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.

Last week was China's October National Holiday. October 1st was National Day, commemorating the 57th birthday of the People's Republic of China. To celebrate, I went with some students to climb Xi Shan, the western mountains of Kunming. We left very early in the day, and it was a little rainy (it's rained for the past two weeks straight...I feel like I'm back in Oregon again) but well worth the great views and clean air. We ascended through some forests, past the tomb of Nie Er (the composer of China's national anthem), past ancient Taoist and Buddhist temples, past a 600 year-old gingko tree planted by a Ming Dynasty emperor, and finally we took a break in a small village toward the top. Up in these mountains farmers will invite travelers to their small courtyards for home-cooked meals. There we ate vegetables, tofu, rice with potatoes, cabbage, pumpkin, pickled garlic & ginger, watermelon, and fresh apples...all for 7 yuan each, less than $1. If we finished a certain plate, they would bring more of it until we were full. One student brought his guitar and we took turns playing some American and Chinese rock songs, much to the delight of the local teenagers.

After the lunch, we climbed through "Little Stone Forest," an outcropping of bizarre karst topography. Apparently in China, or at least here in Yunnan, when you reach a significant peak in your climb, you must shout and scream until others on different significant peaks shout and scream back. Also, as always, if you see a foreigner you must shout, "Hallloooooo!!" A Chinese girl once told me that the reason China is so loud is because, being such a mountainous country, people had to shout across the valleys to communicate with each other.

We finally arrived at a pavilion at the top of the stone forest, at the top of the Western Hills. Below was the massive Lake Dian-chi and dancing inside the pavilion were some people of the Yi nationality in colorful traditional clothing. One of my students asked one of them if they normally dressed that way, and the boy replied, "Of course! We're Yi!" After that, we descended the slopes and arrived back in Kunming very late, and incredibly exhausted.

The next day, I got on a train to Guiyang, capital of neighboring Guizhou Province. I was feeling adventurous, and taking the advice of a friend, opted for a "hard seat"/3rd class on the 12 hour night train. When I showed my ticket to the conductors, no one could believe I would travel this way. "Don't you want a sleeper?" they asked me in Chinese. When I stepped onto the car, I was met with many confused stares. This is how "real" China travels. People were friendly, offering me sundry fruits and sweets: shíliù (pomegranate), yòuzi (a pomelo, like a huge grapefruit but sweeter and more fragrant), yuèbĭng (mooncakes). After all, it is October Holiday. Soon a guard came by and asked to see my ticket. He read it, checked my seat, and checked the ticket again. He shook his head and walked away. A few minutes later, another guard came by and asked me to move to the dining car. He said it was more comfortable. So I went to the dining car. That's my hard seat experience, all 45 minutes of it.

In the dining car, I met two young Chinese women, one who works for Hainan Airlines and the other who is a doctor. It was interesting talking to them about Chinese literature and learning some expressions in local Kunming dialect, which is very different from the standard Mandarin taught in schools. I soon fell asleep at my table and woke up to the Dr. Seuss-like landscape of Guizhou Province and the rail staff goofing around in the dining car.

Guiyang is different from Kunming. There are hardly any foreigners, there are not nearly as many cars and bicycles on the road, and the girls have paler skin. The city is famous for bathhouses and mahjong (Chinese dominoes). It is said that on an airplane you know you're flying over Guiyang when you hear the mahjong tiles clicking. I met my Chinese friend Jennie at the station who had invited me to stay at her family's house. They took me out for breakfast at a traditional Guiyang rice-noodle restaurant (I passed on the blood broth and intestines). After that, we walked through the flower and bird market, full of animals, strange Oriental antiques, and samurai swords left over from the Japanese occupation. We met up with more people from the extended family and drove out into the countryside. Soon, we arrived at a small village of about 100 people on the other side of the mountain from Guiyang. We were met with a large spread of food in a room that looked like a garage, complete with the overhead door. There was a gas can full of baijiu, the infamous Chinese firewater, but I passed on that too. Save it to fuel the cars.


This town was interesting because the farmers are erecting buildings on their land which are intended to be houses, only no one has ever lived there. Guiyang is expanding so rapidly that soon it will encroach on this village. Instead of the developers or the government buying the cheap farmland, they will have to pay for the living units as well. However, the town was poor. Poorer than anything I ever saw. This is how many people in China live, in a small one-room house, a pig in the next room, a rooster out front, electricity but no indoor plumbing. There are outhouses around and a cesspool directly behind it which drains into the fields as fertilizer. I was careful where I stepped. Some people were fishing in a dirty cement pond.

Jennie and I went climbing around the neighboring mountains and stumbled into an old cemetery where some people were lighting off fireworks at their ancestors’ tomb. Each tomb had a small stone table where the family could eat a meal after the ceremony. Life (and death) in Chinese revolves around eating. After our return to the village, we went to a building which served as a sort of community center. The second floor had recently been completed and a throng of elementary-aged girls surrounded me. I was the first foreigner to ever visit this village. Even visits from the city folk are rare. We were invited to a banquet downstairs which celebrated the completion of the second floor (only the week previous) and the visit of the guests. I couldn’t believe the food! It was a full banquet, four-star restaurant quality (did I mention that Chinese people can cook?!?), lots of fresh vegetables, meats, and seafood. Where did all this come from? One city person in our party politely suggested that we go easy on the meat and the seafood because, “the fresh vegetables are what we come out to the countryside for.” In truth, the village people were waiting for us to eat first and would have the leftovers later. This is hospitality.

I left full, happy, a local celebrity, and with many new friends from this mysterious village in the Guizhou mountains.

The next day, Jennie, her Vietnamese boyfriend Le, and I went to the huge Qianling Park, hired a rowboat and took a tour of the lake. We saw one man and his restaurant on the opposite shore and invited him on board. He brought his “restaurant,” which was a charcoal grill and some “stinky tofu.” He cooked this in front of us while we rowed our way across the lake. Many people in other boats shouted “laowai!” (老外/honorable foreigner!), to which I was told to reply, “laozhong!” (老中/honorable Chinese person!).

On our way out of the park, we were assaulted by monkeys. People were throwing food to them; one was drinking water out of a plastic Pepsi bottle. One had landed on a man’s head (have pictures of this). A person discreetly asked my friend Le if he wanted to buy a monkey for himself.

The next day, we rode a bone-jarring bus out to the countryside again, this time to a park that I regretfully forgot the name of. It was full of waterfalls, caves, old-fashioned Chinese bamboo waterwheels, and people whizzing by on a zip cord overhead, screaming for dear life. We took a boat tour of a water cave, but this is like no cave you see in America. No, here in China, in this cave at least, there is flashing neon and Christmas lights strung around formations of interest. After the cave, we transferred into another boat (a motor boat this time). At a small waterfall, we ascended some steps and boarded another motorboat for a fast cruise down a lazy river, past a farmer and his ox, through the “Little Three Gorges” of Guizhou. In all, we cruised in five boats. After the voyage, we went on a tour of a dry cave which was interesting for its stalactites and stalagmites, new vocabulary for my English major friend Jennie. At the end of the cave was a long carved tunnel with swirling, flashing lights, like a Dr. Who wormhole. I felt the overwhelming urge to dash through this and scream. Kids followed suit. It seemed the appropriate thing to do.

That night we went out to eat hotpot, an entertaining meal. There is a hole carved into the table where a large pot filled with broth is placed above a hot flame. You order your own ingredients to be cooked in front of you. Le ordered pig brains to add to the mix, but I passed on that. After supper we took a taxi downtown, past a huge glistening white statue of Mao. He is holding up five fingers, which happen to be directly above an underground Wal-Mart. Guiyang people joke that Chairman Mao is saying, “If you play mahjong, only bet five kuai!”

The other thing Guiyang that makes famous is (legitimate) bathhouses. We tried out the Bangkok Paradise. We were greeted in opulent Thai-themed surroundings, leaving our shoes at the door. Le & I were whisked into the men’s bathing quarters, given a locker and a white towel, and then sent to the bathing room, which is a huge pool full of hot water. Very relaxing after a long day’s hike. Of course the TV was going. Can’t pass that up in China. After a relaxing soak, we were given some pajamas to wear and were escorted upstairs to the sleeping lounge. This is an open room of about 100 reclining single beds with a large TV and a pair of headphones for each bed. Many people spend the night here, even families (of course there are private rooms as well but I wouldn’t know anything about that!!!). There also was a bar and plenty of staff roaming around with food and expensive cigarettes. All three of us were given 40 minute full-body massages. I even got my feet washed and massaged! All this comfort put me to sleep immediately. The next morning, I had a quick dip in the hot pool again, and checked out, getting my freshly polished shoes back. The total price for three people: 150 yuan, about $19.

The next day was Mid-Autumn Festival, or what I call Chinese Thanksgiving. Jennie’s father owns restaurants in Beijing and Shanghai, so I was excited to have a great family meal. We went to the grandparents’ house and were greeted by all the extended family. Everyone was so dressed-up. Grandfather was in a suit and tie. After some serious picture taking, we got down to some serious eating. Ah, the food. Wood ears and mushrooms in garlic sauce, Beijing duck, prawns, fish soup, spicy cucumber, tender roasted chestnuts, homemade wine…I only wish I had a bottomless stomach, or at least two.

Finally, sadly, it was time to leave. Le and I took the overnight train back to Kunming, this time opting for a hard-sleeper. This is a car with separate compartments of six open (but soft) bunks. It is a fine way to meet people, and I had many interesting conversations with my neighbors until late in the night. One man told a children’s story about the famous Stone Forest. Even a railway conductor came and sat with us and chatted until the next stop.

Saturday was the first time I attended a Chinese wedding. One of my colleagues, a woman from the foreign languages department (yes, English is a foreign language), was to be married. A chartered bus was waiting at the apartments where we teachers live. Mood music was pumping again, this time Enya. I heard some beautiful Chinese songs on the drive there, and wished I too could know the words and the melody. They also played The Eagles’ “Hotel California.”

The ceremony was in the banquet room of a fancy downtown hotel called the Golden Dragon. The tradition is to greet the bride and groom at the door and give them a red envelope full of money. A girl whom I assumed to be a bridesmaid was welcoming guests with a bowl of treats, full of chocolate, sweets, peanuts, and loose cigarettes.

Upstairs was the banquet room. It was packed. Dishes were brought out one after the other, beef, spare ribs, shrimp, braised bean cake, etc. When the bride and groom finally entered, everyone stood up and applauded. The newlyweds took a seat on the stage and were introduced by an MC, who served as the evening’s entertainment. There were a lot of speeches and laughter, but I was in the back and don’t speak much Chinese.

There were also inevitable toasts of baijiu with my colleagues. I sat next to an eccentric Chinese man named Mark Browning (“He was a great poet!”). I think many of the foreign language staff liked to see him drunk so there were always excuses to toast. It became quite silly after a while, and it was fun listening to the staff speak, because this time everything was in English, so I could get their jokes and fully jump into the Chinese experience.

The past three days have been teaching. Back to work. I am suddenly inundated with hundreds of assignments from my English writing classes. It reminds me of a photo I once saw of a hapless judge in India, completely surrounded by backlogged cases, literally floor to ceiling, grimacing between stacks of papers on her desk two meters high. Well, maybe it’s not that bad.

Today a student gave me a beautiful framed specimen of a butterfly (Cerhosia Cyana) and I met a meteorologist who just got back from Chicago. He is also the college’s Director of Propaganda. Just now a person came to my door to invite me to host the inaugural party of Southwest Forestry College’s Culture Committee on Sunday…I said yes but not really sure what it’s about. Should be interesting, as always.