A street vender in a city of perpetual construction

Daniel Finds Some Warm Fuzzies

An Engrish Sign Above a public restroom

Flag day!

All is still under the electric lights of the dorm room on the fourth floor. The power will be turned off at 12:00 to enforce lights out after the girls return from class at 11:30. We jot bullet points in our journals to keep the memories from escaping. At 6:55 we assembled by the flag pole to observe the commencement of a new week. Four quadrants of students assembled in perfectly semetrical rows around the giant flagpole to watch it raise. 4,000 students, 300 teachers, staff, and administration all shiver under a blushing sunrise. We watched the headmaster give the housing department an earful. His body language seemed pretty displeased.

Tony lead me up a stairwell to a sky bridge from which to photograph the scene. Speeches, dismissals, announcements, then a rush to the three dininghalls. Rosemary, a shorthaired girl with purple, square rimmed glasses, found me among the throngs of students. When I looked up, we threw our arms around each other. We had a very meaningful conversation yesterday, one that I will always remember. We agreed to meet for lunch with her English teacher.

Students taught two 45 minute English classes in pairs to a class of about 60 students. I sat in on Jonathan Finch and Ashlee Johnston's. They did a great job talking about surfing, weddings, family, school life. The students asked Ashlee to dance for them, which she did! Everyone wants to know if we can sing for them a Taylor Swift song or Justin Beeber. At the end, they might as well have been Pop singers because the students lined up to have us autograph their uniform track jackets.

After class, everyone jogs in formation around campus unless they are assigned to mop classrooms. They jogged past us while waited to be taken to the street market for lunch and shopping.

Lunch, for most of us, was at a restaurant in the mall. It was a fine dining experience where the spices burnt our lips and made our eyelids sweaty. Pineapple and mango ice cream over diced watermelon. Bubble tea (tapioca balls at the bottom).

We got flower tea at a supermarket and walked most of the way back through the organized chaos of three-wheeled pickups, ladies hunching under poles over their shoulders to balance baskets of vegetables or live chickens, and street vendors selling pickled mango.

After the overstimulation of the commercialized world, Chinese choir class drew us deep into the past of rural China. Our teacher, who wore a black embroidered mandarin jacket and longish hair, seated himself at the upright piano and passed out booklets of choir words for us. It was all in characters, but our partners helped point the way. The songs transported us to a Dai market where girls wait impatiently for their darlings to come meet them on the bridge. "you are like a flower, so beautiful," say the young men. "I dream of you in my dream."

Toni accompanied us to the wedding reception for our driver's daughter, who greeted us with her groom at the gate. An armful red flowers matched her lipstick. The groom shook my hand as I bestowed our humble package of American-made chocolate with a card. Dinner was at a round table piled with exotic dishes, some of which we recognized: steamed lichen salad, sticky rice, noodles with peppers, pickled veggies layered in bacon, and a broiled fish gaped up at us with a panicked expression. Cara enjoyed its tail, carefully picking through the bones. Each table was equipped with a bottle of rice alcohol and wine, which disappeared unopened into the coat pocket of one of the guests as plates were cleared.

6:10 was English Corner by the pond. A pogota served as a shelter from the sun. Rays shot out from a huge cumulus like spokes from a wheel hub. A game of Ninja served to break ice with some of the more shy students, and attracted attention from the basketball courts. As Mr. Sturley walked passed a cluster of sheepish high school boys, one shot out his hand for a high five/gangsta handclasp with the greeting, "Hey, Man!"

The laughter seems contunual. Everyone is so engaging, so friendly, and blessings are dumped on us with every hour. Tomorrow we will perfect our lessons, and hopefully introduce some of our favorite songs to the classroom.

Ashley Arteburn is a bit discouraged. Robert is feeling a little ill, but Brianne is back to 100 percent.

My Chinese name, according to some of my new friends, is Bai Hua-- "White Flower." It has been a day of flowers, to be sure. Even as I turned the key in the door tonight, the breeze carries the fragrance of a small, white flower from the courtyard.