I think it's interesting to note the extent with which the memories of American really seem to fade. It's hard for me to picture the places and the emotions that those places evoked are a vague memory. The images of the well known things that we see everyday in the place where we grew up, are things you don't count on having to work on to conjure up a vivid image of. The fact my memories of home are fading and have lost any semblence of potency doesn't induce a melancholic disposition or necessarily effect me in any kind of negative way. In fact, I find it interesting. How 21 years of memories are gently erased in the space of a little under a year leads to imagine what it would be like were I to spend multiple years here. There is a very stong possibility of that happening as well. There has been at least once when I've panicked due to my lack of strong memory but it passed quickly. I do however miss my family and am saddened at the rapid changes my younger brother and sister are no doubt undergoing in my absence. My mothers image flashes in my mind and for an instant that image is painful. When I think of them, I'm reminded of human bonds that are stronger than anything I've encountered. The bond shared by family is one that death cannot even loose. The memories that I find difficult to remember are one of the strange changes I've undergone since I've lived here. Through this change I've been led into introspection and contemplation of just what it means to live and the ability to remember what we've lived.

Just outside the gate of the school I work in and in my neighborhood is a collection of small stores. There is one in particular that I frequent on a very regular basis. Once, twice and sometimes three times a day I wander over to the small store to buy things and use the long distance telephone. Outside the store is a street food vendor that I also go to everyday. The owners of the small store have a middle aged daughter. I hate her. Lately I've been avoiding going there because everytime she sees me she gathers her young daughter and comes up to me. She will point to my feet and say, "Foot" look at her daughter and request she say the same thing. She points to all of my limbs and says what they are. She asks me how much money I make. She asks me how much I weigh. She asks me to repeat simple one syllable words over and over and over again to her young daughter. She generally makes a nuisance of herself. I'm generally a very polite person and don't want to ignore her for fear I'll upset the store owners as she is their daughter and I go to the store so often. But, the fact is she really annoys the hell out of me. Today I was standing outside after just using the telephone. Sometimes I stand outside and have a cigarette because many of the teachers I work with also go to the same small store. I stand outside for something to do. I saw here today and ran home. I don't want to deal with her nosy nature, as well intentioned as her curiousity may be, it really borders on obtrusive. It's not like she's trying to make friends. She just wants me to say words to her in English. The day I stop going to that store because of her I"m going to be very angry at her unwillingness to leave me the hell alone. I see her and I automatically sense that she is trying to think of words she'd like me to help her practice. Maybe I'm being ridiculous, but she makes SUCH a bloody nuisance of herself. There is really no way around the situation because if act dissinterested I will not only offend her, but also her family who I am friendly with. Sometimes living in places unacustomed to having foreigners around isn't as easy as one would like. I guess I should be thankful that it's not a more serious grievance. Oh well, I'll continue to smile and bear it I suppose. I don't want to change stores, and she isn't there everyday. Thank God! Over and out...

It was incredibly hard to leave Beijing that July afternoon. Imagine the scene at the airport and the hours leading up the imminent goodbye. Heartwrenching it was.

The air had had turned into a heavy sweltering mass the pressed closely upon ones face and body. The summer had come and I was quite miserable. I flew into Shanghai and it was raining and dark. The night was unforgiving. I felt myself slipping into a depression and I looked upon the next two months of hotel living and hard teaching schedules with disdain.The only thing that really cheered me up was the fact I'd be doing a little travel in Zhejiang province. A busload of American teachers made the journey from Shanghai to Shaoxing for the first three week English camp. Keqiao, a little city in the Shaoxing county was a unique little place. Unique because there were an equal amount of Middle Eastern and Chinese people. Pakistani's, Iraqi's, folks from Afghanistan, and India resided in the city due to it's prolific textile market. Stores selling bolts of cloth were absolutely everywhere, it was reminscent of an bazzar with donkeys and humans pulling large loads of goods from one place to another. The thing I remember most about Keqiao was the heat. It was over 100 degrees farenheit everyday I was there, mix with that about 180% humidity, and you have the perfect recipe for misery. I missed my girlfriend. I was hanging out with loud mouthed Americans who had little understanding of what China was. I became close with the group however because we were sharing an experience with each other that not many people do. I left Keqiao with a few fond memories and a couple friends. It was on a bus after three weeks there though to another place. Moving on once again, I packed my bags and said goodbye to Keqiao.

I arrived at Jiang Shen with about 4 other Americans and was immediately a little more at ease. Jiang Shen is a sleepy little city that exists in striking contrast to Keqiao. Grand jagged mountains encircle Jiang Shen and it's citizens were of the "gotta take it easy" mentality. The teaching schedule was brutal however, it was oppresively hot, and I was usually always exhausted. During my time there the highlight was going to "The Thousand Year Old Village". A village two hours away by bus that hasn't been touched the hand of modernization. Electricity was scarce, and the people lived off of farming. It was a village in the fairy tale sense with chickens picking about on the paths, old woman sitting in deep chairs. Old men fanning themselves, children bathing in the stream. I took some great pictures and burned images into my mind that will stick for the rest of my life. The three weeks in Jiang Shen came to an end and the summer was winding down finally. I was worn out and happy that I'd be able to travel back to Beijing for another 10 days.

I took a bus to Hangzhou so I could take the train back north. Hangzhou was alive this time, it was summer and the Chinese tourists were out in full force. I spent a day there, my train left at 8.00pm. The next day I was in Beijing again and in the arms of my girlfriend. The ten days I spent in the capitol were very relaxed, partially due to the fact that I was tired from the summer and also because I was desperately low on cash. We hung out, spent alot of time in front of the TV, ate out, talked, and enjoyed each others company. All too soon however, It was time for me to leave again. This time for another 5 month stint in southern Shandong. After missing my original train to Shandong after a harrowing taxi ride that got us to the train station just minutes too late, I was headed south into the historic Shandong province. Home of Confucius, Mencius and according to some historians, the birthplace of Chinese culture....

The wait in the airport of Sichuan's provincial capitol of Chengdu was inexplicably long. The time I had to wait before I could check in dragged on for what seemed like hours. I was nervous. I had no reason to go to Beijing except for to see my girlfriend. No work, nothing but serious hang out time and what I hoped would be a solidfication of our relationship. I sat in the airport in Chengdu imagining the possibilities. The biggest thing that stuck out in my thoughts was the fact I knew I'd only have 10 days to spend with her. Less important was the fact it meant I'd only have 10 days to see the city of Beijing. In the air I tried my best to casually sip whiskey and cokes. The short two hour flight finally landed in Beijing. Meandering through hordes of people and escolators, I found myself at the baggage claim and the exit. The exit where I was to be met with the object of my desire, the unseen thought that had basked in the glow of my brains tiny  synapsis but could not be held or talked to, was there. The meeting. The smiles. The caresses. We made the drive to the city to meet a friend who I had rented an apartment from for the time I'd be in Beijing. It was so sublime to be in her presence after the months long seperation. During my the ten days we'd spend all of our time together. We saw the sights of Beijing: The Summer Palace, The Zoo, hung out on Wanfujing, Tiananmen. It was a truly fantastic ten days, and a period of time I still look back upon and smile at. The solidification manifested, and it was mutual. I was happy. After my time in Mianyang...I was happy. The dreaded departure came way to soon. Promises, oaths even that I would return were made countless times. In the ten days I was in Beijing, a transformation occured. My outlook on my China experience brightened into favorable expectations. It became personal. Instead of waiting and hoping for revelations of Chinese culture, I was given a gem amidst the vague, teeming masses that China seems to represent. However, my ten days were up, and the beginning of an arduous yet satisfying long distance relationshop began. I was given orders to be in Shanghai. I left, with an incredibly heavy heart and resentment. The summer was approaching and I'd be cast into storm of three week mini-English camps throughout Zhejiang provice.

I left Beijing with a heavy heart. I had been waiting for a long time to see the city, and left with just a few glimpses. More importantly, I left a person behind who I had feelings for. Those feelings would develope to a much deeper level later on however, and for now, I still harbored an excitement to head west. To western China, away from the unending and prolific modernization of the east coast. I would soon long for that modernization and semblance of civilization, but I was still naive to just exactly I was experienceing. I was to teach in Mianyang a city in north-central Sichuan province. Sichuan shares a border with Tibet to the west, and indeed Tibetan influence is felt throughout the province. To the north is the pristine Alpine setting of Jiu Zhai Gou and unending countryside inhabited by peasants who use ancient machinery, the likes of which I only saw before in museums. The city was a happy place of some five million people. Mianyang's claim to fame is the huge Changhong electrical appliance factory and developement center. While wandering the streets many blue work uniforms sporting the Changhong logo on the back can be seen as people went from work to home and vica versa. It seemed as if everyone was in Mianyang or at least a relative of theirs was an employee at Changhong. The school I worked in was a fresh two years old. With it's shimmering exterior of white tiles and nicely landscaped lawn, it stood in stark contrast to the neighborhood it stood in the middle of. Brick hovels and poor peasants, snot nosed dirty children playing hide and seek amongst piles of vegetables drying after a harvest, Mianyang Wai Guo Yu Xue Xiao (Foreign Language School) seemed an alien like monolith instead of an institution of higher learning. It was a school that operated partly on foreign capitol and the children of affluent parents from three surrounding counties attended classes there. I was happy I wouldn't be working in some underfunded shack with desks, but was a little intimated at the same time.

The school owned four or five apartments that it used to house it's foreign teachers, and they were but a 10 minute walk from school. I was shown my apartment and was impressed. A washing machine, TV, computer with internet access and a nice big bed were included in the abode. I was once again grateful for the plushness of my circumstances. The desperate poverty that grips the overwhelming majority of the population in that part of China was something that seemed many miles away. Praise the mighty dollar the school benefited from given by it's foreign investors. The neighborhood my apartment building was in was pleasant enough, and I found the local small business owners to be quite friendly. The school had been bringing in foreign teachers for two years now and the locals around the school weren't totally shocked at my presence. If I strayed to far away from home or from the school however, long stares and shouts of "Foreigner!" were the norm. It was something I began to resent. I was completely seperated from the Chinese people, partly due to my lack of Chinese language skills and partly due to my simply being a foreigner.

The first two months I was in Mianyang were pretty routine. I taught, came home, spent a little time with some Chinese friends, and taught. Nothing extraordinary happened, and I felt as if I was lacking the revelations I had hoped to recieve during my time in China. It seemed as if I was in a rut. I spent much time introspecting my life during the long intervals I had alone. My life before China, and my life now. I felt as if I was learning a great deal about adulthood, maturity, and mandatory social skills I may have lacked were becoming necessary to accomplish daily tasks. I was grateful, but also stumped as to why I wasn't having a vivid turbulent experience. I would realize later that I wasn't ready to recieve these gifts during the time I was in Mianyang. They were something I would attain later.

SARS reared it's ugly head while I was in Mianyang. When news broke of a raging epedemic that was infecting and killing people at a frightening pace, my collegues and superiors were unconcerned. It was happening in Hong Kong, which some thousand miles away so, why should we worry about it? I however, had access to western news sources, and they were telling a much grimmer story. The virus had made it's way to Beijing and several other provinces. The laughing faces and smug grins of my collegues changed quickly when a report that SARS was in a village not 100 miles away. Chinese medicine was ordered given to everyone at school and the students were forbidden to leave school. I still had two months in Mianyang and the tone had changed drastically. It was a delicate play of paranoia and fear to get groceries. Eating in restaurants was out of the question. People were more or less held prisoner by SARS. For two months this continued, and when it was discovered that SARS was slowing down, peopel began to breathe a little easier. Two of my foreign collegues decided it would be wise to go back to the States, and I can't blame them, I for one however am glad I stayed.

During my time in Mianyang I kept in touch with my now girlfriend. We developed the relationship via electronic communication tools and the telephone. It was clear that I would go to Beijing to see her when I was done with my contract. My relationship with her had cast a whole new light on my experience in China. It was powerful and daunting, sublime and unknown. I left Mianyang in late June after what was a semi-enlightening yet a bit dissapointing period of time had elapsed. It was just my introduction to China however, the rest, the meat was soon to follow. Destined for Beijing, I hopped on a plane...to the waiting arms of feminine love and blossoming horizons...

And now...Beijing. I left Hangzhou feeling excited. Beijing was in my sights, the capitol. With tiananmen square, the great wall, and the history, I was truly looking forward to it. I would be dissapointed. Not with Beijing. I never really got to see it. I exited the train station and met the person who was there to pick me up. The train station is in the heart of Beijing and I thought it'd be a short drive to where I'd be staying and teaching for the ensuing several weeks. I was led to a car that got on an expressway and headed east. And kept going. And kept going. Soon the Beijing skyline wasn't visible anymore. I asked my collegue what the hell was up. She said, "You'll be teaching in a small suberb of Beijing. It's a little place called Yinjiao". "Great!" I thought. I was really looking forward to seeing some of Beijing and now you tell me I'm going to be teaching in a little place called Yin jiao? Thanks for the heads up, I sure wish you would have told me all this beforehand, I wouldn't have gotten so excited. Yin jiao wasn't too bad. It was cold, small, and cheap. I lived in a hotel with another American who was really laid back and easygoing. My passport needed extending so a trip to downtown Beijing was in order after a week of being in Yin jiao. Yin jiao is a small city in Hebei province, about 40 minutes east of Beijing. Me and a Chinese collegue took the bus into the city and I was once again excited. I went to the police station and took care of my passport. The word was that I had to come back in four days to pick it up, a small piece of good news seeing as that meant I had to come back. We checked out Yong He Gong, the Lama Temple, known for it's 50m tall Buddha statue carved out of one piece of Sandalwood. The trip to the city was quick, but I enjoyed it. Four days later I was back in Beijing.

This one day was to be the turning point for my whole Chinese experience. I met love. I ditched my collegues and told them I'd be back that night. Me and what would become my girlfriend hung out in Beijing, checking out such mandatory things as Tiananmen square and the Forbidden City palace compound. I left. We both knew my circumstances, that I would be leaving for Sichuan province for 5 months in less than a week. But I think we both knew that I'd be back. That night I caught the last bus back to Yin jiao. I finished out my short three week contract and found myself on a plane...

Before the elderly gentleman noticed me and my girlfriend were watching him, he painted Chinese characters on wafer thin paper. Beautiful strokes controlled by a discerning eye, the bristles of the brush irrepairibly stained with the ink of his trade. Curves and loops and dots, coming together to form a written sound, his world lay at his fingertips as he meticulously practiced his art. The beauty and magic of his hands that time had mercislessly moulded moved as if a dance was being performed, and orchestrated. The master with little chin whiskers and spectacles aiding his failing eyes left more than ink behind in the wake of his brush. He left echoes of his soul, reverberations of ancient sages that flowed with every movement of his arm. Time stood still, he didn't know he was being watched, the little room faded away and all that was left was a table, an inkstone, and the man. The master. His cries, his smiles, his anger, his happiness. All were contained in every stroke that he made. As he finished his dance of motions and looked up he bore no expression. Without speaking he beckoned us to approach and to appreciate. "Would you like to buy this? I know you're a poor student, I'll sell it to you for cheap." The illusion was shattered as he prostituted his art. I looked, nodded my head in approval, bought a couple of pieces from him and walked away secretly disgusted. Of course! How could I have been so foolish as to think the world couldn't enter even the old man's room, the old man's vile quarters where he prostituted his soul.

Lunch today. My living room was turned into card playing foul language hide away for breakaway rebels of the school faculty. Well, not exactly that, but, there are five people huddled around my living room table playing the ever popular Chinese card game Pu Ke. It was fun, and money exchanged hands be grudgingly.

And now as promised: Hangzhou. Jan 21-Feb.10 2003: Hangzhou is famous among the Chinese as place to get away and to revel in tree lined streets and Xi Hu or "West Lake". West Lake is what Hangzhou is most well known for, and it is a really beautiful place. Three islands are in the middle of Xi Hu which contain gardens, pools with large carp, and great scenery throughout. I was to teach English at the Zhejiang Universities library. I lived in some dorms about 5 miles away from campus, and I took a bus to work. Right behind the bus stop was a little store where I bought my beer, shaving utensils, potato chips and other miscellanious items. I became quite friendly with the owners of the store as I went there everyday sometimes twice or three times. The trips to the store and the ensuing conversations with the store owners son are some of the best memories I have of Hangzhou. I visited Xi Hu a couple of times, but seeing as it was winter, the place was dead, I wouldn't see Xi Hu in it's glory until some some six months later when I returned for a quick visit. The most memorable thing that I experienced while in Hanghzou was the Spring Festival or Chinese New Year. The night of the new year, I dined with a family at a restaurant right on the West Lake. Great restaurant, better food. We sang songs, and they were extremely excited when I'd decided that I'd had enough beer to sing an English song solo. I'm sure I messed it up, but it didn't matter. I wouldn't see all of Hangzhou, but I'd see what mattered, and truth be told, I was also anxious to leave this place as well. I knew that my next stop would be Beijing.

Memories. They bleed and fade into a blur and even the most momentus events and incredible emotions we experience become little more than an image or two in our cluttered minds. When I think of the things I've done in China the last 11 months, I realize that I've become immune to many of the things that filled me with awe. The incredible differences that form the gulf between my native land and the land I've adopted have become commonplace. However, at times I'm reminded, and I get a fresh surge of awe and thankfulness at being allowed to witness China with my own eyes and other sensory mechanisms. I've decided that I need to list in chronological order the places I've been in China and to highlight what I liked about them, or what is noteworthy. This is my feeble and more than likely less than adequate way of remembering.

1. Shanghai - Jan. 18 2003 - Shanghai was the first Chinese soil I tread upon. My first real travel outside of the N. American continent brought me to a land that is full of people and different ways. Shanghai was impressive, daunting, expensive, and modern compared to the rest of China, and indeed compared to the rest of the world. With the bund, that street with colonial architecture ranging from France to Britain, Nanjing Rd., a shoppers paradise with high end clothes, jewellery and electronics, to the shabby markets that inhabit the side streets with vendors selling everything from fake Rolex watches to squid kebabs. I spent three days in this special administrative region of China, and having nothing to compare it with was floored. I think what struck me the most was the unimaginable population density. It was really hard to believe. The scene consisting of innumerable bicyclists, taxis, buses, and trucks, millions of pedestrians, the impromtu bicycle repairman, the fruit stands, the walking street markets; was absolutely intoxicating. Really an incredible place, but it lacked what I was searching for in China, the serenity of the eastern mind, the countryside rice paddies, the peasants with smiling faces and red faced little girls. I would have my chance to see these things, but not in Shanghai.

I wont pretend that I liked Shanghai, I didn't know it then, but Shanghai is not for me. After seeing some of the rest of China, Shanghai resembles in an uninspiring way other big, metropolitan cities. With expensive everything, a reasonably large expat community, agonizing traffic jams, and expensive everything, Shanghai is an international powerhouse, but lacks the culture, and authenticity that I was hoping to experience while in China. The food is typical of the coastal cities, alot of seafood, and rice of course. Western food is also availible readily in Shanghai, but being so new to China, I didn't have the need for western food yet, and was therefore not moved by this fact. I left Shanghai on a bus three days later after seeing everything that I needed to see, and no real desire to return. I was lucky enough to be able to move around some, and I kept my mind on what it was I really wanted to extract from China. Next: Hangzhou.

Train travel. My rail travel experience was very limited before I came to China. What it amounted to was a couple two or three hour Amtrak rides back home. Upon coming to China, I was informed that I'd be taking the train from Hangzhou to Beijing. I was exceptionally excited about this. The T-32 Hangzhou-Beijing express route. It was early Feburary, the air was crisp, my bags were packed and I was ready to go. I had spent a lonely three weeks in Hangzhou and was excited to get to Beijing. I was taking the 16 hour train ride alone, I didn't speak Chinese, and I was actually a little nervous. I had been seen off at the train station and after my company left, I was left to negotiate teeming masses of train station humanity, Chinese instructions to go to this platform, signs indicating the right way that were completely useless to me. I have no trouble asking people for help and I met someone who was kind enough to show me to my car. I got on, stowed my bags, and cracked a beer. I was eager for the train to start rolling, my only regret was that it was pitch black outside and my first chance to see Chinese countryside would have to wait until the sun came up some 9 hours later. I fell asleep on my bunk and awoke somewhere in Shandong province to the sight of brilliant white. It had snowed a good six inches. It was beautiful, but consequently the train was late. I had begun to get extremely bored and restless, not talking to anyone and only having my walkman to console me. By nine o'clock I was uncomfortable. I needed to walk. I kept looking at my watch and the minutes slowly passed, along with the scenes of row upon row of fields and peasants going about their work. We made a quick stop at a small train depot, and I was informed by kind woman that the train was delayed three hours due to the snow. My heart sank. I thought we were almost there, and I was wrong. I got to Beijing finally with a made up mind that train travel was not for me. I have since taken the same T-32 express from Hangzhou to Beijing, and have travelled from Beijing to southern Shandong. Although I strongly dislike this outdated form of travel, it's economical, and that single fact usually pushes me into the train car. I look forward to settling somehwhere for longer than six months so that trains can become a memory rather than something I use from time to time.

At times, it's hard to believe I've been in China for 10 months. Alot has happened. Talk about self-analyzing, and the introspection of the things that were ingrained into my pysche by the American environment I was born and raised in. Upon arrival in China, I just remember my open mind and ignorance. I was alot younger then, I'm not reffering to mere age in numbers, but a sheltering, an innocence if you will that China exposed and turned into awareness. I have seen more of China than I have seen of my home country, and perhaps I understand China more than I do my native land, that's scary. Scary because I feel as if I understand very little of China. These last three months, since I've been in southern Shandong, I've had the most incredible feelings. I feel so enriched by this experience. Before I left, I craved life experience. I felt as if I was slowly suffocating, my horizon was narrow. China beckoned. I dreamt, I came, and that is only the beginning of the story really. When I got here, I was met with challenge, and although I had alot of expectations, struggling through challenge was not one of them. Shows how much I had to learn. Overall, I feel that I have adjusted remarkably well during my time here. I have no problem eating in the rattiest of hovels while sipping baijiu with local peasants. Witnessing first hand the struggle taking place between an old and new China leaves me breathless at times, and at other times leaves me shaking my head in confusion at how such a country as this; with some 1.5 billion people could have slipped into such dire poverty and backwardness. The simple life that most Chinese live is one of the things that I find most charming about being here. Work, family, food and keeping warm are what keep most Chinese people getting up every day. I find that remarkable. There are so many things that I find remarkable about China, it's hard to keep track. The frantic pace, the mind numbing population density. The simple observation of these things, the experience of eating with chopsticks, quite mundane I know, but something I quite enjoy, conversations in broken Chinese, all add up to something I'm incredibly grateful for, and something that has allowed for the life experience I desprately needed to enter adulthood with. Thank you China.

The Crackdown...Sometimes, the fact I live in a Communist country is very evident. While dining in a little restaurant close to my apartment today, the local police force came out in about three vans. They were armed with clipboards and serious faces.  They went from establishment to establishment tallying up things that weren't right with each restaurant or small store, leaving  behind fines and unhappy faces at each when they were done. I noticed a little scurrying in the kitchen of the restaurant I was in as the owner and his wife began to hide and clean things in a haphazzard way. The troupe of police officers made their way to where I was eating and entered with heavy looks on their faces. As they began to rummage around and make a general inconvience of themselves, I began to feel a little uncomfortable. Being the only foreigner in the city, I was sure they hadn't counted on my being there and witnessing the inspection. They made their way into the back of the restaurant and finally to the kitchen where they poked around a bit and talked amongst themselves. Now granted the restaurant isn't the cleanest I've ever seen, but the couple run a respectable place, and they have fantastic "Hwun Dwun", or these little pancake type things filled with pork and vegetables. The police confinscated the VCD player that was set up because the place apparently wasn't a liscensed entertainment venue. There are regulations you know. They then left, VCD player in hand, leaving behind a long list of things to be improved upon next time around.

This isn't the first time I've witnessed the impromtu inspections and harrasment of docile small business owners. Once, while I was living in Sichuan province, I was at the store. The police drove up to the little group of stores and started yelling orders to clean this and move that and why were boxes of fruit for sale lying in the middle of the sidewalk market style. The store owners frantically ran around to accomodate the orders given by the police, and once they drove off scowled at them in disdain. It's one thing to be an immune foreigner watching as all this goes down, but it must be quite another for the Chinese whenever they see the police roll up. At times like these I think to myself, "God Bless America", and quietly continue on my way.

The weather has turned bitterly cold. I bought a coat and it has become something I regard as a priceless possesion. One of the ways I get around the city is on the back of my friends motorcycle, cruising through Chinese crowded streets on the back of a motorcycle is alot of fun, and it almost subliminal. It's a real experience, but the past week it's a real cold experience. By the end of a 5 mile ride, I can't move the muscles in my face, and it takes a good half hour for them to become functional again. I remember Beijing last Feburary after just arriving in China, just as winter was winding down and found it hard to believe how damn cold it was. I'm not sure how I'll fare while dealing with the complete thing. It's going to be a guranteed 4 months or so of extreme cold, during which time I'm sure I'll be complaining a fair bit. It's hard to believe that just four months ago it was above 100 degrees farenheit for a month straight, I complained alot then too, but find myself missing the drenched afternoons, changing my shirt three times a day due to perspiration. The motorcycle trips have lost a little of their fun, but are still great. It's just so damn cold.

A Chinese hospital experience. First of all, I love socialized health care. It's cheap and effective. I had a minor procedure done at the local People's hospital today. It seems as if my ears were blocked. It's not pretty, but a condition that causes a fair amount of grief all the same. In the USA when one has a problem, they make an appointment with their family doctor and wait for two weeks until the doctor can see them or, if the problem requires immediate attention, they call upon the Emergency Room, affectionately known in medical circles as the E.R. Well, here in the People's Republic, you just saunter up to the check in counter, prefferably with someone who speaks Chinese, tell them your problem, and go to the specified unit of the hospital. I followed protocal and was instructed to make my way to the fourth floor of the building to the "Ear, Throat, and Eye" department. Upon sitting down, I was given a brief examination in which it was detetermined that I had a substantial amount of earwax buildup that was causing hearing problems and at times a slight loss of equilibrium. I was then instructed to go back downstairs to the pharmacy and get a solution to flush my ears out with. I brought the solution and the gigantic, scary syringe that came with it back to the ear specialist who motioned for me to sit down. Upon giving me a bit closer examination, it was clear he was a bit shocked if not disgusted. I can't blame him; if I had to spend all day with my hands in people's grotesquely dirty ears and dripping noses, I'd be a bit peeved too. He didn't waste any time however and got right down to business. He began poking and proding in my ear and then finally taking the cleaning solution and syringe out of it's package. I was a bit scared at the length of of this syringe, it was well over four inches long and I was beginning to panic. He thrust the thing into my ear and flushed my ear out and went to work with some tweezers and before I knew a chunk of earwax that looked like it weighed approximately a half kilogram came out in all it's glory. For the first time in months, I could hear small noises and with crystal clear clarity no less. He grunted quickly and turned his attention onto the other ear where he performed the same procedure with much the same result. I must admit that I felt like a new man, and was grateful for his work. I promptly paid my 20 kuai fee for the procedure which would no doubt have cost 50 times more in the USA and left for a quick bite to eat. Cheers to Chinese medical ear experts.

Being a foreigner in China leads to many interesting encounters, mostly with the locals, people of everyday countenaces. Directly across from my apartment is a little strip of stores and restaurants. It's quite convientent when dinner time rolls around, and tonight I sauntered through the alley to the restaurant that is nearest my apartment. Upon entering I was greeted with shocked faces, as I'd never been in there before and it's quite possible that the people in the restaurant had never seen a foreigner close up. I busted out my phrasebook and ordered a couple simple dishes. The workers in the establishment were quite surprised I could order in Chinese and their suspicion melted away and was transformed into smiles and offers of cigarettes and beer. I sat down and waited for my food as two gentleman initiated some conversation. I found out that they were workers across the street at a major construction project. They wanted to know what I did in China and of course the subject of my salary came up. I told them to bring their food to my table so we could chat a little more conviently. They were more than happy, and promptly told me to help them finish their dinner. Every time I reached over for a little of their food, their faces lit up and I could tell they were content I was making myself at home. I sat with them for an hour or so, and when I had to leave, they made me promist I'd come back tomorrow to continue our conversation. Seeing as it's so close, I'm quite sure I'll be seeing them and the restaurant again. Little treasure such as that restaurant and it's patrons are numerous, if you only have the courage to look.

I was back in Qufu yesterday. I did the normal stuff of checking out the Confucius mansion and temple. I strolled along Drum Tower road, and scouted out an Islamic restaurant that I'll dine at in the future. It usually seems to be that whenever I go out somewhere I can count on a unique experience to happen to me that you wouldn't usually think would happen. Yesterday was no different. While in the back of the Confucius mansion, we were at the last exhibit about to leave. The place was getting ready to close down and it was all but deserted. We sat on a stone bench while I wrote down a couple things. We got up to leave and make our way back to the bus station. At the entrance to the exhibit, we were greeted by an old man carrying a thermos of hot water. In Chinese he asked me and my companion if we'd like to accompany him back to his little room for a cup of tea and a chat. We hesitated at first knowing that we needed to catch a bus soon, but I couldn't resist. He led us to the side of the building where there was a little room with a bed, a coal stove, a desk and countless cigarette butts on the floor. We sat down as he poured the tea and settled into an enlightening conversation about such topics as the history of Qufu and his life. It was obvious that he was a rather nostalgic gentleman and as it turns out, he was a member of the 74th generation of descendants of Confucius. He told us what life was like before 1949 when the communists took over and how common people couldn't enter the Mansion and temple complex. Wandering around the Mansion and temple is enjoyable, but the 45 minutes we spent with that old man was probably the best memory I took away from yesterday. I shook his hand, gave him a cigarette, and we were on our way back home...