Quiet Endings

The weather has turned very cold again during the past two days. The snow and ice that had been swept aside on the streets earlier in the week to melt, have now become frozen masses.

I took a short taxi ride from my hotel last night to one of Beijing's old huntongs and had a quiet meal with a colleague. It was like stepping back in time. The old neighborhoods, dating back to the 17th century seemed to be patiently resting in the frigid night air. The small restaurant oozed agelessness, and echoed faintly with the sounds and smells of the (perhaps) millions of customers who had occupied its interior briefly over the centuries. And there I sat, yet another customer who hoped for something hot and good, to help him shake off his weariness from the day's labors, and ease him into a good night's rest.

It worked. I left satisfied and happy; feeling once again privileged to have experienced such a moment in time.

Tomorrow morning I reurn to California. I'm ready.

A Winter's Afternoon

The bitterly cold weather has slowly been yielding to intimations of spring over the last few days. Yesterday, I was privileged to see some evidence of this with a quick visit to the historic and stunning Summer Palace located near my hotel. The iced over waters around the palace complex showed some thawing near the shore in the faint, late afternoon sun. It was a wonderful calming way to end a hectic eight hours at the study abroad fair. The memory and stress of dealing with a crowd of over 20,000 students seem to flow out of me just by being at rest next to the lake.

The thought of having to go back again to the exhibition center and face the crowds one more time this morning didn’t sit well with me all night. But, in the end, I returned, and survived, and am now taking advantage of the comfort and seclusion of my hotel room.

Sometimes you feel yourself weightless, thinned, traveling like this. You draw back the curtains on a rectangle of a huge cityscape at dawn, and realize that you are cast adrift from everything that has given you identity. Thousands of miles from anyone who knows you, you have the illusion that your past is lighter, scarcely yours at all. Even your ties of love can seem attenuated, until you power up your laptop, download your e-mail, and look at your blog to see if anyone remembers you or where you are.

Thanks for checking in on me; it means so much.

A sweet potato vendor outside the Summer Palace