I am going to start posting some “GUEST POSTS” to my web site. This is the first one. My mom wrote about her China trip, and I have posted it completely unedited. You can visit her website if you like. If you are interested in doing a guest post, let me know and I will add it to the site (assuming it is relevant).

They’re waiting for me in the hotel lobby. Andy’s in a state of shock, and Shenqi is shy and curious. “You’re the first of my family or friends to visit,” Andy says. He’s the first foreigner Shenqi ever spoke to, and now she’s meeting the foreigner’s mother.

It doesn’t take long, though, for us to get comfortable with each other and we spend 10 magical days. The shock, for me, is seeing Andy with Shenqi. They’re beautiful together, and so in love–constantly huddling and whispering, holding hands and kissing, even though Chinese don’t generally show affection in public. This is an Andy I haven’t seen before. China–and Shenqi–have changed him.

I’m in awe of what Andy’s accomplished in 6 months. At his school, they say he’s their most advanced student and he learns Chinese “very fast.” The first night I arrive, we embark on a series of dinners with Andy’s friends. The theme that emerges is: “Andy is very smart.” I hear this countless times. I also hear that I am so tall, and I look like Andy. When we meet Leo, his wife, Johna, and son, “Junior,” Johna thrusts a gorgeous bouquet of pink roses wrapped in pink paper and ribbons in my arms and exclaims, “Pleased to meet you!” This, I learn, is a greeting gift. Johna has the most adorable face, teaches kindergarten and plays piano, and the whole family is warm and expansive. I feel like a queen. We eat in a private room with its own bathroom attached and a personal waitress who stands at attention the entire time. The food, during my entire visit, in exquisite. One of my favorite meals is hot pot, where you cook your own meat, noodles and vegetables– including something called “white gourd” that tastes like giant radish–in a pot in the center of the table. For some reason, I start craving Italian food and at the end of the meal, they bring out a tomato-egg noodle dish that totally satisfies the craving.

My hotel room, which Andy secured through a friend, is a suite looking out on the central square. There’s fresh fruit they replenish twice a day, and any dirty clothes are picked up, laundered and returned in 2 hours — all for $60 a night. The buffet breakfast in the morning is lavish and unending, dozens of tables filled with Chinese, American, Japanese and European delicacies.

What’s interesting is to see the “one child” policy in action. Every family in China can only have one child, so everywhere you go, you’ll see a mother and father with a child between them, whom they dote on. A woman I meet says, “We’re raising a generation of little emperors. The kids get used to being the center of attention, and everyone their age has the same experience.” When they marry, the two of them will have to take care of 4 parents, and their children will have no cousins, aunts or uncles. Leo’s son, Junior, is an example. He’s adorable, but they bring him everywhere and basically let him do whatever he wants. When a fish is served, he gets the most prized part, the head, and his favorite thing is the white eyeballs. He picks them out with his fingers and pops them into his mouth with joy.

My second day, we go to Andy’s apt and I meet his maid, Sister Wu, another warm, sweet woman who tells me he’s a “good boy,” and she feels like he’s her own son. Andy’s kitchen has greenhouse windows that let in streams of light, but Andy never sets foot in there except to eat. Sister Wu buys the food each day and prepares it simply but deliciously. She’s learned that Andy like his shrimp peeled (in restaurants they’re served in the shell) so she peels them before sautéing them with red and green peppers. She makes 4 or 5 dishes for each meal, plus rice, all wonderful. After lunch, Andy teaches me to play mah jong, which requires me to learn the Chinese characters for numbers 1-9. They come surprisingly fast, and it’s a fun way to learn. Later Andy and Shenqi take me through the city, riding their electric bikes. (I ride behind Shenqi) Shijiazhuang reminds me of a European city, with wide, tree-lined streets and special lanes for the bikes so they don’t have to weave among the cars. Unlike India, the streets aren’t full of garbage and beggars, they’re relatively clean and traffic is orderly. I love riding on the bike because you get a better view and feel for the place.

Most of all, it’s worth coming to China just to be with Andy and Shenqi. They glow, and it feels good being with them. I told Andy, “I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend like this.”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend like this,” he says.
Shenqi looks like a super model and dresses with flair. She loves to shop and Andy goes along and waits patiently! She moves like a gazelle, graceful and feminine, and she’s also smart and strong and gets things done. Her personality is delightful–enthusiastic and bubbly–and she’s always laughing. She and Andy dote on each other and gaze at each other adoringly. He likes her silken hair, and she likes his eyes and eyelashes. She thinks “foreign men are more handsome than Chinese.” (It is odd: the Chinese women are gorgeous, and the men I don’t find attractive at all.) Shenqi feeds Andy cherries, then fishes the pit out of his mouth and throws it away.
“She’s feeding you like a baby,” I say.
Andy smiles. “Don’t tell her that. I like it.”
Andy has the fortune to have a girlfriend who massages him and doesn’t like to be massaged, who holds the glass for him to drink and takes cherry pits from his mouth. And he’s protective and sweet with her. I think you’re getting the picture.

We drop by his school, which is a cheerful, fun place. A young teacher gives me a sample private lesson, while Andy writes a story on the blackboard, filling it with Chinese characters! I can’t believe he can understand what to me look like hieroglyphics.

No visit to Shijiazhuang would be complete with sampling Andy’s beloved bath houses. The city is famous for them. They’re palatial, with names like Caesar’s palace and Fantasy Land, and here’s what happens on the women’s side. Andy’s ordered a body scrub and aloe treatment for me. After storing my clothes in a locker, I lie down on a blue table covered with plastic. A female attendant rubs my skin –everywhere–with rough mitts until I’m pink as a lobster. Then she hoses me off and prepares the aloe. I’d expected it to be some kind of aloe cream, but she chops up leaves from the plant, extracts the gooey liquid and fills a bucket with it. Then she smears it all over me until I’m slipping and sliding around the table. She puts me in the sauna to let it “cook in,” then hoses me off again. I shower and wash my hair in a stall beside Shenqi–who doesn’t want treatments herself but never leaves my side, thank God. (she speaks competent English; without her, I’d be lost)

Then they give us pink and white puffy pajamas to put on before we go upstairs to join the men. Of course, the pj’s are way too small for me and they have to bring out a pair they save for the occasional fat Chinese woman. The second floor is filled with beds lined up side by side, and everyone’s wearing pajamas! It’s like a bizarre pj party. Andy wears navy plaid pjs with short legs, and is propped up in bed, having a “foot repair,” drinking tea and watching a plasma screen TV show in the dim light. He’s learned to yell, “Foo-yar! Kwai do!” which means, Waiter, hurry up! The masseur scurries over, and I make the mistake of asking for an acupressure massage. The guy is not subtle or precise, he just mashes and pounds and punches and I’m afraid he’s crippling me.

On a Saturday night, the place is filled with families, who’ve brought their regulation only child and are playing games, eating and drinking. When we leave, the bill for 3 of us with massages and drinks is under $10!

After 4 days, we fly to Shanghai and then Guilin and Yangshuo, and I’ll let Andy tell you about those amazing and mysterious places.

When I leave Andy and Shenqi, I spend 5 days on my own in Beijing, and by the time I fly home, I understand why Andy loves China. It grows on you. I get in the swing of life here, relishing my pork buns and won ton soup for breakfast. The people have a joie de vivre. There’s little pressure, and any way of behaving or dressing seems to be tolerated. I saw a man wearing pajamas in the park one day, and a new friend said, “A lot of people wear sleeping clothes in the park.” Nobody cares.

Since I injured my knee before the trip, I called a Chi Gong master healer that a friend had recommended, but he spoke no English. He came to my hotel with a “translator,” an 80 year old woman whose husband had been the Chinese consul general in Washington, San Francisco, London and Ghana. She insisted I leave the hotel and come stay in her apartment so I could have treatments and lessons every day from the Master, who lives next to her building. They adopted me, and I spent 3 intense days with people I’d never met before. They gave me a Chinese name, Shi Jin Yi, which means “modern history number one.” i.e., best journalist/historian of present time. It suits me fine.

Then I found the only yoga retreat center in China and spent my last day in a 500-year-old Buddhist Temple in the hills north of Beijing. Again, someone I’d never met picked me up, drove me there, gave me a calligraphy lesson and superb vegetarian meals and the next day drove me to the airport, after giving me presents.

Bottom line is: Y’all come and visit Andy. It’s an experience you’ll never forget.