...is a safe but unruly place.

I have come to appreciate the anarchy of the road in China. Traffic rules as indicated by signs and road markings appear similar to the States, but the mores of the drivers indicate otherwise. These mores indicate that all available space shall be used by those who are most able to use it.

I love these rules.

Cars regularly drive head-on towards each other, the self-interest of each being the only thing that keeps a collision from happening. Cars that nominally have right of way will often yield it to larger, faster, or more reckless drivers. My college roommate used to call this the Road Law of Force: mass and acceleration matter more than rules.

What is most surprising is this: I have ridden in vans, taxis, and buses for several hours at a time here, and I have yet to see a single accident, nor have I seen evidence of one. I do not go but a few hours in the States without seeing one. I wonder if it is our concentration of cars or our reliance on right of way over driving opportunity that leads to this outcome. I cannot say, but I wonder.

The road to Gondor...

On a sign in the Daxie Development zone:

“Only development is the truth.”

Indeed. Indeed. Perhaps there's hope for the ol' authoritarians yet.

In Middle Earth, everyone speaks in the common tongue. Lucky bastards.

Yesterday was just awful. My apologies for the lack of communication; it will not happen again. I do not wish to speak of the particulars at the present time, except to say that had I the ability to fly home right then, I would have used it.

There were, however, moments of interest. One moment involved my daily attempt to use Chinese. Like Wang Rui, Mu Zhou is hesitant to sit with us during meals. Thus we are often left alone precisely when we require assistance. While she was away at one point, we ran out of Sprite for the kids. The kids do not like any other sodas. I stop a waitress and ask her for a bottle of cola, hoping that she will ask types and I can pick out “Sprite” from her list.

“Ni keyi gei wo yi bei kele ma?”

“Hao.”

Crap. No list. What to do? I wait. The waitress approaches me with a can of Coke. The measure words for liquids are either “bottles” or “glasses”. I asked for a glass. I try again.

“Duibuqi. Wo yao yi ping kele.” I gesture to an empty bottle of beer on the table. “Yi ping, hao ma?”

“Hao.”

Now I hope for a bottle of Coke, and I will negotiate my way to Sprite. Go me! The server brings out a bottle of Coke.

“Duibuqi,” I apologize. Again. I pick up my glass, still half-full of Sprite. “Wo yao zhe ge.” I want this. “Hao ma?”

“Shi bei zi ma?”

Now we’re getting somewhere. The name for Sprite is something like “shi bei”, so I should get what I want. Huzzah!

The server comes back with a single plastic glass. I stare. The girls giggle. “That’s not Sprite,” says Victor.

I shan't even tell you what happened when I tried to get soy sauce.

Hobbits at play, Father's Day Edition...

Caitlin and Kina: Dad, we have a surprise for you. (begin to sing) HAPPY HAPPY--

Victor: (singing) HAPPY!

Caitlin: Victor, shut up! You don't even know it.

Victor: Sorry.

Caitlin and Kina: HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TODAY'S YOUR SPECIAL (dissolves into giggles as they realize their mistake).

Victor: You don't know it either!
---

I love these kids. If all kids turned out like these (or within a very tight distribution around these kids), I'd take a baker's dozen.

Happy Father's Day, Dad! I love you, and am glad that you haven't died yet, though your heart could give out at any moment. Or something like that.

Strider 2.0

"Chris" is a 25-year-old woman from the north of China. She was born under the one-child policy, and thus has no siblings. She has a pixie haircut, which she thinks is cute, even if it makes other people think she's younger than she is. Her friends tease her for being a spendthrift; they bought her a jade Pigu, a dragon god's son whose power is saving, to help her. He eats, but never, um, yeah. Let's just say he has the power of saving.

Her real name is Mu Zhou. I like her; she's the kind of person I'd flirt with in a bar. She is not, however, as good a guide as Wang Rui, and we all notice. She isn't as good as a translator, and as a guide, she's a Beijing native who has never been to Ningbo. So it goes.

One small advantage, for me anyway, is that she does not seem at all threatened when I try to speak Chinese. Wang Rui acted as though I was trying to push him out of a job; Mu Zhou appears to get that I'm just trying to talk to a native speaker who doesn't want to sell me knicknacks.

So small good for me, but on balance, I believe we were better off with Rui.

The mirror shows many things. Things that are...

A few other observations from the orphanage trip that do not fit into the general narrative:

1) on the way there, I noticed a group of four or so workers irrigating a soybean crop. Each worker held the hose at a different intersection, moving it as the last man watered the plants themselves. In the United States, this work would be done by a series of interconnected aluminum devices that roll across the field. A simple illustration of the price of labor in two countries influencing the decision to use labor over capital.

2) The entire time at the orphanage, I felt like we had returned to the panda preserve. Can everything in China be viewed as a tourist, if one only asks?

3) At one point, we visisted with a group of children, none of whom could have been more than two years old. As we left, we smiled and waved. "Byebye!" shouted the children. Come again? Yes, that's right. The children shouted not "zaijian", or "see you later" in Chinese. They shouted "byebye" in the Queen's English. So you tell me: teaching the kids a necessary business language early, or the orphanage conducting clever marketing by teaching a few key English phrases?

The Kings (and Queens) of Gondor are descendents of the Men of Westernese.

[This is not your story. It is Caitlin's. If you want it, you can ask her someday, when she grows up and writes her own stories. But not today.]