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.