Snapshots . . .

. . .. . . of stuff I forgot to put in previous posts.

Walking through a local farmer’s market and park at 6:30 a.m. in Beijing. Even at that early hour, the place is packed with produce shoppers, people playing ping-pong and badminton, or moving through tai chi poses in unison. I’m impressed that so many people rouse themselves at this early hour to exercise. Health care in China, Grace told us, is very bad. People take care of themselves.

Listening to harmonica players in a pavilion at the Summer Palace perform traditional Chinese tunes, then strike up Frere Jacques and Jingle Bells.

Feeling like the original ditzy American. Twice now I’ve given clerks the wrong amount of money for purchases, and stood there like a moron as they pointed to the money and waited for me to figure it out. “Can’t Americans count, for heaven’s sake?” they seemed to ask with their lifted brows. This morning I called down to the front desk to see when my laundry from yesterday might be returned, only to have two ladies from housekeeping show up at the door and point out that my laundry was already hanging in the closet. Duibuqi! (Oh geez, I’m sorry!) I simper with exaggerated expressions of surprise at my own stupidity, hands on cheeks, eyes rolling. I wonder if any of this translates into recognizable self-deprecation, or if they think I’m just simple-minded. I feel like I’ve let America down.

Singing for Mr. Wu. After he had given us his spiel about living in the hutong, he asked for a song. The chorus obliged with their rendition of Auld Lang Syne. The other tour group present (Chinese), and the TV crew listened quietly, and burst into applause when the group had finished. It was a very special moment.