the year, to see Dynamic Yunnan, "A Grand Primitive Song & Dance Medley." This group performs internationally (known overseas as "Looking for Shangri-La") and is known throughout China. It is correographed by China's most famous dancer (Yang Li Ping), and features performers who were formerly peasant farmers in rural Yunnan. It highlights the various costumes, songs, and dances of the minority groups of the province, but is also distinctly modern. The performance was flawless, and best put in the New York Times (5 March 2005) as " staging ritualistic folk dances, beating drums, stomping, singing and floating elegantly across the stage like butterflies." Powerful.

I went to Daguan Park, on the shore of one of China's largest freshwater lakes, Dian Chi. This park, like many places here, predates the Pilgrims' landing at Plymouth Rock. Arched bridges, Buddhist pavilions, water lillies, bumper cars, a brand-new sculpture garden, a bonzai exhibit, traditional music, a man practicing gongfu (Kung Fu), the stuff I really enjoy about China.

What I don't enjoy about China is all the noise, the black clouds belching from the endless parade of construction vehicles, the incessant "Hellooooo" from passersby, the intestinal symptom the Chinese euphamistically call "spicy stomach," mosquitos, not being able to read very much or understand people's words no matter how many times they repeat themselves. I still want to tell them that I thank them greatly for their patience. Soon I will be able to that: my Chinese classes begin tomorrow. I will be taking them with a recently-arrived colleague from South Philly named Marietta, an energetic woman forged by 1960's whom I already know will be great fun getting to know. My other classmates will be the Vietnamese students here on a language program, like me, true beginners. Wo bu hui shuo Zhongwen.

Tonight, my colleague/neighbors Marietta, Lester, and I went out for Western food at Wei's Pizzeria. It is owned by a Dutchman and his Chinese wife. The pizza was great (ovens are very rare in China, and this one was brick) and a welcome break from noodle joints with undecipherable menus. I'm comforted in having fellow countrymen as neighbors, and although they're from my parents' generation and hold advanced degrees and have years of international teaching experience (which I don't), none of that matters. Context counts here: They are going through the same things I'm going through.

I have just received a phone call from my boss, Mr. Li, inviting me to do a voice-over tomorrow for the college's promotional video. He promised me that I will be heard "all over the world." Apparently, people already know me at the college, even though I don't start teaching until next week. Marietta told me today that her students are calling me "Golden Boy" on account of my hair. I like that!!

There are homeless people in China, although I haven't seen nearly as many as in the US. There are destitute beggars with physical deformities and orphans on the street. This is sad and troubling, not only because it's in China but worldwide. I did see one remarkable thing, however. A man with one arm, on the ground, painting page after page of beautiful Chinese calligraphy. Only he wasn't using his hand to draw: the brush was in his mouth, from whence each graceful stroke emerged.