It was Day 8 of the trip,- more than halfway, but still a bit more to go. The constant movement, though liberating, could grow wearisome as well. Every day should be an adventure. We hauled ourselves up at seven in the morning, packed our bags in a sleepy haze, and bundled into a small van towards our next destination, a national park in the middle ( Read more... )

He must be about six or seven years old. Bowl haircut, skinny joints, and bright, eager eyes; a typical Chinese-boy face. They were a typical Chinese family, from what I could see anyway: a father with a horseshoe pate and wire-rimmed glasses, a youngish-looking mother wearing a pink headband, and a squirmy, fidgety worm of a boy. The bunk-beds on ( Read more... )