This morning, as I was showering in preparation to go to the East-side for International Fellowship, the lights of the bathroom popped off. As did all the electricity in our apartment. We ran out of electricity. You have to prepay everything in a society where no one trusts anyone. So our prepaid electricity was up, and that's all there was to say about that. You have to buy credit at the bank. Don't ask me about that logic. My cell phone is prepaid, as well. It's the norm.

Austin, my roommate who speak Chinese pretty well, I assumed would take care of it. He didn't. So there is still no electricity in our house, and the bank is closed until the morning. The Professor and I have subsequently moved into a hotel for the night. I won't lie, it's kind of a vacation. You know, a two-block-away vacation. Private full-size bed that's not just a wooden box. My own aircon. My own bathroom. And I'm right next to the Muslim bakery. Bakery is a generous term in this case, but they make bread products, so what?

Sidebar: Muslim food is the best food in the entire world, and I have no qualms with saying that. If I can't have home-cooked Southern food, sign me up to eat halal. The Muslim community here is mostly from the region of China called Xinjiang (新疆). It is an enormous province (think Alaska, but China, and with lots of people) to the direct north of Tibet (西藏). It is where China meets Pakistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, etc. And it's chock-full of Uighur people. They're kind of like Turkey-meets-Russia-meets-China. And I don't feel comfortable saying much more about them other than I love their food. One China.



Lately I'm wrapping up school and buying presents before I have to head home. Not too many people know this, but I am not really an expert gift-giver. So truly, if you want something (that's not expensive, heavy, or big) please just tell me! I've bought several things, but I really am coming up blank on so many things. And here's a warning, I'm not really getting much that's super-fancy, but I think the stuff I am getting is pretty cool.

Speaking of gift-buying, I went in to a Tibetan handicrafts store in Houhai to look at what they have. I think Tibetan jewelry and silks are beautiful, and I wanted to get something for someone. I found a banner with the eight symbols of Lama Buddhism, and it was really nice looking, so I asked if they had it in any other colors. The woman, with whom I'd been chatting nicely, brought out a bag of a few colors, and I picked up one that I liked most. I flipped it over, and as I inspected it, the woman was telling me that it was all silk, and hand embroidered, and blah blah blah. So on the back, there was a tag. When there is a tag on something, that tells us a few things. Number one, it's not handmade. Number two, it's probably not a natural-material product. Number three, you are being overcharged. The tag proudly stated 100% Polyester Made in Nepal. Now the woman, when confronted with clearly damning evidence, had the gall to say that Nepal and Tibet are culturally the same, and that only the outer lining was not really silk. I told her that even if it was the same, I didn't live in Nepal, and I didn't want to take things to America from a place I've never been! I live in China, and I want to take things from China home! She told me that if I wanted Chinese things, perhaps I should look in some other stores, because she only sells Tibetan things. And with that she pointed at my other purchases of the day and told me to get on my way. I say she can keep her fake Tibetan polyester crap. Hmph!

As finishing school goes, I am down to one more test. It's in my reading and writing class, ergo it's the hardest test of all. And yet I'm strangely zen about the whole thing. As in, I'll make what I make, and that's that. It's not that I don't care, but I'm resigned to the fact that I came in with almost no language training, and I've learned a lot, but I am not at the level BNU wishes me to be. I'm pretty proud of my level of language acquisition. I talked to a taxi driver about the rules of drinking baijiu (which is like Chinese vodka (and the requests for bring-home gifts finally start to pour in...)) and about how the pollution makes everyone cough. He doesn't drink or smoke (so he's probably not Chinese, anyway), but his health isn't good because all he does is eat, sleep, and drive his cab. Poor guy! But he clearly does more than that, because he knows every player in the NBA. It is a good feeling to have light conversation in a second language. It makes me feel accomplished.

The other night I played a some farewell lasertag with some Chinese kids. It was sad to say goodbye, but I'm sure things all work together for the good. And I hope that even though there is little visible response with those guys, they may have seen or heard something in our times together that could lead them down a new life path. We also ate the best pizza in Beijing that night and got asked very politely to buy more food and drinks or leave. Too loud, I guess...

That feels like enough stories for one post. I want to tell a story about my friend's unusual English name, but I'm not sure if I can. It makes me laugh every time, though, so I'm sure I'll tell it eventually.

T