Flamenco Lessons

The magic of flamenco. I have to say: I'm pretty proud of this photo

On a cold, grey day last March, I arrived early to the nondescript door, and it was still locked. That meant I had the time to sit on the stoop and look around. The neighborhood was modern, bordering on industrial, marked by a vivid mural of a lighthouse. Finally, about fifteen minutes later, I was greeted by a grizzled man in a button down shirt with the top three buttons open, slicked back hair, and wrap-around sun glasses: my teacher. I had signed up to learn to sing flamenco, that intense Spanish musical tradition whose intricate rhythms and sinuous melodies are a world apart. Ever since my arrival in Spain, I'd sought out flamenco concerts any chance I could. Now, a flamenco school was opening in town, as the municipal government sought to keep alive a rich tradition fed by the terrible mining life many Linarenses led during the 18th and 19th centuries.

The man was Jose, or in public Joselete, a nationally renowned Gitano (gypsy) singer whose fame had earned him the right to one name. Over the next four months he would guide, coax, and laugh me through my love affair with flamenco. We'd spend many hours inside the Peña Plomo y Plata, a music-lovers' social club whose canary-colored walls were stenciled with green snaking vines and red guitars. But that was all in the future; for now, we were still strangers.

We sat, introduced ourselves -- I had one other classmate, and the school's director was also in attendance-- and began with a simple lesson. Jose sang the first line of a fandango, and I was expected to repeat it. As if in a nightmare, I opened my mouth but couldn't make a sound.The silence seemed to expand as they watched me and waited. The florescent lights flickered, almost in slow motion; the table was sticky with beer. After what seemed like hours, I managed a squeak, then a croak, then a rough melodic line; and finally something acceptably similar to the line Jose had sung.

My first fandango wasn't easy, of course, or particularly good. I didn't understand the lyrics until they were dictated to me, and not having grown up steeped in the culture and tradition put me at a distinct disadvantage in following the complex rhythms and unpredictable key changes. I spent that class, and the ones in the weeks that followed it, feeling overwhelmed and outmatched. I'd always loved flamenco, this I knew. But I worried perhaps I'd been overly ambitious in beginning my studies. Maybe this was a terrible mistake.

However, later that evening, at home reflecting on my first lesson, I realized something important: as adults, we rarely force ourselves out of our comfort zones. After the rigors of high school physics or geometry (well, in my case), we are no longer required to do things we aren't already good at. In fact, adult life encourages the creation of a niche; each individual doing what he or she does best, finding his or her 'calling'. That, as they say, is what makes the world go 'round-- and that is also what made singing in front of other people such a challenge for me. I'd always enjoyed singing in the shower, was in chorus for a year in middle school, and tried out for a handful of a capella groups in college. But this was entirely new territory: new language, new skill, new world. I had no training or applicable knowledge. I felt entirely out of my depth, and it made my vocal cords freeze.

A concert at the Peña Carmen Linares, fall 2012

When I managed to get over my fear and insecurity, however, the following months were rich, fascinating, and deeply fun. I have a good auditory memory, which helped me in developing my own learning system -- writing down lyrics overlaid with squiggles that attempted to approximate the loops and dips Jose's supple voice executed with such ease. Little by little, I stopped worrying about what would come out when I started singing, whether throaty, creaky, or off key. I barely even minded when Jose giggled at my accent, especially once I noticed that it usually happened because I had faltered, uncertain of the next run, giving him tacit permission with a nervous laugh of my own. Doing something I knew nothing about and wasn't yet good at was actually wonderful. It was freeing. And it was all the more rewarding when, little by little, I improved. I left my comfort zone and then reconstructed that comfort zone around me.

This blog was silent for some months over the summer, and here I'll explain why. For reasons that are boring and long, my application to renew for a third-year in the Spanish Ministry of Education Language Assistant program was denied on a technicality. With some scrambling, I was able to come up with a few stop-gap measures to keep myself in Spain the following --that is, this--year. One, in the north, would not provide me with health insurance. Another, in Linares, would require lengthy and complicated visa procedures and a pay cut. The last was in a completely different, unknown-to-me part of the country and in a much more serious program.

None of the options seemed ideal. At that point I had settled comfortably into Linares. The flamenco community had embraced me in a flurry of cramped, intimate concerts; sweaty, half-drunk dinners; and one 17-hour countryside music-and-food adventure that merits its own recounting. I was happily ensconced in my own apartment with a few good friends and a lot of favorite tapas bars. The idea of leaving was difficult, but the pay cut and visa complexities made it impossible to avoid. Finally, I made the more difficult, practical decision.

A flamenco concert in a cave in Almeria, southern Andalucia

... All of which is a complicated, long-winded way of saying that I find myself now in Talavera de la Reina, Castilla La Mancha, a Roman-founded city of 90,000 an hour and a half southwest of Madrid, in the same county as the more famous Toledo. I am in still a language assistant, but this year I am an employee of UCETAM, a group of American universities developing bilingual programs here in Spain. This means more hours and more money per month, but it also means being the only language assistant in the city: the Ministry's program was cut here two years ago due to continuing economic issues, and UCETAM is a Madrid-based program that is just beginning to expand outside the capital.  There is no established curriculum, dynamic, or social system, no pool of other foreigners for me to turn to for easy friendships. Luckily, I've stumbled upon a friendly, funny roommate to keep me company. Luckily, I've found a few couchsurfers with friendship potential. Luckily, my coworkers are by and large easygoing, helpful, and kind. Still, though, I know by now that the first months in a new city are not easy under any circumstances; and these in particular seem like breeding grounds for loneliness and discouragement.

This summer, I spent 10 weeks in Boston working at an English school and remembering everything I love about my city-- the diners, the live music, the intellectual atmosphere, the diners, the old friends and shared history, and the diners. I was fresh from my late-spring Linares tapas/flamenco adventure filled with warm nights and good people, and as I started packing and mentally readying myself, I couldn't quite believe I'd chosen the hard choice AGAIN... another new city AGAIN, another new school AGAIN, another new life AGAIN. I was mad at myself, freaked out, scared, but I took a deep breath and left anyway.

In these first few weeks, the beats, lyrics, and melodies of some bulerias and tangillos I learned from Jose have occasionally come to me unbidden, in my apartment or the hallway of my new school, and I think I know why. If being brave is feeling afraid or uncomfortable and doing something anyway, then singing taught me an important lesson in bravery. Learning flamenco meant learning to push through and continue to do things I'm not good at yet, instead building that confidence little by little where I am. At the beginning of my time in Talavera, it's important to remember that I already learned this skill. Flamenco taught me how to do this: to step out of my comfort zones-- in this case literally, physically--and build something new.

Joselete in concert at Los Patios in Cordoba

Lucky/Stupid

Well, hello there. Fancy meeting you here.

It's been awhile, and the time stamp on the last entry here is solid proof. I stuck in one place for quite a bit-- following my stint in Mexico I got a job at a small, cozy private ESL school and settled into an exceedingly lovely life for the next 16 months. I really hit this one out of the park, I must say: a fascinating gig as a reporter for the Chinese/English bilingual newspaper the Sampan; an incredibly fulfilling internship at NPR affiliate WBUR; a fun-filled routine packed with pub trivia, folk dancing, karaoke, and lectures; a fantastically-located apartment stocked with goofy roommates; and a group of friends who often felt more like family. It may have been "only" a few months, but I put down roots during that time. Or maybe I should say roots upon roots-- I bonded in an adult way with a city that I've known and loved (and that has known me) since childhood. I have been excited, stimulated, fulfilled, loved. Many everyday bumps (and a few not-so-everyday ones) aside, it has been one of the best periods of my life.

Which leads me to the next thought: why in the world would I leave!?

For leave I have: on Thursday, September 15 at 3:30 PM I boarded a plane that took me in a rather circuitous route to Berlin, Germany. Following a four-day layover, another plane took me to Madrid, after which a bus ferried me to Palencia (pop. 75, 000), the small Castilla y Leon city in Spain that will be home for the next 10 months.

In the run up to my departure I crammed as much wonder into my days as I could. I organized bowling trips and group dinners; took river cruises to cement the layout of my beloved city in my mind’s eye; and overloaded myself with Asian cuisine and diner fare, two varieties I did not expect to be offered regularly in my new home. And every night after tiring myself out dancing, listening to live music, or spending blissful time with friends, I would wonder to myself: what am I doing, leaving? Am I making a terrible mistake?

One thing I’ve realized as I’ve adjusted to the beginnings of adulthood is that the singular dream is a myth. Sure, some of us have one thing we wish for that hangs on tenaciously as we mature, but dreams transform as we do, molded to fit the new selves we’re growing into. I always dreamed of being a writer, but that dream has been refined and altered from author and illustrator to travel writer to journalist, and back. And in just the same way, when I returned home from my trip around the world, I had a new dream to join the old ones. I had adored my nomadic existence, but I wanted to know a foreign life from the other side. I wanted a home away, cozy bakeries that I frequented for bread, a coffee shop whose barmen knew my name, a Sunday morning market routine. The pull of understanding life so thoroughly in another place was remarkably strong.

And so I applied to the Spanish Language Assistant program, run by the Spanish Ministry of Education, which brings Canadian and American citizens to Spain to help teach English in public schools. I wrote and re-wrote an essay, put all my documents together, got a recommendation from my boss, sent everything into the embassy, and waited.

But of course part of the point here is that life doesn't stand still, and by the time I was accepted to the program in March my dreams had changed. I was deeply ensconced in my new life, busy drinking cheap beer in little bars in my neighborhood, trying new foods in the countless ethnic restaurants surrounding my apartment, writing a series of articles on Chinese life in Boston's Charlestown neighborhood, and pitching stories about Sudanese politics or dolphin communication at my radio internship. As far as I was concerned, I was living my dream. Spain seemed very far away, in all senses of the phrase.

But, I thought, what do I know about what comes next? I feared that this supremely fulfilling life might be just a brief phase, a period of pretend that would be followed by the confusion, general unsteadiness, and angst most of my friends were experiencing. And hadn’t I always wanted to learn Spanish, to live in Europe? Hadn’t my 2009 self dreamed of siestas, salsa, and sweet, hot espresso in tiny silver cups? I accepted the position, although with trepidation.

The summer wore on, bringing with it details of the year to come (and increased anxieties which may well be discussed later in this blog.) I finally found rhythm and confidence at my internship, I spent more and more time with a close-knit circle of friends, I joined a Zumba class and went dancing, I attended barbecues and went on dates. And I thought: what’s better than this? What person in his or her right mind would voluntarily give this up?

In the weeks before my departure a lot of people I love and respect took time to tell me how brave they thought I was being to leave and try all this newness. They told me that they admired me greatly; some even admitted to feeling jealous. I thanked them and felt the warmth of mutual affection spread through my chest, but some part of me was also thinking: “Am I being brave, or am I being stupid?” And also: “I don’t want to be brave. I want to stay here.”

I wish I could tell you the exact moment when I realized I was half-blind, but I think it was more of a gradual realization. Nevertheless, here it is: really, for me “lucky” and “stupid” are two sides of the same coin. I’m lucky to have enjoyed that life which, for a few short months, was so perfect for who I was and what I needed. And I’m incredibly lucky to have a chance to leave that life and try out a dream I once had, even if it’s not the dream that most recently spoke to me the strongest--many people who cherish this dream will never realize it, and it's easy to forget that. But even with those opportunities, I think perhaps you need to be stupid about risk taking and going out of your comfort zone in order to accept the lucky circumstances offered to you.

Ultimately, I don’t deny the fear that comes with “stupid”—fear that things will never be the same (they won’t); fear that I might lose people I love (I might.) But I can also see the incredible luck I have in tasting this life for a year. I can make room for both sides of the coin at once; I can stand it on its edge. With that perspective comes a new question I have to ponder: if I follow a dream that once belonged to a person that was once me, what does that mean? Should you trust your dreams to know you better than you know yourself? I am either stupid enough or lucky enough to have a chance to find out. Maybe both.

It's business time

As it turns out, flying from north Queensland to New South Wales in Australia takes longer than flying from Australia to New Zealand. (Three and a half hours; two and a half hours.)

By that I mean that I have landed safely in Christchurch, New Zealand and am safely ensconced in a middle-aged lady's house, typing on her dial-up internet.

And by that I mean that I have a great deal of blogging catch up to do! Unfortunately with the dial up it might be difficult...

Lastly, I would like to note that there is a cruel irony to the fact that I have arrived here in "En Zed" (as they call it) just as season 2 of "Flight of the Conchords" has begun.

The Northeast

Sorry I've been so bad at updating lately. A Liuku rundown will come soon, I promise, but in truth I don't know exactly when because we are going to be scooting around Beijing for the next 4 days (we arrived there from Xi'an of the Terracotta Warriors this morning) and then I go off with my parents for a week of exploring the Silk Road (such adventures! So excited!) This trip to Northeast China has been fantastic in terms of dissolving all of my stress, although it was hard to say goodbye to the Kunming I know, featuring all SIT people, people from the Duke program (Diana, especially), and lots of other students who are leaving before I come back (my Scottish suitemate, the Thai friends I made who choras "Niii haoooo" whenever I see them.) Of course the city will be there when I come back on June 16, but it won't be quite the same.

Xi'an was great, not nearly as hot as I expected. We spent our day there in the Muslim corner. Today is free to see modern Beijing (at a chic bar with internet now); tomorrow is the Great Wall and the Summer Palace; next day is the Forbidden City and hopefully making a side trip to Panjiayuan, a fantastic antique market I went to the first time I came here. The semester is almost over, but for me summer is just beginning.

Real update coming soon.

Adventures in Lanping

I don't know what it is with me lately, I'm never in the mood to blog. I guess I just seem to be suffering from a powerful burnout (which is improved by the bright spots that are anthropological field work but is still mightily present) that touches everything from my work motivation to my blog (which, at least theoretically, I'm doing for fun and posterity, right?) In any case I'll make an effort.

So back to Lanping (which is now between a week and a half and three weeks in the past.) The trip from Lijiang to Lanping was supposed to take 4 hours, but about half an hour in we came upon what turned out to be a minor accident (and by accident I mean a single truck with one wheel off the road). But that single renegade wheel meant wall-to-wall traffic for at least 3 miles around. Our bus was stopped in a fairly idyllic stretch of farmland, surrounded by rolling mountains, for more than a full hour, possibly closer to an hour-and-a-half. That's what you get when you try to fit three lanes of traffic in one to one-and-a-half lanes of space, though. China, when will you learn?

Tania and I initially had planned to stay with our friend Jackson (Chinese name: Chun Yong) in Lanping, but May 1st is a major holiday in China (they call it Wu Yi Jie, literally "Five One holiday") and like everyone else in the country his family had friends coming in. Jackson, who is a truly good person and a fantastically loyal friend but who is a smidge overprotective, was convinced that if we were to live in a hotel by ourselves we would be harassed by the police or worse. Things got worse when we went to a multicultural performance celebrating the Wu Yi holiday --complete with lots of different dancing minorities (Bai, Pumi, and Lisu namely) as well as a bad skit by some high school students and a FANTASTIC breakdancing act with teenage Chinese boys in white suits. Walking in, we drew a lot of attention, which made us feel strange but wasn't anything we hadn't experienced before. We were ushered to the second row, behind all the important Communist politicians, but Jackson told us we should leave before the last act because "maybe some people will touch you or say bad things to you." As if we hadn't ever been in an audience with Chinese people before... Tania got pretty annoyed by the end of the first couple days, but I had a nice talk with him and he lightened up eventually. And it was certainly only because he wanted to look after us well.

Chinese people, though... really. It's all very well intentioned, but the constant worrying and the absolute positivity that, given that one is a foreigner, one can therefore do nothing on one's own, it can really get infuriating. Also, Chinese people and food are very odd. The entire nation is obsessed with thinness, almost worse than the US (because so many Chinese people are naturally thin anyway.) And yet, it's considered bad form if the host doesn't continually put food in his guests' bowl, and it's even worse not to clean one's own bowl completely. This means, usually, stuffing oneself inordinately in order not to offend anyone. I think the first Jewish mother took lessons from a Chinese person.

(Incidentally, while we're on the subject of Wu Yi Jie, I forgot to mention in my Lijiang entry that the last night before I left there was a huge pop concert outside my hotel. I was walking home from an internet cafe and came upon it, a big stage set up in a plaza in front of an enormous statue of Chairman Mao. The statue was all crazy and backlit, and there was some famous popstar performing, with a throng of shrieking fans around it. I stood in the throng for awhile soaking it in, but I had come at the end of the concert so really I just got a little microcosm of Chinese popular culture.)

Anyway. Lanping. Right.

I spent a little more than a week in Lanping altogether. Tania and I lived together in a government-run hotel, really too expensive for its own good but the only one where Jackson felt we were safe. During the days we went around and did interviews, often with Jackson's Christian friends (Tania's ISP topic is Christianity and Jackson is a Christian himself.) I hadn't really established a topic and was trying desperately to find a translator to take with me elsewhere in Nujiang Valley, so I tagged along. It was all quite interesting, as we interviewed people of Bai and Lisu nationality who had recently converted. The line between religion and culture and the subsequent ways many of them left their former identities behind was fascinating. I did what I could with the opportunity, framing the information for myself in terms of stories, the one thing I did know I wanted to study.

We met a few friends through these interviews-- Julie and Linda (both their English names) were about our age, maybe a few years older, had graduated from college and recently converted. They were both very sweet and could speak some English. Jackson also introduced us to his own friends, who took to us quite strongly. Before the week was out we had a legitimate group of Chinese friends who would call us to go have dinner, come for a visit, go for a walk, or go to tea houses after dinner. It was a really cool experience to see what that might be like, living in a place with a group of friends just like America.

We attracted friends on the street, too, just by virtue of being there. One woman we interviewed quoted a statistic that said that between 2001 and 2007 4,000 foreigners came to Lanping. Although Liuku dwarfs this number in terms of the rarity of foreigners, we were still something of a curiousity in Lanping. Once, while trying to find a highlighter for Tania, the stationary store shopkeeper struck up a conversation with us, and we ended up going to her family's restaurant in a village outside Lanping for dinner one night. Another time, a man driving a serious, serious SUV (this SUV would beat you up as soon as look at you) stopped and asked in accented but flawless English, "Excuse me, but where are you from? I haven't seen foreigners here in many years."

His name was Adam and he was what they call a "hua yi" here-- an emmigrant to the US. He had lived in California for 8 years in Silicon Valley making a living before returning to Lanping to get into the zinc mining business, which is one of the best in the world. He told us that he plans to work in Nujiang for several more years and then go back to the US to retire. We ended up going out to dinner with him one night, which was really interesting. He had all sorts of things to say about the Chinese upper crust and China in comparison to America ("Americans are much more straightforward and honest," for example.) It was also, in a way, a little bit like having dinner with a Mafia Don. For those of you out there who hate networking, never come to China: the principle of "guanxi" (literally "relationships") is the only way to get anything done here. You get jobs through guanxi, make friends, get around beauracracy, meet potential mates, get yourself out of trouble with the law, do well in the stock market, get good health care. It's all about cultivating relationships. And Adam was pretty much the ultimate source of it: he offered to find me a Pumi translator (an offer I didn't end up taking him up on, although I may this summer), told us he'd love to introduce us to his friends, and told Tania that she shouldn't worry about the police in Lanping because he was "good friends" with them and if we ever found trouble we should just call him. (Christianity is a hotbutton issue, as prosletyzing, or however you spell that, is illegal and they assume any Westerners talking about Christianity are trying to convert people.)

Lanping itself was quite beautiful. The city is nestled amid hills that hump higher and higher into peaks and eventually climb southward to merge with the Nujiang area mountains. It's not even really in a valley, per se, just kind of plopped on a couple of big slopes. There's a park in the middle, quite pleasant, with a little pond, several fountains, and a row of tea houses in the interior. We spent a lot of time there relaxing and talking to our new friends, asking them questions, watching the townspeople dance in the square in the evening-- everyone seemed to know the traditional dances. On days when we weren't interviewing, we went on adventures. One day we went to an ancient temple outside of town; another day, we took a 2-hour ride south to Yingpan, a dusty town by the Lancang (also known as Mekong) River. It was really interesting to see the river approximately 24 hours by bus away from the place I saw it last: in Xishuangbanna with Diana. Rivers are amazing that way-- simple but profound. Our trip to Yingpan was infuriating in a way, because the computer teacher we had befriended in Lanping was decidedly un-Chinese in his insistence that we first go to a water power project he had invested in some 45 minutes outside town. But in the end I got a few connections out of it and some information about Lisu culture. Plus, the town was just interesting to look at.

Another day, Tania, Jackson, and I, along with our new Lanping friends Julie and Linda, decided to go on a picnic. We bought an enormous amount of junk food and took a taxi to a park they new, but the park had changed and where there had once been a lake there was a mossy, smelly expanse. Instead, we redirected the taxi to the nearby river/stream, and located a likely-looking site across it. We proceeded to strip to our barefeet and make our way across the river. At first it looked like we could go from rock to rock, but the current proved a little treacherous and we had to make a few watery detours. Our picnic was great, very peaceful in a little clearing with the sound of water not far off. We played a few Chinese card games (one simple one is called "shei she xiaotou" or "Who is the thief?") and ate plentiful junk food, and then Linda and Julie went off to collect the plentiful wild vegetable that grew around. Chinese people are like that. On the way back, we had an equally tricky time getting across the river and I actually slipped on a mossy rock and fell in, saving my camera but soaking my pants from the butt down. We all thought it was quite hilarious, and now I can say I've fallen in a Chinese river. Hopefully I won't get water worms or anything like that.

On the last night before I left for Liuku, all of our new friends gathered in a teahouse near the park, drank juice, tea and beer; ate watermelon and sunflower seeds; and played cards, as Bai custom dictates. Tania and I taught our friends the American card game known as "B.S." (with a not so nice actual name,) which was neatly translated as "bu shi" ("not so.") We had a great time playing and screwing around until late at night. It was a lovely way to see me off into the next part of my adventure: Liuku.

Next time: The unexpected roommate and the unicorn.

Lean on Me

Resuming my recounting of strange, strange times in Tonghai:

Our second day in Tonghai was just as mind-blowing as the first. After another traditional Chinese breakfast we walked up a hill to an English school owned by a friend of the program, whose English name is Albert. We did some more orientation discussion and took an oral test to place ourselves in language classes-- I found out today I will be sharing a class with Lisa, who goes to Wellesley and has red dreadlocks (brave in China.) We actually had to struggle to choose our textbooks because Lisa was in Beijing studying language last semester and I haven't studied for a whole year, so I'm rusty and she's still very fresh. But I think we came to a good compromise. We will have two teachers (that's a 1:1 ratio, jeez) for grammar and speaking. They are not much older than we are.

Anyway, back to Tonghai-- after the placement test we were allowed 5 or 6 hours to wander in Xiushan Mountain park, which is home to an entire complex of Buddhist and Daoist temples anywhere from 200-900 years old. It also has a sacred spring (which the complex is built around) and saw a lot of people carrying jugs of water on sticks a la oxen yokes, going to get water. The park was incredibly beautiful-- most of the temples are still working, and there were people praying and flowering trees everywhere. I spent my afternoon mostly with Tania, who seems very sweet and thoughtful but with an alternative side-- she's studying gender at Hampshire and this morning I noticed she has a tattoo of a mountain on her back. We spent all of our time on the mountain, although some people opted to go back to Albert's to play with the kids there. The temples and gardens were just breathtaking. At one point, an old man playing an er hu (Chinese violin with two strings, yes Marianna, like the guy in Harvard Square) and we stopped to listen. Before I knew it he had sat me down and was molding my hands to bow correctly. It took a lot of effort, but after 15 minutes I was able to play a scale. Another thing I never thought I would get to do, learning er hu from an old Chinese man who didn't speak a word of English.

The er hu player had a friend who came over to talk to us for awhile, too, and he offered to take us up the mountain, which was an adventure. It was really good Chinese practice, he kept up a constant patter of conversation and was always asking "Do you know the name of that tree? Do you know the name of that flower?" After awhile when we would stop to look at things and he would wait, we were afraid that he wanted money but ultimately he left us just saying it was wonderful to meet us. I wish I had thought to give him some American change-- I've been giving out dimes and nickels to people and they always are fascinated and excited by "mei guo qian" (American money.) On the way down from the mountain we came upon a family munching on raw sugarcane, and they insisted on giving some to us. It was delicious-- you eat it by ripping off the outside of the big stalk with your teeth, biting in, sucking out the sweet juice, and spitting out the remains. As spitting is almost a national pastime here, I felt very Chinese eating the sugarcane.

We were supposed to meet the group at 6 for dinner with more officials, but Tania and I got lost on the way to the hotel. We had been enduring curious stares and yells of "Hello!" all day, but when we stopped to ask a man for directions to our hotel we legitimately drew a crowd. People stopped and pretended to look at things around us, but it was clear they were watching us. The man we were asking didn't speak Mandarin, so he had to write down the question "What is the name of your hotel?" so we could tell him (although Chinese dialects sound different, they are all written the same.) All the while, more people with inquisitive faces squatted or stood nearby, looking in pure curiosity. I never knew I could be such an attraction.

We finally got back to the hotel in time for Crazy Official Dinner Number 2. We knew what to expect this time-- more drinking, more eating, more crazy Chinese drinking songs. This time, though, the officials also did some Peking Opera dances for us-- I've never heard a man with such a high falsetto. In return, we all got together and sang "Lean on Me" for them. Those of you who have heard the story of my New Years in Hangzhou will remember that I have experience singing to Chinese officials. The rest of the night was spent at a bar Albert owns.

We left the hotel bright and early the next day, and it wasn't until we were on the bus that I realized I had left the necklace I bought in Ireland at the hotel. The odd thing is that I couldn't remember taking it off. I went back with Chen Laoshi and the driver to look and get a ring Tania left, but no luck. I'm very sad about this loss. Maybe someone still in the area can pick me up a replacement... We spent the afternoon looking at a Daoist temple in an area where there used to be an enormous lake. The lake has shrunk over the years, but there are still ancient boat docks everywhere, including inside one of the temples. Very interesting.

More interesting, though, was our trip to the only Mongolian village in Yunnan province. The Yuan dynasty was a Mongolian one (that's Kublai Khan, etc) and when they came to fight the tribal kings in Yunnan for control of China, a lot of Mongolian soldiers were injured, and when the Mongolians ultimately pulled out they left a lot of the injured behind to start this one village. The interesting thing is that it's now been 750 years, and the language and culture have both changed to be different than people who live in Mongolia today. It's a strange mix with local customs and language. As an Anthropology geek, I find that fascinating. I don't know if it's fascinating enough to do my Independent Study Project on it, but we'll see. Anyway, we happened to come to the village, which is picturesquely poor (like most places outside the city here) on a festival day, so everyone was wearing their traditional clothes, very colorfol and sparkly and interesting-looking. I bought a handmade apron and we listened to some performances and then got asked to sing as well. We sang "Lean on Me" again (everyone knows it) and "Jingle Bells." The audience loved it.

The past few days other than that have been mostly preparation for classes, which start Monday. Charles, a Chinese english student who is a program assistant, showed us around Kunming last night, pointing out some coffee shops, an English bookstore, this internet cafe (where internet is Y1 or 12 cents per hour), a movie theater, and Green Lake park, which is beautifully lit at night. There were huge groups of people dancing for fun in the park. Not something you'd ever see in the states. We got a talk about health today and chose our textbooks, and this afternoon we will see an introductory video about Yunnan. Things are slowly grinding into gear.

Gan Bei! (Bound feet and bai jiu)

Okay, so I can't really even begin to describe the first 4 days of China. I have done such mindblowing things already, I don't even think I can do them justice.

Our time here didn't really start until Day 2 because by the time we got to Kunming we had all been travelling for over 35 hours and we were ready to drop. We will be staying, at least until we move into our two-week homestay, in an international student hostel/dorm on the Yunnan Normal University campus. It just so happens that students from the Duke/Wesleyan/WashU Chinese program are also staying there, which means that not only are the lovely Diana Shum and I staying on the same campus in the same building, but we are living on the same floor! Very exciting. The hostel is modest by American standards, but it has two beds (which feel like sleeping on tables, the Chinese style), a bathroom with a Western toilet (such luxury!), and a TV, so we're doing very well for China, even some of the places we've been since. My roommate is named Tania-- she goes to Hampshire and we seem to have a lot in common, but she actually arrived a day late due to airline snafus.

We began Day 2 (the fullest day of my life, I think) with a Chinese breakfast, which is an odd mix of sweet (muffins, rolls) and salty (meat soup, chicken, etc.) Then we got into our group van and drove down to Tonghai, a small city about 3 hours south of Kunming. The SIT program has special connections in Tonghai, but it is very much not a tourist destination. We stayed in Tonghai 3 days and I did not see a single Westerner. When we walked in the streets we were stared at, and an old woman pointed at me, smiling toothlessly and crowing "lao wai!" which is a not-so-nice word for foreigner. Tonghai was not the "countryside" I was expecting but it was a priceless chance to get to see Chinese life as it really is, mostly unmarred by the evils of the tourism industry.

We had some free time in Tonghai, and I bought myself a used cellphone, charger, extra battery, and all the minutes I will ever need for Y300, about $35. I'm dorkily excited about answering my phone "Wei?" which is the Chinese way. Ashley, a tripmate who is almost fluent and has spent a great deal of time working on her thesis in Tibet and Xinjiang (two remote areas) helped me to get a great deal and made friends with the saleswoman in the process. I can't believe how much my Chinese speaking and listening has improved already. Only 4 days. Listening to Ashley bargain and negotiate was very much an educational experience.

Before our dinner we drove to a small village outside Tonghai, where a group of women with bound feet still live. Tonghai is so remote that the Revolution didn't arrive there until much later than in most parts of China, and so the practice of binding feet (considered to be a great trait in females) wasn't abolished until later either. This means there are still some women alive in Tonghai whose feet have been bound. We went to their village and saw them dance, with slow movements akin to pool gymnastics, and then they asked us to dance with them, which was pretty incredible. And it says something about our group that, although we were laughing (and so was the crowd that came to watch us), none of us felt the need to pretend to be "too cool for this." Watching these women, with their twisted, tiny feet, was incredibly powerful. I didn't think I would ever see something like that.

But the day went on, adding to "things I thought I would never see/do." Next on the list was the dinner with Chinese officials. It is custom for Chinese officials to toast their guests with "bai jiu" or rice wine, an incredibly strong liquor. They stand up and yell "Gan bei!" (like "cheers!") and you have to drink with them. You can say "I don't want it!" or "I'm allergic" but they won't listen, and they consider it an insult for you to flat out refuse. Ashley had 14 full shots of Bai Jiu the first night, and was taking shots over the officials' shoulders (sort of a "group hug" drinking position) before the night was out. It was a big bonding experience for all of us, though, since we were watching the officials and our tripmates become sillier and sillier. Even one of our teachers, Chen Laoshi, was drunk. The officials started singing Chinese drinking songs and the night just got crazier from there...

The second floor of our hotel played host to "KTV" which is what Chinese people call karaoke. We decided it would be fun to try some after the officials left.In KTV you get your own room and it's like a private karaoke party. A lot of us were in the room drinking Chinese beer and singing bad American pop (Michael Jackson, Backstreet Boys) when Chris, a southern deadhead from South Carolina, came back with a Chinese friend he made in the bathroom. After awhile, the friend when and got more friends, and all of a sudden the room was a dance party, complete with a strobe light and sterio. I never knew how party rooms could end up trashed until now... those Chinese kids were crazy, dancing on the tables, breaking glasses. We were all overtired and jetlagged and basically in shock. We couldn't believe it was actually happening.

It's pretty late and Kailey, one of my tripmates, wants to go back to campus because we're still jetlagged. But coming in my next entry: my trip to see 800-year old Buddhist temples on mountains, my 15 minutes playing the er hu (Chinese violin), Tania and I draw a crowd, the group performs for Mongolian minorities.

Gan bei!