You've probably been wondering where I've disappeared to these last few weeks. I haven't disappeared...China has blocked LiveJournal. So, until China unblocks it, here's where I'll be blogging:

http://marmal305.blogdrive.com

I hope that I haven't lost any readers over these last few weeks. I'll be posting there every other day or so, so rest assured,I'm back!

Yes, that's right, I'm back. I arrived in Changsha on the 16th, spent two days at my friend's aunt's for Spring Festival and returned home on Monday. On Saturday I'll go to Hong Kong for a few days, and I'll hopefully make a side trip to Macau along the way. Then I have mid-service conference on the 3rd and 4th of March, and the day after that, I go back to teaching.

The Internet in my apartment is out temporarily, so the extended version of my Spring Festival celebration will have to wait. I'll leave you with this little conversation bit that happened between myself and Mr. Liu, about half an hour after I got home on Monday:

Me (MM): Hello Mr. Liu? It is Marisa.
Mr. Liu: Oh... hello?
MM: Zhu nian kuai le! (Happy Year of the Pig)
Liu: (laughs hysterically)
MM: I'm back from Changsha.
Liu: What were you doing in Changsha?
MM: I was celebrating Spring Festival with a friend and her family. When do we start teaching?
Liu: Maybe March 4. Why do you need to know?
MM: Oh, I cannot teach on March 4. I have my mid-service conference in Changsha. I can start on the 5th.
Liu: You are teaching in Changsha this semester?
MM: No....

later..

Liu: How did you get into the apartment? Did William let you in?
MM: No, I have a key.
Liu: Marisa is home?
MM: (thinking, what the heck?): Yes, Marisa is home.
Liu: (laughs hysterically.) Marisa is home?
MM: thinks, "Hmmm..."
MM: Mr. Liu, this IS Marisa
Liu: This is Marisa?

It turns out that Mr. Liu still has my home phone number labeled as "Megan", so he mistook me for last year's volunteer. He then invited William and I to dinner at his teahouse and never showed up. Apparently, because it's the holidays, he's been even drunker than usual. It's really quite sad.

Just a quick message to let you all know that I'm alive, healthy and reasonably sane. I had planned to go home yesterday, but ended up in Kunming for an extra two days after elong.com lost my flight reservation. I'll be flying to Changsha tomorrow evening, and hopefully will head straight to my friend's house for Spring Festival.

While in Malaysia/Singapore, I:

-- hiked through a jungle
-- parasailed on a white-sand beach
-- saw the last surviving indigineous village in Malaysia's Cameron Highlands (we interrupted the chief as he watched a Rob Schneider movie).
-- bought a really nice plum-colored jacket for $55 at a designer store (original price: $555)
-- pet a stingray (delightfully slimy)
-- was asked to pose for a picture with a tourist (I knew the second she asked that she was from China. People have warned me that this will happen, but I never thought it would happen in Singapore.
-- was stared at and made fun of by NOT ONE SINGLE MALAYSIAN! What a refreshing change of pace.

Sorry about that last posting. Something was wrong with the computer in Zhongdian that I was typing on. I'm right now at an Internet cafe in Singapore's Little India and don't have time/energy to rewrite it. So you're just going to have to wait to hear more of my stories...

I mentioned in my last posting that　Ｉ　ｓｐｅｎｔ　ｔｗｏ　ｄａｙｓ　ｈｉｋｉｎｇ　ｏｎｅ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｄｅｅｐｅｓｔ　ｇｏｒｇｅｓ　ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｗｏｒｌｄ，　Ｔｉｇｅｒ　Ｌｅａｐｉｎｇ　Ｇｏｒｇｅ．　Ｉｔ＇ｓａｂｏｕｔ　ｔｗｏ　ｈｏｕｒｓ　ｎｏｒｔｈ　ｏｆ　Ｌｉｊｉａｎｇ．　Ｉ＇ｍ　ｎｏｔ　ａ　ｈｉｋｅｒ，　ｂｕｔ　ｓｅｅｉｎｇ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｎａｔｕｒａｌ　ｗｏｎｄｅｒ　（ｏｎｅ　ｏｆ　ｍｙ　ｆｅｌｌｏｗ　ｈｉｋｅｒｓ　ｓａｉｄ　ｉｔ　ｗａｓ　ｍｏｒｅ　ｉｍｐｒｅｓｓｉｖｅ　ｔｈａｎ　ｔｈｅ　Ｇｒａｎｄ　Ｃａｎｙｏｎ）ｗａｓ　ｗｅｌｌ　ｗｏｒｔｈ　ｔｈｅ　ｃｈａｌｌｅｎｇｉｎｇ　ｔｒｅｋ．

Ｉ　ｏｒｉｇｉｎａｌｌｙ　ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ　ｔｈａｔ，　ａｓ　ａ　ｓｏｌｏ　ｔｒａｖｅｌｅｒ，　ｄｏｉｎｇ　ｔｈｅ　ｈｉｋｅ　ｗｏｕｌｄ　ｂｅ　ｔｏｏ　ｄａｎｇｅｒｏｕｓ．　Ｂｕｔ　Ｉ found a group of travelers getting ready to hike ｗｈｅｎ　Ｉ　ｇｏｔ　ｔｏ　Ｍａｍａ　Ｎａｘｉ＇ｓ　Ｇｕｅｓｔｈｏｕｓｅ　ｉｎ　Ｌｉｊｉａｎｇ　（the place where I spent two nights before the gorge and three nights afterward.) So nine others and myself piled into two minivans on Saturday and headed toward the adventure.

I've been listening to William ramble on about the beauty of the gorge for the past four months, so Ｉwas prepared to be let down a bit. But there are some things that take your breath away no matter how much they are hyped up in advance. This definitely was one of them.

The first two to three hours were a predominantly uphill climb. The 28 bends, a series of steep switchbacks up the face of the mountain, is known to be the most difficlt part of the trek. As we walked along the path, a Naxi man with a horse followed, offering to take us up the mountain for 70 kuai. It was a good thing that I only had 100 kuai on me, otherwise I might have taken him up on it. None of us used the horse, although one guy gave him 50 kuai to carry his backpack.

After about an hour of climbing, I thought we had at least gone halfway up the 28 bends. So I was pretty surprised to see a sign that said, "28 bends -- 15 minutes."　＂Ｔｈｅｎ　ｗｈａｔ　ｉｓ　ｔｈｉｓ？"Ｉthought.

The bends were tough, but no tougher than I thought they would be. Ｉ　　ｐａｕｓｅｄ　ａｆｔｅｒ　ｅｖｅｒｙ　ｆｅｗ　ｂｅｎｄｓ，　ｗｈｉｌｅ　ｔｈｅ　ｈｏｒｓｅｍａｎ　ｗａｉｔｅｄ　ｐａｔｉｅｎｔｌｙ　ｂｅｈｉｎｄ　ｍｅ．　Ａｔ　ｏｎｅ　ｐｏｉｎｔ　ｈｅ　ｗｅｎｔ　ａｈｅａｄ　ｔｏ　ｒｅｔｕｒｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｂａｃｋｐａｃｋ，　ａｎｄ　Ｉ　ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ，　＂Ｗｅ　ｍｕｓｔ　ｂｅ　ｎｅａｒ　ｔｈｅ　ｅｎｄ＂

Ａｎｄ　ｗｅ　ｗｅｒｅ．Ｉ　ｒａｎ　ｉｎｔｏ　ｔｈｅ　ｈｏｒｓｅｍａｎ　ａｇａｉｎ，　ｈｉｓ　ｆａｃｅ　ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ　ｄｅｊｅｃｔｅｄ　ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ　ｈｅ　ｈａｄ　ｍａｄｅ　ｎｏ　ｍｏｎｅｙ　ｏｆｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｐａｎｔｉｎｇ　ｗａｉｇｕｏｒｅｎ，　ａｎｄ　ｓｏｏｎ　ｒｅａｃｈｅｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｔｏｐ．　

Ｔｈｅ　ｖｉｅｗ　ｗａｓ　ｗｏｒｔｈ　ｉｔ．　Ｙｏｕ　ｃｏｕｌｄ　ｓｅｅ　ｇｒｅｅｎ　ｆｉｅｌｄｓ，　ｂｒｉｇｈｔｅｒ　ｔｈａｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｃｏｌｏｒ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｇｒａｓｓ　ｔｈｅｙ　ｐｕｔ　ｉｎ　Ｅａｓｔｅｒ　ｂａｓｋｅｔｓ，　ａｎｄ　ｗｈａｔ　ｌｏｏｋｅｄ　ｌｉｋｅ　ａ　ｂｌｕｅ　ｔｒｉｃｋｌｅ　（ｔｈｅｓｔａｒｔ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　Ｙａｎｇｔｚｅ　Ｒｉｖｅｒ．） Huts dotted the landscape, the homes of Naxi families that probably had been there for years.

Some of the more business-savvy inhabitants had started guesthouses, where travelers could sleep in comfort. It was our job to make it to the Halfway House before sunset, which we did with no trouble. We spent a cozy night there, then finished the trek the next day.

On the way back I saw a sign that said, "This is one of the most dangerous gorges in the world." There were some parts where we only had a few yards to walk on before the path dropped into a steep cliff, but at no point did I feel like my life was in danger.

**********************************

No, I　ｄｉｄｎ＇ｔ　ｆｅｅｌ　ｔｈａｔ　ｗａｙ　ｕｎｔｉｌ　Ｗｅｄｎｅｓｄａｙ　ａｆｔｅｒｎｏｏｎ，　ｗｈｅｎ　ｍｙ　ｂｕｓ　ｔｏ　Ｚｈｏｎｇｄｉａｎ　ａｌｍｏｓｔ　ｄｒｏｖｅ　ｏｆｆ　ａ　　ｍｏｕｎｔａｉｎ．　

Ｉ＇ｖｅｍｅｎｔｉｏｎｅｄ　ｔｈａｔ　Ｃｈｉｎｅｓｅ　ｄｒｉｖｅｒｓ　ｄｒｉｖｅ　ｌｉｋｅ　ｔｈｅｙ　ａｒｅ　ｔｒａｉｎｉｎｇ　ｆｏｒ　ａ　ｄｅｍｏｌｉｔｉｏｎ　ｄｅｒｂｙ，　ｒｉｇｈｔ？　Ｔｈｅｙ　ｓｐｅｅｄ，　ｔｈｅｙ　ｒｕｎ　ｓｔｏｐ　ｓｉｇｎｓ　ａｎｄ　ｒｅｄ　ｌｉｇｈｔｓ，　ｔｈｅｙ　ｍａｋｅ　Ｕ－ｔｕｒｎｓ　ａｓ　ｏｔｈｅｒ　ｃａｒｓ　ｓｐｅｅｄ　ｔｏｗａｒｄ　ｔｈｅｍ　ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅ　ｄｉｒｅｃｔｉｏｎ．

Ｔｈｅ　ｗａｙ　ｔｏ　Ｚｈｏｎｇｄｉａｎ　ｉｓ　ｍｏｓｔｌｙ　ａ　ｒｏａｄ　ｃａｒｖｅｄ　ｉｎｔｏ　ａ　ｍｏｕｎｔａｉｎ，　ｗｉｔｈ　ｓｔｅｅｐ　ｔｕｒｎｓ　ａｂｏｕｔ　ｅｖｅｒｙ　ｍｉｌｅ．Ｍｙ　ｄｒｉｖｅｒ　ｓｐｅｄ　ａｒｏｕｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｂｅｎｄｓ，　ｓｏｍｅ　ｏｆ　ｗｈｉｃｈ　ｗｅｒｅ　ａｔ　ａｂｏｕｔ　ａ　６０－７０ｄｅｇｒｅｅ　ａｎｇｌｅ，　ｌｉｋｅ　ａ　ｊｏｙｒｉｄｅｒ．

Ａｔ　ｏｎｅ　ｐｏｉｎｔ　ｈｅ　ｍａｄｅ　ａ　ｔｕｒｎ　ｔｈａｔ　ｗａｓ　ｔｏｏ　ｗｉｄｅ，　ａｎｄ　ｗｅ　ｆｏｕｎｄ　ｏｕｒｓｅｌｖｅｓ　ｓｐｅｅｄｉｎｇ　ｔｏｗａｒｄ　ａ　ｇｒｅｙ　ｓｔｏｎｅ　ｗａｌｌ．　Ａｌｌ　Ｉ　ｃｏｕｌｄ　ｔｈｉｎｋ　ａｂｏｕｔ　ｗａｓ　ｔｈｅ　ｂｕｓ　ａｃｃｉｄｅｎｔ　ｔｈａｔ　ｈａｄ　ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ　ａｔ　ｍｙ　ｈｉｇｈ　ｓｃｈｏｏｌ　ａ　ｆｅｗ　ｗｅｅｋｓ　ａｇｏ，　ａｎｄ　　ｈｏｗ　ｔｈｅ　ｂｕｓ　ｈａｄ　ｒｕｎ　ｉｎｔｏ　ａ　ｗａｌｌ．　Ｉｎ　ｔｈａｔ　ａｃｃｉｄｅｎｔ，　ｔｈｅ　ｓｔｕｄｅｎｔｓ　ｗａｌｋｅｄ　ａｗａｙ　ｗｉｔｈ　ｍｉｎｏｒ　ｔｏ　ｍｏｄｅｒａｔｅ　ｉｎｊｕｒｉｅｓ．　Ｓｏ　ｐａｒｔ　ｏｆ　ｍｅ　ｈｏｐｅｄ　ｔｈａｔ　ｗｅ　ｗｏｕｌｄ　ｈｉｔ　ｔｈｅ　ｗａｌｌ，　ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ　ｔｈｅ　ｏｔｈｅｒ　ａｌｔｅｒｎａｔｉｖｅ　ｗａｓ．．．

Ｔｈｅ　ｄｒｉｖｅｒ　ｊｅｒｋｅｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｗｈｅｅｌ　ｔｏ　ｔｈｅ　ｌｅｆｔ，　ａｎｄ　ｗｅ　ｗｅｒｅ　ｓｏｏｎ　ｓｐｅｅｄｉｎｇ　ｔｏｗａｒｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｅｄｇｅ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｃｌｉｆｆ．（Ｗｅ　ｗｅｒｅ　ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ　ｇｏｉｎｇ　ｎｏ　ｍｏｒｅ　ｔｈａｎ　２５－３０　ｍｐｈ，　ｂｕｔ　ｉｔ　ｓｕｒｅ　ｆｅｌｔ　ｌｉｋｅ　ｓｐｅｅｄｉｎｇ　ｔｏ　ｍｅ．）

We were heading toward the meadow below，ａ　ｆｅｗ　ｙａｒｄｓ　ｆｒｏｍ　ｔｈｅ　ｅｄｇｅ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｃｌｉｆｆ，　ａｎｄ　Ｉ　ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ，　＂Ｗｅ＇ｒｅｇｏｉｎｇ　ｔｏ　ｇｏ　ｄｏｗｎ．　Ｉｓ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｈｏｗ　Ｉ＇ｍ　ｇｏｉｎｇ　ｔｏ　ｄｉｅ？ That's not fair!"

Before my life could flash before my eyes, the driver turned the wheel to the right and we landed horozontally on the road. A huge cloud of dust enveloped the bus, and a girl behind me screamed. Ｉmouthed "Thank GOD" more sincerely than Ｉ　ｈａｖｅ　ｄｏｎｅ　ｉｎ　ｍｙ　ｅｎｔｉｒｅ　ｌｉｆｅ．

I　ｇｒａｂｂｅｄ　ｍｙ　ｂａｇ　ａｎｄ　ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ　ｔｏ　ｇｅｔ　ｕｐ，　ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ　ｗｅ　ｗｏｕｌｄ　ｓｔｏｐ　ｆｏｒ　ａ　ｆｅｗ　ｍｉｎｕｔｅｓ　ｗｈｉｌｅ　ｔｈｅ　ｂｕｓ　ｄｒｉｖｅｒ　ｍａｄｅ　ｓｕｒｅ　ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ　ｗａｓ　ＯＫ．Ｂｕｔ　ｈｅ　ｊｕｓｔ　ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｂｕｓ　ｓｌｏｗｌｙ，　ｔｅｓｔｅｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｂｒａｋｅｓ　（ｔｈｅｙ　ｗｏｒｋｅｄ　ｇｒｅａｔ　ａｔ　５　ｍｐｈ，　ｗｈｉｃｈ　ｗａｓ　ａｂｏｕｔ　ｈｏｗ　ｆａｓｔ　ｔｈｅ　ｂｕｓ　ｗａｓ　ｇｏｉｎｇ　ａｔ　ｔｈｅ　ｔｉｍｅ）　ａｎｄ　ｗｅ　ｄｒｏｖｅ　ｏｆｆ，　ａ　ｌｉｔｔｌｅ　ｓｌｏｗｅｒ　ｔｈａｎ　ｌａｓｔ　ｔｉｍｅ．Ｂｕｔ　ｉｔ　ｗａｓ　ｎｏ　ｔｉｍｅ　ｂｅｆｏｒｅ　ｔｈｅ　ｄｒｉｖｅｒ　ｗａｓ　ｓｐｅｅｄｉｎｇ　ａｌｏｎｇ　ｌｉｋｅ　ｂｅｆｏｒｅ．

Ｆｏｒｔｕｎａｔｅｌｙ，　ｗｅ　ｍａｄｅ　ｉｔ　ｔｏ　Ｚｈｏｎｇｄｉａｎ　ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ　ａｎｙ　ｆｕｒｔｈｅｒ　ｐｒｏｂｌｅｍｓ．　Ｙｅｓｔｅｒｄａｙ　Ｉ　ｗｅｎｔ　ｔｏ　ａ　ｔｒａｖｅｌ　ａｇｅｎｃｙ　ｉｎ　ｔｏｗｎ　ａｎｄ　ｂｏｏｋｅｄ　ａ　ｐｌａｎｅ　ｔｉｃｋｅｔ　ｔｏ　Ｋｕｎｍｉｎｇ　ｏｎ　Ｓａｔｕｒｄａｙ．　Ｉｔ　ｓｎｏｗｅｄ　ｙｅｓｔｅｒｄａｙ，　ａｎｄ　ｉｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｒｏａｄ　ｗａｓ　ｄａｎｇｅｒｏｕｓ　ｄｒｙ，　Ｉ　ｃａｎ　ｏｎｌｙ　ｉｍａｇｉｎｅ　ｗｈａｔ　ｉｔ　ｗｏｕｌｄ　ｂｅ　ｌｉｋｅ　ｗｅｔ　ａｎｄ　ｉｃｙ．　Ｒｉｇｈｔ　ｎｏｗ，　Ｉ＇ｍ　ａ　ｌｉｔｔｌｅ　ｔｏｏ　ｐａｒａｎｏｉｄ　ｔｏ　ｆｉｎｄ　ｏｕｔ．

＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

（Ｓｏｒｒｙ　ｔｈａｔ　ｔｈｅ　ｆｏｒｍａｔ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｉｓ　ｋｉｎｄ　ｏｆ　ｓｔｒａｎｇｅ．　Ｔｈｅ　ｋｅｙｂｏａｒｄ　ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　Ｉｎｔｅｒｎｅｔ　ｃａｆｅ　ｉｓｎ＇ｔｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ　ｗｉｔｈ　ｍｅ　ｒｉｇｈｔ　ｎｏｗ．）

Here I am in Lijiang, 10 hours north of Dali. Here I've visited a world-renowned Chinese doctor (I received some "advice" on my consistent back pain) and spent two days hiking the world's deepest gorge. More on those later. Right now I'll talk about the one day I spent in Dali.

Dali was, honestly, a disappointment in some ways. The city itself was extremely touristy, and I've been trying to see more parts of China than a bunch of Western restaurants and tourist stands. But I did some pretty cool things outside of the city, particularly a bicycle ride that led to finding a hidden treasure.

On my one full day in Dali, I rented a bicycle and rode out of Dali in search of Erhai Hu, the seventh-largest freshwater lake in China. I asked many people what way to go, and they all told me to keep going down the highway that I drove alongside. I went on for about 6 km like this, but I still could only see a sliver of the lake from the distance. Finally I ran into a man who pointed me down a cobblestone path. In the distance was a series of rather unimpressive looking buildings.

The land surrounding the village was predominantly agricultural. I rode past women tending to crops in the fields and soon found myself in the middle of what I assume was a Bai minority village. (Yunnan has a particularly high concentration of Chinese minorities, which was part of its appeal. The Bai are the predominant minority in Dali.) I soon was walking my bike through a maze of alleys, past a group of men laying bricks, past older men and women with folded faces, carrying the day's produce and wearing the flourescent scarves that many Bai minority people wear. I eventually found the lake and sat on a jut of rough rocks, observing the water, which was the same color as the clear sky above.

I intended to take out my notebook and start writing, when three boys became fascinated with me and started yelling "Hello!" I asked where I was and they said, "Paxi." A place that obviously doesn't see a lot of foreigners, given their fascination with me. A toddler saw me from the distance and yelled out a greeting, then ran around a house and soon joined the three boys. The toddler looked like he was about two years old, but he probably was slightly older because he did not wear split pants. (Those are basically pants with the crotch and crack in the back cut open. Instead of wearing diapers, children who have not been potty-trained sit in the street and do their business through the pants. This is why I try to avoid random puddles on the street.)

I tried to find my way out after half an hour of chatting in Mandarin with the boys, and soon ran into two 13-year-old girls, one of whom spoke a little English. The children obviously received an education outside of the village, if the girl could speak English. But I wondered how they got to their school. Perhaps it was via the motorbikes I saw entering and exiting the village.

This village, to me, showed how the old way of life in China is slowly being altered by the country's rapid modernization. Motorbikes rode past the women who were tending to the crops with their bare hands. A man washed vegetables for dinner wearing a suit, which he possibly had worn that day to work outside of the village. There was no touristy shops, no canned minority music coming out of police cars. You heard cows mooing, chickens chirping, children playing on rocks. This wasn't a place listed in Lonely Planet. It was -- and still is -- my secret.

The last image I had of the village was of three women carrying crops to market on the highway as gas guzzling trucks sped past them. I wonder how long it is before their tiny village is absorbed by the development that surrounds them (or if it will) and I wonder how aware of the changes their country is undergoing. I'm sure the next few years will provide some interesting answers.

I arrived safe and sound in Kunming last night (after almost missing a flight for the first time in my life. I went from the bus station to the airport with a cab driver who actually drove within a reasonable speed limit and stopped for red lights. In short, it was the first time I have felt safe driving in a cab in China ... just when I needed a heart-stopping ride the most.)

But Kunming is beautiful, warm (compared to Hunan) and for the most part, pollution free. People on the streets today must have thought I was crazy, because I walked around with a huge smile on my face, taking huge gulps of the fresh air. I didn't realize how much I needed a break from teaching and my mundane life until I got to Kunming.

This will be quick, because my hostel is charging me 6 RMB/half hour for this Internet. (To put this in perspective: the Internet cafe near my home charges 2 RMB/hour.) Tomorrow, I head to Dali.

I just finished doing grades for my seven classes today, and it's given me a reminder of the cute/funny/slightly disturbing English names my students have chosen for themselves. Here's some of the better ones:

Eleven
Orange
Napoleon Bonaparte
Hemingway
Razor
Snake
Lid
Fightercell
Lively (a literal translation of her Chinese name)
Tea (her favorite food)
Yogurt
Bye
Play
Hero
Michael Jackson
Watson Butcher
Rainforest
Noname (he says this is a singer he really likes.)

-- In one class, I have a "Jingle" and a "Klaus."
-- I used to have an Angry, but she changed her name to Shirley.
-- And of course, I've got several NBA-inspired students, including James Tate, Iverson, Kobe Bryant and several McGradys.

The best one? Suppposedly there was a student who changed his English name from "Hill" to "Mountain" when he graduated to senior middle school.

I returned to my office this morning, exhausted after a second sleepless night and giving almost 50 spoken exams to a class. I found a card on my desk from "Christmas old man, c301." It read:

Christmas old man come here:
I hope you have a
happy Christmas day in China.
I'm so sorry, I'm late,
because I'm very busy this year,
have many children want have a present.

Merry Christmas! My dear!

On the inside was a card for the Chinese New Year. It read,

I wish you every success!
Best wishes for a Happy New Year!
Christmas old man

How cute is that? It was a very warm sentiment on what was one of the coldest days of the year.

Speaking of the new year (or Chun jie, Spring Festival) ... here are my exciting plans for my month-long vacation. I finish classes tomorrow, hand in my grades, then leave on Sunday night for sunny, warm Yunnan province. It's in southwestern China, and it has everything from Tibetan towns to tropical rainforests. It also has Tiger Leaping Gorge, supposedly the deepest gorge in the world, which would be submerged by the Yangtze if the government follows through with plans to build eight dams along the river. This will be my first experience traveling alone throughout China. Although I've started planning every other trip I've taken alone, and then found someone to go with. But I think this time, I will actually be on my own. I'm pretty excited about that.

I'll see as much as I can in two weeks, then...

On Feb. 3, I fly to Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia, then Singapore, where I will be joined by a friend from America! (And maybe a fellow WTer as well.) I told one of my classes that I had a friend coming from America, and they were very disappointed when I said it was a girl, not a handsome boy.

Jamie and I will wander around Malaysia and Singapore for 10 days, seeing rainforests, beaches and eating a ton of Indian food at the Little Indias they have in every major city. Ah, a vegetarian paradise.

THEN...

On Feb. 14, I fly back to Kunming, then head back to Changsha soon afterward. And THEN (if I can get a train ticket) I will go to my Chinese tutor's home in the countryside to celebrate the end of Spring Festival with her family! When I told one of my classes this, they had no idea why I was so excited. "It's just an ordinary thing," one student said.

I told them that I was excited about my visit to the countryside for the same reasons they were excited about seeing my Christmas trinkets from home. I see celebrations of Chinese New Year in Chinatowns across America, but I have no concept about how regular Chinese people celebrate the holiday. So this will give me the chance to get an up-close look at the biggest holiday on the Chinese calendar.

I'll try to post regularly when I'm traveling, but I'm not making any promises...

The testing drama continues, but I'll take a break to tell you about a rather disturbing event that happened here at Er Zhong on Friday. A dance troupe from Beijing visited and put on a rather elaborate 90-minute show for students and faculty.

The disturbing part? Each performer had some kind of disability.

"They are deaf and mute," said Mr. Shin, a gym teacher who speaks good English, as he and I wandered through crowds of students and took our seats, fourth row center. It was a little strange, I thought, but maybe there would be some quality dancing and singing.

The emcee came out, wearing a white tuxedo and limping with a cane. I strongly suspected that he was walking with a prosthetic leg. He announced the first act, a group of 10 deaf and mute girls wearing pink jumpsuits. They danced to the music, guided by a conductor nearby who waved her hands to the beat.

Then came the disturbing part -- out hopped a man whose leg had been amputated mid-thigh. He dropped to the ground, did some somersaults and crawled toward the edge of the stage, reaching his hands out like he couldn't get up on his own. The girls in pink jumpsuits danced around them, each carrying a crutch as a prop. They waved the crutches in a spiral.

And it was just getting started. The second act was two dwarfs who sang a duet. "They are adult people, but short," Mr. Shin said. There was a man with no hands who drew calligraphy with his right foot. (Mr. Shin said his writing meant "Fly to the sky" and was meant to inspire the students to do well on their exams.) There were two more performers featuring one-legged performers -- a male duo who did a dance wearing what looked like flour sacks, and then a sextet of men, all of whom also only had one leg. It was one of the most stomach-turning things I have ever seen.

The theme was that the performers might be disabled, but they have a "red heart" to give the students, Mr. Shin said.

Then a cloud of steam rose over the stage, and I thought, "The final act must be here! I don't know if I can take anymore of this."

Another dwarf glided onto the stage, wearing a white tuxedo with coattails, a purple bowtie and purple-tinted sunglasses. He sang two songs. During his last number, he walked around the auditorium with a bouquet of flowers, shaking the hands of the screaming students. He eventually gave the bouquet to the head teacher of one of my classes, who threw it to a group of girls behind her.

I asked Mr. Shin what the man was singing about, and he offered this simple translation: "Because I am short, no one loves me. But I love all of you."

My students snickered and laughed at times, but generally acted like it was just any normal talent show. But the students treated this particular performer like a rock star. Sadly, it might have been the most attention he received in his entire life.

The show continued, but it was only my desire to write about it on my blog that kept me there. On a personal level, I wanted to run screaming from the building.

The event ended with a woman in a wheelchair singing two songs, including an English one, "Love You More Than I Can Say." I never have heard of this song, and I wonder if it is one that was just released in China. Then the performers all came out for the grand finale.

I've seen professional performers in America who clearly lose the joy of their work by performing every night. The faces of these performers also lacked joy, but it seemed to be a different motivation than repetitive exhaustion. The dancers with one leg looked like they were in downright pain, which wouldn't surprise me if their body weight is only being supported by one leg.

I have to wonder if this dance troupe is a positive thing for the performers. For some of them, it might be their only chance at employment. It probably isn't easy to get a job in China with a disability.

The show just was incredibly odd, when you come from a society where you are taught not to stare at people with disabilities. Here, they were in an environment where you were basically forced to look at them. I question how much of a "celebration of people with disabilities" this really was. Maybe it was in the same way they celebrate my presence at the school while simultaneously mocking me with "Hello!" in the street and picking apart my physical appearance.

My Senior Twos have a unit on disabilities next semester. I'm going to have a lot of questions for them when the time comes.

The silver lining to the show? Three rows in front of me, at front row center, sat another waiguoren! I had no idea there was another waiguoren in town, and I did not know what he was doing there. He said when they brought him on stage that he was a principal at a Southern California high school, and that his principal "was in the same situation." I have no idea what that meant.

But it was nice to watch another waiguoren be dragged on stage to pose for pictures with the performers (just as William and I were asked to do at a fashion show several months ago). I slunk out of the auditorium at the end, hoping they wouldn't try to get us together for a waiguoren reunion.

One of my students asked me outside if I knew him. I explained to her that California and Pennsylvania are on other sides of the country. But, I thought, the East and West coasts have never seemed closer since I've come to China...