Cuandixia

That word probably means nothing to you. It didn’t mean anything to me either, before I got an mass staff email announcing that Kelly and the upper grades art teacher, Julie, thought up a weekend getaway while they were wasted, and did I want to join? (In reality, they shared one drink and Julie convinced Kel that it would be a great trip.)

One strange part of being here is the blurry lines between professional and personal aspects of my personality. As many of you know, I delight in exploring both of these realms, but maintain separate times and relationships where they belong (with some exceptions, of course, as those of you who were once my colleagues know). This outing began with 10 faculty members, including my director, drinking Chinese-style screwdrivers (the vodka was real but the “orange juice” had definitely never seen an orchard) at 10 a.m.

I was glad for the refreshments, which made the traffic jam on the way out of Beijing that much more pleasant. At one point, the traffic was so slow that our actually turned our engine off. There, pressed up against a public bus, was the closest experience I’ve ever had to being in a zoo or aquarium. All of the Chinese locals were peering in through the glass, pointing at us and whispering with their friends. I had the feeling that they were just waiting for us to do something interesting, like perform, or be fed. I drank my pseudo-screwdriver and resisted the urge to start swinging down the aisle or throw something at the glass.