China was a pleasant surprise, and with the exception of the occasional core dump, all systems functioned well. After my trip to Vietnam, I was expecting China to be much rougher and backward; instead I found modern cities with good, clean, public transportation, a middle class with enough money to travel, and genuinely friendly, curious, helpful people. The food, if you can accept a certain uncertainty, was scrumptious.

I arrived in Beijing, a city of 13 Million people and 10 million bicycles, one day early for meeting my group. My hotel was near the Metro stop Muxidi, at the corner of Fuxingmen Waidijie and Sanlhe Lu . When the Bellboy dropped my bags in the room, he turned and said, with a straight face, “figh dolla.”

I said “what?”

“figh dolla ” he repeated

“No”

“Thee dollar”, he assured me, holding out his hand

“One”, I said in a firm, but friendly, manner, as I backed him toward the door

“Two?”

I reached out a single dollar, and as he realized he was outside my room, he happily snatched it, wishing me a good stay, I think.

That evening I went looking for a place to eat. A guy outside a little restaurant near the hotel invited me in, and since I like to eat where I seem to be wanted, in I went. He followed me and handed me the menu, which I perused. The characters on the menu were pretty I thought, but meaningless.

I tried sign language for a while and in the end I pointed at the spring rolls wrapped in lettuce that the people at the next table were eating. “Ah ha” the man smiled, but he didn’t move. A small crowd of employees, girls all dressed in white, had formed around my table and seemed to expect more from me. I tried to find out if what I’d ordered was enough for a meal or if I should order more. This was a mistake.

Although they didn’t understand the question, they did recognize that there was a question, and they were now honor bound to see it answered, or "loss face". Face is a touchy subject in China.

My sign language and facial expressions kept them amused for some time, but it was clearly entertainment, not communication. They called a girl from behind the counter. She seemed younger then the rest, but she had on a red dress and red is auspicious. The glasses she wore gave her a scholarly look, and I assume this is why she was called over to translate, because she certainly couldn’t speak English.

I did an encore, really concentrating on my gestures and facial expressions, but she seemed less amused, and who could blame her: everyone, customers included, was looking at her expectantly.

Cautiously, she offered, “rice?”

I didn’t have the heart to disillusion the crowd or this helpful girl, so, I said, “yes”, nodding enthusiastically. Immediately I knew I did well from the look of pure joy on her face and the ripple of relief that passed through the restaurant. The staff disbanded, the customers went back to eating, and all was well again.

Though I never did get spring roles, I did happily stuff myself on the spicy sliced pork – that looked nothing like anything on the next table – and a generous portion of fried rice. The meal, plus large beer, came to around $2.00.

Just as I was dosing off that night the phone rang. I answered. After a pause a young voice said, “Massage

After a pause, OK?”

“No”