The required paperwork for someone entering the JET Program includes a physical exam by a licensed, practicing doctor and an FBI Identification Record, which proves I have have no criminal record. I also have to fill out an IRS form 8802 to claim US residency so I don't have to pay Japanese income tax. There is a foreign earned income exclusion on overseas income of less than $80,000, so I won't have to pay US federal income tax either. The strange thing with the IRS form is that I have to pay $35 for a one page letter from the US Dept. of Treasury that states I am a US resident for tax purposes. So I have to pay money for a tax form in order to not pay taxes.

A student helped me complete the physical exam at the nearby People's 533rd Army Hospital. I paid 25 yuan (about $3.23) for a physical, urinalysis, and chest X-ray. The doctor escorted me through the hospital, first giving me a tiny shot glass of a plastic cup and telling me to go to the hospital bathroom (which looks like any other public bathroom here). I had never been in a Chinese hospital. From first glance, there was not much privacy. In one room, people were sitting around with IV's stuck in their arms (which is a common treatment for colds/flu, but I think it's a little drastic). In the next room, a nurse took my blood pressure while doctors tended to a screaming infant. I had to take my tiny cup upstairs to the lab, ducking under the neon signboard. One old man in a Mao hat gave me a thumbs up. After we dropped off the cup, I went to the vision room. There they checked my sight. Instead of the Roman alphabet, the sign had the letter "E" rotated at different angles--I had to point whether it was facing up, down, left, or right. They checked me for color blindness. I read the numbers back in Chinese.

In the next room, they looked up my nose. That wasn't on the form. We passed an "AIDS room" which I assumed was for HIV testing. Some old needles were in the garbage can, but I did see a syringe on the floor. Most of the basic areas (blood pressure room, weight/height room) in the hospital resembled an American hospital from the 50s, plain white walls, older medical equipment, nurses in white hats. However, there were some places, like the X-ray room which looked as modern as any American hospital. The hospital was clean, just not flashy like Western hospitals (although there is a new hospital in Kunming run by Canadian doctors that costs just as much as American hospitals). The entire test took about an hour. I am grateful my student could walk me through and translate, as the doctor did not speak English.

I must send in my fingerprints for the FBI record. I tried doing this at the downtown police station, but I was told that they don't provide this service, so I must go downtown to the Immigration Control Center (出入管理中心). I met one nice woman there who spoke English, but informed me that the Chinese police only do fingerprinting records electronically these days, and they have no way of printing the form out. She suggested I try my neighborhood police station. So I tried that, and they sent me to the Panlong-qu district station. No one wants to put ink on my fingers and press it down on the form (which I have duly printed out on cardstock paper--I even provided the ink). I am beginning to think that it is a matter of face. Only criminals get fingerprinted in China, and for the police to fingerprint me would be a loss of face for me. That's the only thing I can think of. I emailed the Japanese consulate about this, hoping they will allow me to get fingerprinted once I return home to the US. And no, I don't have a criminal record!

Tomorrow is first day of Wu-Yi Holiday, which celebrates International Labor Day (May 1). We have the whole week off--it's one of China's three Golden Week holidays. I decided to go to Myanmar (Burma). I've been thinking about this for a long time, and now is my opportunity. Pyidaungzu Myanma Naingngandaw (The Union of Myanmar) has a consulate in Kunming, and I went down there to get my visa. It is in an old building and the elevator is often out of service. I had to walk up to the fifth floor (not so bad as there is often no fourth floor in China, similar to there occasionally being no 13th floor in the US). The consulate office was bare except for some old furniture, completely different from Vietnam's plush Kunming consulate. I didn't see any computers behind the counter, although there may have been one in the back room. Some young Myanma people were working and spoke fine English. Two Chinese people were dropping off a huge stack of Chinese passports.

I sat down at a ramshackle table covered in glue. I had to fill out three forms and provide three photos. The forms asked for my name, occupation, father's full name, etc. The woman kept using White-Out on my entries and I had to keep doing it over. First, for the occupation, I had to list where I worked. So I wrote it in Chinese (I thought it would be more comprehensible than writing Xinanlinxueyuan). She said, "No Chinese." So I wrote "Southwest Forestry University" and the address of the school. She said, "No address" and used white-out on the address. I marked that I was arriving by land, and she changed that to arriving by air. I signed my name beside the word "Signature." She used white-out there too and told me I need to sign *under* the signature line. She white-outted my Chinese address and told me to write my American address. By the time I got everything done, my application looked like it had been brushed over a couple times with white paint. She asked me when I wanted my visa, today or tomorrow, although I could see that in the meantime it had already been put into my passport. I said tomorrow as it the price was cheaper (I want as little as possible of my money going to the government of Myanmar). The people there were friendly though. Throughout the ordeal, the young woman was chatting in Burmese on her cellphone about TrustMart (local supermarket) and presumably other non-governmental business

Tomorrow I will teach two classes then take the night bus to Ruili, the "Vegas of China," the border town with Myanmar. My friends Lester and Will are going to Ruili, but will not cross into Myanmar. My friend Ðinh was going to go with me, but canceled at the last minute to go back to Vietnam for the break. From the border, I must hire a guide and acquire necessary permits to allow me to travel to Hsipaw in Shan State. From there, I hope to continue to Mandalay, although I don't have enough time to make it to Bagan (something amazing, like Angkor Wat in Cambodia, it's a pity I can't make it there). I heard that you can't reenter China through Ruili, so I will probably have to fly back to Kunming from Mandalay or Chiang Mai, Thailand.

Some people object to visiting Myanmar because of the repressive government. I understand this. However, I feel it's important to have grassroots contact with the Myanma people. Aung Sang Suu Kyi (the Nobel Laureate for Peace), although generally against traveling to Burma at the moment, said in 1995 that "Tourists can open up the world to the people of Burma just as the people of Burma can open up the eyes of tourists to the situation in their own country if they're interested in looking." A few people objected to my coming to China because of its human rights record. However, I feel my being here has made much more of a positive impact than negative. A few Chinese object to my going to Japan. However, I'm going to Burma (and Japan, and China, and the US). I have always been interested in Burma, and now's my chance to go.

I just need to make sure to tell everyone about what I saw.

So this story will continue. Last week I found out that I have been accepted into the Japan Exchange and Teaching (JET) Program. Next month, I will find out exactly where in Japan I will be placed. I arrive in Tokyo on August 5. I plan on arriving in Iowa around July 12.

Last weekend I went to Heijing, an ancient village in the Chuxiong Mountains, about a six hour train ride from Kunming. There is one train a day there, and I think that's the only way to get there. When we arrived at the station, we were met by a multitude of horse carts which took us about a mile to the city gates. We crossed Five Horses Bridge and entered the village proper. Heijing is known as a "salt city." The salt mines have been used for hundreds of years. Even Marco Polo supposedly commented on them. There is one main street--no cars in the whole place lined with lanterns and wooden buildings. The town is not quite that touristy, nothing like Dali, although tourism is the mainstay of the economy. At night the town comes alive with folk dancing and traditional music. People break out their traditional costumes (it's an Yi village) and sanxianqings and erhus and play and sing and dance in a circle all night long. Old people and young come out. In the surrounding mountains we met a 100 year-old woman. Apparently the mountains are full of old people--the locals said it was due to the clean air and water. All in all, a beautiful place.

The train ride there was a challenge--it's a local train, stopping about every 10 minutes from here all the way to Panzihua, Sichuan. People are getting on and off all the time, loaded down with bailing wire, boxes of live chickens, people smoking cigarettes, screaming babies, large baskets of vegetables carried on farmers' backs, straw hats.

A couple of weeks ago, Lester invited me with his friend Palindrome to visit Bamboo Temple, on the northwest side of Kunming. We took a minibus up, up, up into the surrounding mountains and explored the site. There is a room full of exquisitely life-sized clay luohan (arhats or noble ones), carved by the master Li Guangxiu between 1883 and 1890. There are surfing Buddhas (standing on blue dogs, turtles, giant crabs), one with very long eyebrows, one with a thin arm stretched all the way into the ceiling! I saw something like this in a cave in Baoshan, but the level of detail capturing the varieties of human expression.

The day after that, I biked to Tanhua Temple, whose pagoda is within view of my apartment. The grounds are very peaceful--people playing majiang & cards, sleeping in hammocks--so I sat down at a picnic table and started correcting student essays. Soon I noticed people hovering over me and looking over my shoulder, trying to read the students' text. There is no privacy in China! I quickly finished my work and climbed up to the top of the pagoda, which I hadn't done since my first week here. I was much more familiar with the city and could recognize many sites. I even could see my apartment from the tower. Looking downtown, I saw the familiar Industrial and Commercial Bank of China's spiral-top skyscraper along with all the other massive buildings that make up a booming city of 3.5 million.

I have witnessed so much change here in less than eight months. Buildings going up and down. My favorite hot pot place is now a pile of rubble, along with the rest of the city block. The landscape is constantly changing as familiar landmarks go down, replaced by new multi-story apartment complexes and office buildings. We are in the middle of the largest human migration in history--the flight of the rural Chinese to urban areas. There must be housing and facilities for all these people, so progress continues at an astounding rate. I have gotten used to living in a construction site. Even the shortcut I used to take home is now a foundation for a new building.

I saw a jazz concert a few days ago. It was put on at Nordica, a Swedish-run cultural center/cafe/art gallery/(and what I strongly suspect to be an underground church). The musicians were all Chinese, teachers at Yunnan Normal University (Teacher's College). I was greatly impressed with the skill and intensity of the piano-bass-drum trio. They even brought on a professional singer (Chinese) who brought the house down. It was an amazing event, and my first time to see jazz in a long time.

A couple of weeks ago, I was getting short on money (due to my Guam interview). Suddenly, the office manager, Wendy, of the Foreign Languages Department called me. "I haven't seen you for a long time," she said. Then she gave me 570 yuan for giving a guest lecture and judging some speech contests last semester. I immediately went to Mandarin Books (by far the best English language bookstore in Kunming) and bought Atop an Underwood, the early writings by Jack Kerouac. Then I went to Prague Café and had a pizza and some beer.

I am very sad to be leaving Kunming in July. I was seriously thinking of staying at least another year, but I worked so hard to get into this JET Program, and it's a big deal--less than 25% of applicants make it in. Also, Yuka said she'd go with me wherever I end up in Japan, and I can't pass that up. I miss her too much. But I will make the most of my time here in China, and will sure to be back as soon as possible, you can count on that.

There is something about Asia that I've really grown to love, something that keeps drawing me back, and it's not just the food. It's the people, of course, but I can't seem to put it down precisely. I just know the draw is there, and if anything, is growing day by day. In four months, I will be in Japan, trying to speak Japanese once again, eating okonomiyaki, hopefully sending emails back about the strange and exciting and wonderful experience of there, too. But also with a tear in my eye for China, for it will be sad to leave and you know I love it dearly, a love like that of a native son's.

It was kind of a sad farewell seeing Yuka off--she's in Japan now, and then off to the USA next week, but I'm busy back at work. School started last week, and I've been doing all the teaching stuff--planning classes, grading 160 papers a week, running the film club, etc. I am coming off a 2+ month holiday and it's been tough transitioning back into work.

After my third day of class (which ended at noon), I came home to find Yuka and a mutual friend Lilly waiting for me. "Do you want to go to the hot springs?" they asked me. I didn't have class until 3 p.m. the next day, so I was all for it. Some Lilly's classmates joined the happy group, so ten of us ended up taking a bus out to the nearby resort town of Anning. It's on the other side of the massive Lake Dian, a geothermically active area full of hot springs. After we checked into the hotel, we went out for hotpot. As soon as we walked into the restaurant, a man stood up and said (in Chinese), "Oh behalf of the government of Anning, I welcome you!" and handed me a beer proceeded to toast me. I decided then that I like Anning. After hotpot, we went for some karaoke. Two hours was enough for me (and I had been up since 5:30 that morning), so Yuka and I called it quits at 11. However, the rest of the party kept singing away until 1 a.m. In the USA, we have baseball/football/NASCAR as a national pastime; the Chinese have karaoke.

The next morning Yuka, Lilly, and I did some searching for a good hot spring. There was no shortage of facilities; it was just matter of finding an outdoor spring (who wants to sit in a white-tiled room?). Finally, we found an outdoor "Japanese-style" hotspring consisting of 13 pools in the middle of the forest. It was early, so we three had the entire complex to ourselves. The proprietors took it a step further and added some ingredients to each pool--one was lemon juice, one was rose petals, and one was milk. It was a relaxing way to spend a couple of hours, although it was very difficult remaining awake for the rest of the day. My 3 o'clock class was inevitably short.

One advantage of working at a forestry college is the campus--there are over 300 species of trees here. Kunming, being the Spring City, is glorious once real spring comes around. All the trees and flowers are in brilliant bloom and everything smells wonderful. Yuka and I also got to see the cherry blossoms at Cuihu Park. I got a lot of good pictures and short video clips of the traditional music going on there every day--Yunnan Opera, huge choruses singing communist folk songs, some traditional minority dancing. It's been sunny and 27 degrees (around 75 Fahrenheit) every day for weeks. Welcome spring.

Two weekends ago Yuka & I got invited to a luncheon at Lilly's grandparents' house. It was a jaozi (Chinese dumpling)-making extravaganza! When we arrived they were pounding out the dough from scratch, and rolling it out into perfect flat circles. Also it was a sushi-making extravaganza! There was a woman there whose family was from Henan, but was born in Guangdong, and did her Cultural Revolution time in Hainan. So she was speaking Mandarin, Cantonese, and Hainan minority dialects. Her husband, also an employee of the forestry college, is a moss expert who speaks fine English, Russian, Mandarin, Kunming-hua, and some native Yunnan dialects (from his Cultural Revolution time). Yuka speaks Japanese, I try. So it was a very multicultural party. I have become quite accustomed to eating spicy foods (three times a day, every day), but it was the first time in six months I had had sushi, and the accompanying wasabi (Japanese horseradish), which is a completely different kind of spiciness. The first jolt, tinging in my nose and throat, almost knocked me off my feet. A second warning to myself & others: take it easy on the Japanese mustard, too. There was the great triad of beverages served at every Chinese banquet: Coca-Cola, Sprite, and orange-drink (beer and baijiu are obvious fixtures in any establishment great or small and therefore don't even need to be mentioned).

The next day one of my students invited Yuka & me over to cook, and we made jaozi again. By this time I was quite adept at folding the pastry up into perfectly formed jaozi--I had been trained by a northern Chinese expert (I have heard, from Northerners, of course, that the Southerners don't know how to properly make jaozi). The small, subtle four-movement gesture he taught me resembled a martial art, but in the palm of one's hand. In Japan, they have a similar dumpling called gyoza (which I assume derives from the same etymology), and Yuka was applying a completely different folding technique. However I proudly adhere to the Northern school of dumpling-making.

I am still waiting to hear from Japan about the results of my JET application. The interview results and subsequent recommendations are sent to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Japan, and it's Tokyo that makes the final decision. The anticipation is killing me. I have about two more weeks to go.

On Guam I thought I would try to catch up on American culture: I watched some Cops, Court TV (they were trying to figure out what to do with Anna Nicole Smith's remains, and the judge started bawling when he was reading his decision--I didn't even know Anna was dead!), Mountain Dew, Taco Bell, lawyer commercials. Dick Cheney was out of his "undisclosed location" was even on Guam the same day I was.

On Guam, there's no public transportation to speak of, just these $2 shopping trolleys that shuttle all the Japanese tourists between the Hilton, Hyatt, etc. and the mall, factory outlets, etc. I had nothing to do the first day, so I rode around on that and practiced my Japanese with the tourists, helped them read the maps, I bought some deodorant (haven't seen any in China) at K-Mart.

The next morning I went to my interview. It was about a 15 minute walk there, so I decided to take a taxi and keep my shoes shiny and suit sweat-free (I had my suit tailor-made for me in Kunming--it fits well and looks great...the shoes were quite a problem to find--most people just laughed when I told them my size). The interview itself was surprisingly low key and congenial. I signed into the consulate and was soon brought to a room. There was a panel of four interviewers: a former JET Program participant, the JET Program Coordinator, the Japanese Cultural Attaché, and the Consular General. The two Japanese people introduced themselves in Japanese, but I was nervous and didn't catch much, well, really anything. I'm so used to Chinese these days. I was across the table from them. They seemed impressed that I started a film club here and judged various CCTV Cup English speaking contests. The Consular General complimented me on my "excellent" recommendations. They also asked me how I planned to incorporate my musical background in the JET Program, and the Consular Cultural Attaché followed up with, "What Japanese music do you like?" I responded that I like the shamisen, and they all gasped an "Oooooohhh!" in that way that only the Japanese do. I forgot to bring up that I saw Hiyako Marumi (famous enka singer) live in Gifu and got a t-shirt. I've been kicking myself ever since.

The interview was a little over 30 minutes, and I was getting some good signs from them, especially when the head honcho asked the ex-JET to offer me some advice about being successful in the program and she gave her schpiel, and then added, "But you've had plenty of international experience and teaching experience, so you'll do fine." I'll find out in early April if I get accepted into the program. My thoughts about the interview seesaw from second-guessing my answers and feeling less than confident, and feeling like I'll make it in.

So that was that. After that, I met a girl who was also interviewing and she asked me out to lunch. We went for some Mexican and margaritas and then spent the rest of the day lying on the beach talking about China and Japan and Eugene, Oregon and the String Cheese Incident. The beaches in Guam are excellent--sugar-white sand, clear, shallow, warm water, scuba diving, snorkeling, coral reefs, palm trees.

I was quickly becoming broke so the day previous I had changed my ticket and went to the Philippines for a few days, not knowing anyone there or anything about it, no guidebook nothing, just showed up, and after a quick series of strange events, ended up on my way to downtown Manila on a Friday night. The Philippines is the strangest place I have ever been. In some ways, it's very similar to the USA. Everyone I met (except for little kids) spoke perfect English, all the signs even in the backstreet neighborhoods were always English, English newspapers. But then there was a chaotic Asian element to the Philippines, and often I saw crushing poverty.

The first night I stayed in the heart of Manila, Ermita, and was a little nervous. The taxi driver was helping me find a hotel, driving through chaotic streets filled with cars and people and jeepneys, everyone was out eating and drinking, middle aged American men holding hands with teenage Filipino girlfriends, a male cabaret called "Manhunt," thumping music, rock bands playing in the bars. I was dropped off at the Hotel Sandico, next to a bar called "Hussy's." Two or three girls were placing their faces against the glass, trying to seduce passersby into the the blacklight bar. Every hotel and convenience store had a security guard at the door. I checked in to my hotel, quickly walked across the street to the 7-11 bought some San Miguel beer for $0.40 a bottle. The bottom of the receipt says, "Get a FREE WWE Slam Card for every P65 purchase. 36 designs to collect!"

The sign on the hotel said that no male guests were allowed past the lobby (but "Female guests ok"). I took a dingy elevator up to the third floor then quickly retreated back to my room. I watched a little Filipino TV, and could understand bits and pieces. The language flitted back and forth between Tagalog (with a lot of Spanish words) and English expressions and phrases. There was also a cheaply dubbed Japanese program. Then I got tired trying to figure it out and went to sleep.

The next morning, I got up and went for an early stroll, past the the big Ermita church, through a small park full of sleeping homeless, and soon the taxi driver "Dito" López and his wife. Dito and his two daughters Ces and Sauce work at the airport for hotel services. I talked to them a long time the night before. They invited me to stay at their home. So I went to the municipality of Navotas, north of Manila but still Metro Manila (whatever that means--11 million+ people).

Manila is the most densely populated city in the world (41,000 people/km²), four times denser than Tokyo. (District 6 has 68,000+ people/km².) That day, I had breakfast at a streetside stand--fried eggs and some kind of rice casserole. I asked Dito if they used chopsticks in the Philippines. He laughed. We walked down to the park alongside Manila bay and saw kids swimming in the dirty water and desperately poor squatter houses. I met a lot of people, Dito's friends. They all spoke perfect English. After that, I sat in the Lópeces' back yard and read my book and Gloria, the mother, aka "Mama O.G.," brought me some additional reading material--some back issues of Us Weekly and Our Daily Bread. She made some fish soup for lunch and we drank some buko (coconut drink). We said Grace.

In the afternoon, their elder son showed me around downtown Manila. First we toured Intramuros, the oldest district in Manila. This walled city was built by the Spanish in 1573 - 1606 and was the seat of colonial power. The city also includes Manila Cathedral and several Baroque churches (UNESCO World Heritage Site). The site It also played a pivotal role in Philippine independence as José Rizal, the national hero, was imprisoned.

We walked past Chinatown and into Rizal Park. The park is huge--it includes a Chinese garden, Japanese garden, the Department of Tourism building, the National Museum of the Filipino People, the National Library of the Philippines, the Planetarium, the Orchidarium and Butterfly Pavilion, an open-air auditorium for cultural performances, a relief map of the Philippines, a fountain area, a children's lagoon, a chess plaza (where one blue-eyed Filipino challenged me to a game, but only if I bet some money, so I declined--I might as well give him the cash), a light and sound presentation, and the Quirino Grandstand. Middle school students were practicing dance routines, there was some karate lessons, and vendors sold snacks and drinks out of bamboo shacks. We bought some kind of hot drink containing tofu and a sticky sweet fruit paste. It was delicious.

In the evening, we walked along Rizal Blvd, past the enormous and heavily guarded US Embassy (one of the most prominent buildings in Manila), to the Baywalk, a 2km promenade beside Manila Bay. From here you can witness some of the most spectacular sunsets in the world (due to all the pollution). There are kaleidoscopic lamp posts, al fresco cafes, very good live cover bands, coconut trees. I had a "continental breakfast" for supper: eggs, toast, French fries, coffee. After that, we stopped in a high class dining establishment were we were checked for bombs. This also happened at shopping mall. We walked around Malate and then hopped into a jeepney.

Jeepneys were originally US Army jeeps left over from WWII, converted into short distance transportation, but now they are constructed in the Philippines but remain true to form. They are brightly decorated and highly colorful with messages such as, "King Lord," "Justine," "John 3:16," etc. The sides are painted and the back is elongated with two benches that can hold a half dozen people each. You climb in an out the back, over the sign that says, "God Bless Us." There is a bar across the ceiling to hold onto and colorful lights and music to provide atmosphere. I passed my money up to the driver, a sweaty guy in a tank top and headband. He counted it while driving and then and passed back the correct change. It's really cheap--rides start at 14 cents.

That evening, I played with the kids, Cyrus, Ulo (Big Head), and Estrid(?) (aka Ah-ah), and then went to bed.

The next morning, I had a breakfast and some coffee and then went with Dito to the Navotas park again. There was a huge group of people of all ages dancing, doing aerobics following an enthusiastic leader in a sweat suit and thumping music. They start around 6 a.m., before it gets too hot. It continued until 9 a.m. After that, we hopped on a bus to meet Dito's friend. We walked down a long hallway, past some guy sleeping in a mosquito net. At the end of the hall, we went into a tiny apartment of a young woman. She served us fried eggs, bread and coffee. She only spoke Tagalog. She and Dito spoke for about 20 minutes, then we left. He later told me, "That's my second wife. Don't tell anyone. We've been together for three years."

We rode a jeepney back to Navotas. Dito had to work so I sat on the side of the street and took pictures of passing jeepneys and chatted with the other guys who sat there. They always seemed to be there. I asked one guy with a mullet if they were there every day. He said, "Yeah, we just sit here and smoke cigarettes and drink." I started talking to one guy who invests on the Manila Stock Exchange. He invited me in to play some billiards next door, and brought some snacks and San Miguels. Soon Dito reappeared and we went across the street into someone's courtyard.

Soon a big plastic bag full of San Miguel bottles appeared, along with with white mango in vinegar and other snacks. There were about six men there, and we sat and chatted, making jokes. Eventually I asked to use their toilet. Someone said, "Hey, just use the wall. It's a postmodern toilet!" Later, another guy, about 60, introduced his teenage kids. He said, "Yeah, I almost forgot to have kids." Another guy there looked about 35 but showed me his driver's license: 62. They kept saying, "Hey, it's the Filipino Way!" I learned to say "Cheers" in Tagalog: "Tagai!" or "Toast!" It was a fun afternoon.

Later that evening, I watched the first episode of the second season of Big Brother Pinoy (Big Brother Philippines) and soon became sleepy. I had to leave early the next morning, so I went to bed. At 3, the family woke me up, made me coffee and drove me to the airport. I thought it would be interesting to see a quiet night in Manila, but the opposite was true: at 3:30 in the morning, people--whole families--were walking around, playing cards, eating in restaurants. The town was still busy, although traffic was significantly lighter. Soon I was on a plane to Hong Kong, a boat to Shenzhen, and then back in China.

By the time I got to Shenzhen I was very hungry. I left the airport in search of a cheap restaurant. I heard someone say, "Laowai! (foreigner)" and turned around to see a middle-aged man and his wife with a bag of groceries. I chatted with them a while in Chinese (they're from Harbin) and they took it upon themselves to help me find a restaurant, along with the help of another young man. It's good to be back in China. I never cease to be amazed with people's friendliness. I ended up eating at a place with an Italian guy and his Cantonese girlfriend.

Now I'm back in Kunming. Yuka's and my college friend Mariko came to visit for a couple of days. We went to Yuantong Temple, a Tibetan temple, Stone Forest (a UNESCO Geopark), ate at a vegetarian restaurant where the chefs make everything look and taste like meat, and ate Kunming BBQ here in Bailong Village. I start teaching next week, and Yuka and Mariko are on their way to Leshan (Big Buddha) and Xi'an. Yuka will be back in Kunming next week.

I took a late morning flight out of Kunming to Shenzhen, one of China's richest cities (on the border with Hong Kong). I was fortunate that they let me take Yuka's suitcase as a carry-on, as I could get off the plane very quickly and make a mad dash for the port. There was a ferry that was due to leave at 2:00 p.m. for Hong Kong International Airport (my next stop). If I would have missed it, I would have risked missing my next connection, but there was no problem. Before I knew it, I was sailing in the Pearl River Delta for Sky Pier (Hong Kong Airport's Port). They even refunded the Hong Kong tax money that I paid on my plane ticket when I got there (HK$120). There was an altercation with a very, very fat angry Chinese man, his group of friends(?) all in Hong Kong Disneyland attire, and a poor airline representative. It was strange hearing Cantonese again, with its elongated final tones drifting up or down.

After I got out of the port, I re-emerged into the Western world. This was the first time in six months. I was surprised to be surrounded by English books and magazines in the airport bookstore. I stared in wonder for about 20 minutes...things I completely forgot about--the shelves and shelves of business books, National Enquirer, pornographic magazines with their plastic wrap and black covers so only the titles are visible, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal...none of those things I have seen in six months. I also saw a plethora of Western fast food restaurants, lots and lots of foreigners, people in super-trendy clothes...it was a little overwhelming.

Someone (I forgot who) remarked about their China experience, how it all feels like a dream now. I had a similar feeling, like stepping through the looking glass, back into the Western world. Hong Kong, especially the airport, is firmly placed in the Western world.

The next stop was Manila airport. Here's a guide for the Manila airport, in 18 easy steps:

1. Fill out an immigration card on the plane. Get off the plane.
2. Walk over a disinfectant cushion (ala the UK during the foot-and-mouth crisis). There are also infrared cameras hanging from the ceiling at this point and a doctor closely watching the temperatures of each passenger.
3. Get in line and go through immigration, even if you're just changing planes. So I got a Philippines stamp, and had 21 days to stay in the country, even though I told them I was going to Guam.
4. Get in line and wait for your luggage.
5. Get in line and go through customs.
6. Walk outside the airport, and go down a road for 10 minutes to a different airport. Some people were taking jeepneys (very cool transportation in the Philippines), but I didn't anticipating having to have Philippine pesos. It's not clear where you're supposed to enter the other airport, but a security guard let me through a gate.
7. Walk up an obscure staircase and get in line to enter the airport. Show another security guard your passport and airplane ticket. If you don't have a ticket, you have to show your itinerary. If you couldn't print your itinerary for the past few days because every print shop in Kunming was closed for the Chinese New Year, he'll get a wadded-up print-out from somewhere and look you up.
8. Get in line and go through security. You can leave your shoes on.
9. Check into your flight and get a boarding pass.
10. Get in line and go through security again. Take off your belt and shoes and put them into the x-ray machine.
11. Give an official 750 Philippine pesos or US$15.50 for "airport improvement and security development tax."
12. Get in line and go through immigration. First you must fill out an emigration card.
13. Go through customs.
14. Find your gate and go downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, give a security person your passport and boarding pass.
15. Give someone else your carry-on items so they can search it.
16. Someone else will wave a metal-detecting wand around.
17. Give someone else your shoes (take them off) for inspection.
18. Board your next flight.

I arrived on Guam this morning at 4:45 a.m. Back in the US, the first time in six months. I slept for a few hours in the airport until it was time to check into my hotel. After 5 a.m. or so, the airport was completely deserted except for security people and airline workers. I was awoken at 8 or so by Filipino flight attendants laughing loudly at dirty jokes. I decided to save a couple bucks and walked from the airport to the hotel. Nowadays, I think nothing of walking 30 minutes for something. It's no big deal, but I forgot...this is America, even though I'm in Guam. I saw the familiar roadside debris of Bud Light cans, empty packs of Doral. Some people shouted "Eyyyy!" at me, as some Americans shout at pedestrians where pedestrians are uncommon. I also haven't really thought about low-riders and sub-woofers, hip-hop music, backwards baseball caps, desolate sidewalks (I was the only pedestrian). It's strange being in America without a car.

This island is in the west Pacific, three times closer to Manila than Honolulu. There is a huge Navy base and Air Force base. There are lots and lots of Japanese tourists. There are nice beaches, but mostly Guam is used for duty-free shopping. I needed some supplies and headed for K-Mart. Guam has the world's largest K-Mart in the world. It's not nearly as exciting as it sounds. The locater signs in the store (housewares, pharmacy, plus sizes, etc.) are in English, Chamarro (local language), and Japanese.There was an interesting snippet I caught overhead between standard K-Mart muzak: short grammar lessons in Chamarro. I met a woman working at the airport from Palau. She taught me "thank you" in her native language: "muu lang." I also see many Melanesians, Filipinos, S. Pacific islanders. Some people are huge. I went to a restaurant tonight and guys as big around as they are tall kept eating and eating and eating, presumably keeping up their sumo physique.

Most people seem very laid-back and have a good sense of humor. They often lapse from English into other languages, things I have never heard before but include a lot of Spanish and English words. Most of the Japanese tourists here don't speak any English, so many signs are only in Japanese. I helped a family find their destination on the bus today and they seemed a little shocked that I could understand what they were talking about. When they got off the bus, they each waved to me, one at a time, in deep gratitude.

Tomorrow morning at 9 I have my interview at the Guam International Trade Center, 6th floor. The Japanese Consulate General is there, and hopefully this will get me into the Japanese Exchange and Teaching Program in August. That's the whole reason why I am there.

Also I wanted to save some money, so I changed my ticket and will go back to the Philippines two days early (cheaper than Guam, whejavascript:void(0)
Publishre nothing's cheap). From there, I'll fly back to Hong Kong, take a boat to Shenzhen, and then to Kunming. I was intrigued with the Philippines and need to see more. But now it's time for sleep.

Yuka and I took the night bus down to Hekou, on the Vietnam border. This bus was a sleeper bus, bunk beds, room for about 30. The beds are quite small and not designed for a Western frame, so I wasn't too comfortable. But we made it to the border just in time for the flag raising and the Chinese national anthem, signifying the opening of the border for that day. After we passed the border formalities, we walked across the Red River and into Lao Cai, Vietnam.

Vietnam is booming right now. It has the second fasted growing economy in Asia (8% last year, behind China's 10% but ahead of India's 5%). It just joined the WTO a couple of months ago. Bush was in Hanoi in November, I think that was when. So many things in Vietnam were similar to China, lots of construction, concrete buildings going up left and right, a burgeoning middle class, great optimism for a chance at a better life. However, Vietnam was different from China too. Sure, the Chinese influence was there, but the writing system uses the Roman alphabet (or something similar enough), so it was much easier to read things. There was a definite French influence from years of colonialism, and definitely their own "Vietnam-ness" which makes it completely unique from anywhere else. One US dollar is about 16,000 dong. It was not fun counting all those zeros. I ended up dividing by 2000 and thinking in terms of Chinese money, which was easier as prices in Vietnam are similar to prices in China.

We found a minibus driver who would take us 30km up to Sapa for 20,000 dong (about $1.25, or 62 cents each). We rode up through the winding mountain roads to a beautiful village underneath Vietnam's highest mountain, Fanxipan. This area is full of Vietnam's ethnic minority groups including the H'mongs, Black Thai, Red Thai, White Thai, Dzao, etc. Many people here, including the men (which is not usually the case in China), were wearing traditional clothes. Everyone in this town was in the tourist business.

Before we stepped out of the minibus, representatives from no less than hotels had crowded on (we were already full with 10 people on the way up). "You stay here $5 a night brand new hotel it's not in your guidebook mountain view come check it out if you don't like it no problem, ok?" We had pamphlets, businesscards, brochures crammed into our faces. We decided on the Green Mountain Hotel which did have a great view, private bathroom, balcony overlooking the mountains, and plenty of hot water for $5. We decided to go for a walk.

"Hello? Motorbike?" A guy pulled up on his motorbike. "No thanks," I said, "I just want to walk." "Hello, moto!" another guy shouted as he pulled his motorbike up. It was something we would hear consistently for the next two weeks. Granted, as we rode the bus and made stops, any person getting off, it didn't matter where, Vietnamese or foreigner, would get the same treatment. I didn't see many people walking in Vietnam.

The next morning, we found a baguette stand doing egg sandwiches for 3000 dong (about 15 cents). We also found a decent coffee shop, and had my first cup of decent coffee in six months. The Chinese are not big coffee drinkers, but the Vietnamese do it right, along with French pastries, baguettes, wine from the highland university city of Dalat, music. We walked down to Cat Cat, a H'mong village down the mountain about 3km away. We had to pay 3000 dong to walk the road. There was a beautiful waterfall and a pretty destitute village, people all sewing the blankets and clothes that were hawked all over Sapa town. The hassle here was much less, and we did see a new school being built. We chatted with some H'mong girls playing a game similar to jacks. Everyone speaks English and takes US dollars: "There are H'mong people everywhere, even in America," one girl told me. I knew this to be true as my friend Amanda told me of the large H'mong community in the Twin Cities, among other places. "Yes, that's right, I said." They of course had things to sell as well, but didn't seem to care if we bought anything. There were so many other tourists with more money to spend than me, a person on a Chinese university teacher's salary. Sapa's nice, really incredible views, but as Yuka said, "We're trapped." You can't go anywhere without having to pay or being offered something to buy.

We spend two days in Sapa, then took an overcrowded minibus back to Lao Cai, where we were dropped off at the driver's friend's or brother's restaurant, serving "Western food," also booking train tickets, which we prefered to do by ourselves 50 meters away at the train station, for cheaper. We ate next door to the station, a place decidedly not on the tourist maps, and chatted with the owner. He gave me a kind of sauce with orange chili peppers, ginger and sugar, and then something to drink that helped with digestion. When we entered the train station, a security guard pushed us to the front of the line and got us past all the scalpers. He even wrote down the price to make it clear. We booked a hard sleeper (6-berth sleeping car) to Hanoi.

Hanoi is called "The Paris of the Orient." I've never been to Paris--my only exposure to France was Calais which I'm told is not the best France has to offer--but I have been to Montreal, "The Paris of the North." Hanoi is not very similar to Montreal. But Hanoi is a great city--lakes, rivers, stately colonial-era mansions, "Hello-you-want-motobike" people in green safari hats ala the British in Egypt, superb coffee, art galleries, a maze of shops, ancient pagodas, Ho Chi Minh's preserved body. There are hardly any cars but tons of motorbikes. When the light turns green, it sounds like a motorcycle derby--every time. There is even a jazz club with live music 7 nights a week, and plenty of English language bookshops which is a rare treat in Asia. We went to The Bookworm and chatted with the Vietnamese owner. I picked up Wallace Stegner's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel "Angle of Repose" for 80,000 dong, about $5. The owner pointed out a place for us to eat, a fancy outdoor place where local Hanoi people went, very delicious.

I wish we would have spent more time in Hanoi. The next day we took a city bus to Ha Dong station, got off to tons of men grabbing us and pulling us toward the buses they were selling tickets to, going to Halong Bay or wherever. Yuka cleared about ten of them off her with a judo move and a "Don't touch me!" We scrambled for the bus station office and found someone responsible looking in a uniform. I said, "Ha Tay," the province that were bound for, and he pointed out the correct bus. Soon we were on our way to Xuan Mai, about 30km southwest, home of the Forestry University of Vietnam and my good friend, Chairman Mao.

While we were waiting for the bus to get moving, some young girls came on the bus, begging for money, but soon gave up and just played with us, braiding Yuka's hair. Another man tried to sell me some books...I tried to explain that I don't read Vietnamese very well. The bus driver climbed aboard, gave a couple of big honks, clearing out the non-riders from the bus and miscellaneous debris in the station lot, and we got rolling. Outside of Ha Dong, the road was crowded with bicycles and motorbikes. It was completely flat and straight, but for some reason, many people became carsick and were vomiting into conveniently provided small plastic bags and throwing them out the window. Before we knew it, the bus pulled up to a dusty stop and the driver informed us that this was Xuan Mai.

We hired some motorbike drivers to give us a ride to the forestry university and boy, did we suprise the guards at the front gate. I showed them Dr. Tran's (aka, Chairman Mao) namecard and also Dr. Tran's son Kha's mobile phone number. Soon a Western woman pulled up on her motorbike. Her name was Susan, from Australia, doing research, and the only foreigner in town.

"They called Professor Mao and then they called me," she said of the guards. Soon Mao and his son Kha showed up on their bikes and took us out to lunch. We left our bags at the front gate guard station.

We were greeted at the restaurant with a bottle of scorpion whiskey. In fact, two scorpions were inside, along with various herbs and who knows what else. It was strong, smooth, and sweet. I warned Yuka not to smell it before drinking. "Chuc mung!" Several other officials from the university were there, one the director, with a hammer-and-sickle pin on his lapel. He spoke excellent English. Yuka and Mao went to the restaurant's fish tank and chose a catfish swimming around for our hotpot lunch. Another official had lived during Soviet times in East Germany and spoke German (many older Vietnamese have been educated abroad in other former communist contries--Mao himself lived a while in Leningrad and was educated at Beijing Forestry University). They were all familiar with my university (the one in Kunming that is). Many had been there.

There were numerous toasts and photos. Soon another bottle of scorpion whiskey appeared and was opened, and consumed. The Vietnamese call it ruou--there were also gigantic bottles of cobra whiskey and some other large rodent-sized reptile--this was in restaurants all over Vietnam, as is paojiu (fruit and herb whiskey) in China. After lunch, we rode back to Mao's house, met his wife and looked at pictures. He showed me an award he won from Cambridge University--"one of the 2000 outstanding scientists of the 21st century." Another researcher from the university with excellent English came and chatted for a while. Mao opened his bottle of baijiu from Lijiang (spiced with ingredients from Xishangbanna, Kunming, etc.) and we had a couple drinks. Soon, it was time to go. I climbed on the back of Kha's bike and Yuka onto Mao's.

Leaving his house, which is situated on a small slope, Mao lost his balance and fell off his motorbike, crashing onto the pavement, Yuka tumbling after. The crash left a large scrape on Mao's cheek. He was all right, but shaken up. Yuka was ok. Don't drink and drive.

The next morning, Yuka wasn't feeling well, and Mao and Kha met us at the hotel to go for breakfast. I went with them but Yuka stayed behind. After a bowl of rice noodles, we continued to a small shop to see another Vietnamese friend of mine. His parents own it and greeted us with a draft of cold beer (this is at a 8:30 in the morning!). We ate peanuts, had some tea, some coffee, and chatted in Chinese, a little Vietnamese, and a little English.

I went back to the hotel and took care of Yuka. She was in bed most of that day. I took a step out to use the Internet and found a net bar--2000 dong per hour (about 13 cents). I got lots of strange stares and offers for a motorbike ride. Not many foreigners make it to these parts. Some people sitting in front of a shop summoned me over. I sat down and tried to chat with them. They gave me some pineapple and put a little salt on it. A guy offered me a cigarette. I declined. He then offered me some heroin and a prostitute, a young bored-looking woman sitting with us. An old woman with missing teeth cackled a laugh. I decided it was time to be on my way.

The next day, Yuka was feeling better so the two of us and Kha rented a car and driver and headed for Haobinh City. We climbed up, up, up into the mountains once again and ended up in a village called Ban Lac. The people here are ethnic Thais and live in huts with thatched roofs and on stilts. We were invited into one for tea and sat on the bamboo mat floor. The guest room had no furniture and plain walls. We sat on a hand-woven rug. It was very pleasant. The day was a communist party holiday (the 77th anniversary of the Party), so there were not many tourists. The pace of life was slow and not as aggressively touristy as Sapa.

After lunch we went for a tour of Hoabinh Dam (which supplies electricity as far south as Saigon), had to pay more than double the Vietnamese admission price and 10,000 dong for a required guide that spoke no English and didn't let us into "sensitive" places in the dam. After that, we went to see Ho Chi Minh's massive statue (over 20m tall) which is visible across the entire valley. A friendly Vietnamese girl we met that day took us to the market and had Yuka try on a new pair of jeans. Later we realized that Vietnamese do not wear jeans with worn out knees (as Yuka was wearing). Some kids pointed at her jeans and said something to me, probably along the lines of, "Hey, get your girlfriend some decent jeans!"

The next day we headed for the beach. We had a couple carsick bus rides to Haiphong, then took a ferry to Cat Ba Island in Halong Bay (UNESCO World Heritage Site). This was slow season, so there had to be twice as many motorbike drivers as there were foreign tourists. Every ten seconds we were offered a ride, which we continued to decline. The beaches were splendidly deserted and the offshore (and onshore) scenery is spectacular--limestone rocks and islets jutting out of clear water for miles and miles.

One day we actually did hire some motorbike drivers and went up to Cat Ba National Park. On the way up the mountains, we stopped at Hospital Cave. During the "American War" (as it's called in Vietnam), this cave served as a secret hospital. One old man, still in his North Vietnamese Army uniform was a caretaker. He showed us around and explained each room in broken English: the kitchen, the officers' quarters, the operating room. Then we came to the meeting room. Suddenly his eyes lit up and he broke into a rousing song whose chorus went, "Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh." You could tell that he had some strong memories from that time and the bare room seemed to fill up with the spirit of the time. His name card sitting beside me now says, "Vu Dinh Khoi--Distinguished War Veteran." He didn't seem to care that I was American or that Yuka was Japanese. He put his arms around us and posed happily for pictures. "Vietnam and America are good friends," he told me, and this is becoming truer each day.

Cat Ba National Park is gorgeous and the hikes and views are spectacular. That's all I have to say about that--the rest you'll have to see to believe.

After our lazy days lounging on Cat Ba, we made it back to Hanoi, took a night train to the border, crossed the Red River once again and spent a day in the boring border town of Hekou, China. It was nice being able to speak Chinese again.

Finally our night bus to Kunming was ready to depart. It was a sleeper again, and an older model, well worn. It proved to be the worst bus trip of my life. For the first four or five hours, there was no road. They are currently building a new expressway linking Kunming and Hanoi, and we were taking a bumpy dirt road instead. People were smoking and spitting on the floor. I saw one guy blow his nose on the floor. The bus lurched and rocked incessantly, dodging earlier landslides and midnight traffic with deafening honks. We had top bunks and I was clutching the sides with an iron grip for fear of being thrown off. There were numerous times I was bucked into the air like a rodeo clown. I was wholeheartedly determined that if I fell, it would be anywhere but on that floor. The bed was too small for me and if I tried to lie on my side, my hips would start aching from the jolts of the bus and the wafer-thin mattress provided no cushion against the metal frame.

The entire ride reeked of diesel fumes--I suppose there was a major leak. The guy next to me was snoring loudly. We stopped a couple of times, but there was no bathroom--we just went behind the bus in the middle of the night, our shoes encrusted with mud. After 14 excruciating hours (the bus was over two hours late), we finally made it to Kunming. It was another hour on a crowded city bus (no seat), and then finally home sweet home and a long hot shower. Later that day, Yuka and I blew our noses--the tissues were blacked from the diesel fumes. Next time, I will look closely at the long distance bus before getting on.

We got the call at 2 p.m., 30 minutes early. The moving people were here. I had spent the entire morning hastily throwing all my Chinese belongings into boxes and bags for the move. We had an abundance of students there to help, three people from the Foreign Affairs Department, the cleaning lady Mrs. Jiang, and a four-man moving crew. They all dashed into my apartment and threw it into the moving truck, while my boss Mr. Li was saying, "Go, go, go!" Soon two taxis skidded up to the apartment, and Lester, Marietta, and I crammed into the back and that was it. Good-bye, old apartment. I won't miss you, mosquitoes.

The night before, I had gone out to Wei's Pizza. They had just opened in a bigger, better site near the Kunming downtown pedestrian mall. This place is owned by a Dutchman named Alex and his Chinese wife Wei. It has a big brick oven and cooks up good pizzas and other Italian food, along with a little Chinese (of course), Indian, and Mexican. It's a great atmosphere and an extensive foreign-language lending library. I ended up playing pool and chatting with some expat Dutchmen (there is a sizable Dutch community here), including one guy's interesting stories about bicycling from The Netherlands to Turkey, flying to Beijing, and cycling down to Kunming.

We had about three hours to get settled into our new apartments, which are housed in the brand-new International Center for Exchange and Cooperation. There is a chandelier in the lobby, a front desk, and two security guards staffing the place at all hours. The elevators were in operation, so the move went very, very quickly. I am in Apt. 918, which I'm told is a fortunate number in Chinese, as it sounds like "jiu yao fa," which has something or other to do with prosperity. Also a student told me that moving to a new place at the end of the year is a prosperous thing to do. So I look forward to 2007.

At 6:30, we three foreign teachers were escorted into waiting black cars and driven to a nearby fancy restaurant. Mr. Yang, the vice president of the school, drove us (the Foreign Affairs Dept. & foreign teachers). This was our Chinese Christmas dinner. The restaurant was about to hold two simultaneous wedding feasts on the third floor, so we got to see the beautiful brides standing out front and kids chasing each other with silly string. The banquet was the best I've had so far in China. We had some Yunnan red wine, duck soup, grilled squid, plenty of tasty vegetable dishes, mushroom soup, sea bass, grilled eel, steamed wholewheat bread dipped in honey, watermelon...there must have been about 20 dishes. After that, it was time for bed.

The next day was Christmas Eve. My students held a Christmas party in one of the classrooms, and even acquired a PA, organized games, had two huge bags of oranges, singing, dancing, and a girl showed up with the guzheng, a Chinese zither, which she played very beautifully and gracefully. My Chinese teacher Ben gave me a framed paper cutting of a Beijing Opera character, which I really enjoy. I played some guitar, but then I had to make it to Marietta's for her Christmas Eve potluck (one of her students asked me if I would be going to the "Lucky Pot"), where we chatted until late in the night and drank a little Jamaican rum.

The next day was Christmas and I was at work at 8 a.m. (it's not a public holiday in China, although it's widely celebrated). I taught two classes, went to my Chinese class, gave 35 oral exams (it's finals right now) in the afternoon and dashed off with Lester and Marietta to a Christmas dinner. It was held in a former factory now art gallery called the Loft. There is a Scandinavian restaurant inside called Nordica, and that's who put on the smorgasbord. We had something equivalent to a church dinner, talked with some of the many Swedes (this couple had taken the Trans-Siberian railroad from Moscow to Beijing), and saw many nice Chinese families. I tried a few glasses of gloog, mulled Swedish wine. The organizers also put on a show of Christmas music and acting. After this long day, I was exhausted once again.

We got back to our hotel/apartment and the girls at the front desk stopped us from going upstairs. From behind the front desk came oranges, Japanese sweets, chocolate, a huge cake (made in our school's canteen), a box of beers. We all congregated around the table in the lobby and celebrated Christmas with the security guards and hotel staff. I was obliged to grab my guitar and sang some Christmas songs with Marietta.

I counted something like five Christmas parties that I went to.

The rest of the week was spent giving oral exams and written exams. I have 150 written exams to grade...some are obviously plagiarized. There's all these composition model books that are in the library and I have a feeling that some of them ended up in students' laps during the exam. After one test, I found one book that was left behind, a page dog-eared to something similar to one of the topics the students could write about (I didn't tell them what they would be writing about beforehand, but these composition books are organized by topic). I haven't graded these papers yet, so it's possible that it's not as bad as I fear. I did keep a close eye on them during testing, but some of 'em are just so crafty! I am looking forward to reading the exams, though, as some students have consistently written great pieces--some that would even put native English speakers to shame.

The oral exams went pretty well. I had the students bring something to read to me, and then draw a random topic from a hat and talk about it. I was surprised by some of the results. Some students who had never spoken in class had very, very good English! Also, I was often surprised and amused by the selections brought in to read. One student, whose English ability is undoubtedly at the top, read the directions from the back of her lotion bottle. Another one read from the script of the horror movie "Saw." Most surprisingly, a student came in with a book of Allen Ginsberg's "Howl" and other poems and read "A Supermarket in California." He had bought the book (it's in English with Chinese translation) in a local bookstore. I asked him if Ginsberg was banned in China--"Howl" can be pretty shocking. He said, "Not any more!"

On Dec 26, there was an earthquake at the bottom of the ocean off the southern coast of Taiwan. I don't believe anyone was hurt, but some underseas cables connecting Asia and North America were ruptured. Consequently, Internet access has been horrible the past week. I am able to access Chinese sites, so I can read the news on China Daily and Xinhua and occasionally Japanese news, but it is usually impossible to reach any American websites.

I worked seven days straight. New Year's Day is a public holiday in China, and Jan 2 and Jan 3 are school holidays, so we had to make those up on Saturday and Sunday. I gave my written exams those two days so now I'm done teaching for two months...I hope to be done with all the grades by Saturday.

Sunday night, I was to have a New Year's Eve party at my apartment. I invited many people. But at 5:30, I was asked to go with the Foreign Language Dept. for a banquet. We would leave at 6. I thought it would be no problem making it back in time for my party. So I went. We went to a nearby fancy restaurant (different from the Christmas party) and sat in the center of a large room. Glass beads were strung from the ceiling completely surrounding us. We were brought out dish after tasty dish. At my table was the Communist Party Secretary of my university, his deputies, the directors of the Foreign Language Department, we foreign teachers, and a couple Chinese professors of English. My neighbor at the table went around and toasted each person with a shot of baijiu (Chinese whiskey), the waitress following him around with the bottle and refilling his glass. Everyone kept toasting the party secretary. Even his driver came in for a toast. Lester, Marietta, and I were toasted numerous times, maybe three times by the party secretary alone. Needless to say, things got pretty rowdy by the end of the banquet, but it was all in good fun. I told my hosts that I needed to go home, and, no, sorry I couldn't go with the party secretary to the next place and drink more. So he had his driver give me a ride back to my apartment.

When we arrived at my apartment, the driver got a call on his cellphone. He told me (from what I could understand of his Chinese) that plans had changed and I must accompany him to the World Expo Garden Hotel. The party secretary had specifically requested that I go there. So I got back into the car and went to the super-fancy hotel, where we sang karaoke on the big screen and danced on the dancefloor until midnight. So this is how I rang in 2007 in China.

Yesterday, I went downtown with Lester and two students. Everyone in China was in downtown Kunming yesterday. We tried to hop on bus 71, but it was full. We waited another 10 minutes for the next bus, but that one was packed too. After 15 more minutes, a third bus came by, fuller than ever. Then we spent 10 minutes trying to flag down a taxi. Finally we made it. Traffic was horrendous. Everyone was out shopping. It was like the day after Thanksgiving in the US. At times the sidewalks were so crowded, they spilled out into the bike lanes, and eventually into the streets. My students kept taking me to fancy department stores to look at clothes I could I went to sleep last night exhausted.

Today two of my students invited me to KFC. Going to KFC or McDonald's is a big deal in China. It's essentially the same as the US, a couple items are different on the menu (it's hard to tell though, as the menu is in Chinese), but it's pretty much like being in the US. I hadn't been to KFC in years, in fact I don't even remember the last time (considering I'm a vegetarian). I suppose that's why people like it. To me, it just seems like a perfect representation of the mediocrity in American society that Ginsberg was "Howl"ing about. It seems to go against the grain of Chinese culture--here eating is a great, perhaps the greatest, social event. Most people object to the idea of "fast food." A good meal will take hours, and be well worth it. But this allure and mystique of America is a strong draw. I guess it's my job here to try to show them the other great things that the US has to offer, other than car culture, crass consumerism and big box retail, lowest-common denominator pop music, blah blah blah.

On New Year's Eve, I bought a scroll of calligraphy done by a giggling master here from Yunnan. He even wrote my name and country down the side (in Chinese, of course). It says something about Yunnan, and Yunnan being a center of Chinese traditional arts. He was also giving a demonstration with the maobi (calligraphy brush), and I tried my hand. One's handwriting in China is traditionally a sign of character. I wonder how my character looks.

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!).