Thursday July 8

Mr Mo prepared breakfast today. Afterward, Mo Ya and I prepared for a journey to the city of Yeuyang, where she was born. While I was hesitant to bring a backpack full of beverages, I am quite pleased that I was persuaded to do so. We ended up drinking the four or five bottles we brought, plus an additional two bottles of water and a glass of orange juice.

Of all Chinese innovations I observed, the high-speed rail we took from Changsha to Yeuyang was the most impressive. I believe the US would do well to emulate this swift, convenient means of transportation. The train hit a speed of about 336 KM/Hour, which translates to over two hundred miles per hour. We made the trip in under an hour, while over three hours would have been demanded of a car. The train was clean, spacious, and well-accommodated. The seats were more airplane seats than train seats and the entire voyage was a pleasant experience. It is further worth noting that, although the seats assigned to me and Mo Ya were separated going there and back, we found people to swap seats with us in both cases, allowing us to sit together.

On arrival in the city of Yeuyang, we ventured first to a historical tourist area. The sweltering heat immediately began to take its toll. Living in Pittsburgh and being from Boston, it is quite easy to forget just how hot it can get. Not since being in Europe had I experienced such hot weather, being around 100 degrees outside for days on end. My hair gel was melting and our water supply rapidly began to diminish.

We saw a 1000 year old building, but much of it was under construction and we could not enter. We walked along stone paths, and looked out at ships on the river. The pagoda and souvenir shops failed to capture our imaginations, as the sun's furor drove Mo Ya and I to the exit.

While KFC is not my very favorite spot to dine, Mo Ya and I went there for lunch at my request. I was curious about its implementation in China and I wanted to see how the Chinese take their American food. I ordered a combo meal depicted as having two chicken wraps, but which included only one. Having selected ``Beijing'' flavor over ``Mexican,'' my wrap arrived with lettuce, tomato, and salsa. Mo Ya shared her Szechuan wrap with me, the memory of which instills discomfort in my stomach as I type this, a week later. The beverage included in the meal cannot properly be called orange juice, but made a reasonable approximation. So, not entirely unlike KFC at home.

After this fine dining experience, on account of the heat, we abandoned our plans to walk along the riverbank. Recalling the significance of the agora to both Socrates and Nietzsche, I opted to examine the shopping district. While we found nothing we wished to purchase, it was an illuminating experience.

My favorite store offered shirts written in a language Mo Ya calls Chinglish. This amounts to an unsuccessful attempt at the English language, often with hilarious results. I have observed laugh-inducing shirts since my arrival in China, starting in the Beijing airport. There, I burst out laughing at the mangled Guns and Roses lyrics scrawled across one teenager's shirt, to his obvious displeasure.

Several stores we saw offered such shirts, and displayed a general disregard for the copyright laws of the United States. My favorite shirt, which was not available in my size, featured a picture of Muttley and Snidely Whiplash, with ``Muttley and Dastardly'' written below. Another featured Mickey Mouse. And another shirt featured a picture of Popeye, his name misspelt above, with various non-words composed of American letters tossed about the shirt.

The knock-offs of American brands continued. The only brand I could recognize in the Chinese department stores we explored was Pierre Cardin. There was a clear attempt to mimic Polo, and a brand using the BMW logo calling itself MBWS. There was a company abusing the Lacoste alligator, and a famous Chinese athletic company using a logo difficult to distinguish from the Nike logo. The worst part of these knock-offs was that they were not cheap; they often cost as much as a genuine article would in the West.

We finally took the high-speed rail back to the condo, by which time I was drenched in sweat. Mo Ya's mother gave me a surprisingly pleasant green bean popsicle, and I took a nice long shower.

Then it was time for another feast, this time with Mrs Mo's brother, his wife, their son, and his wife. The company was again very nice, and I enjoyed meeting them all. Mo Ya's aunt said I was a ``beautiful man,'' which I will take to be a compliment. At one point, during a toast, Mo Ya's uncle (Jo Jo) said something that Mo Ya translated as ``button up.'' Halfway through closing my previously open button-down overshirt, Mo Ya informed me that she had actually said ``bottoms up.'' A good laugh was had by all. I think.

On returning home, Mr Mo showed me the video of Mo Ya's cousin's marriage. We then tuned to the English-language channel on CCTV. The Chinese anchors did their very best to feign the British accents of BBC anchors and announcers.

Friday July 9

Man, it's so loud in here. China is not a quiet place. I've mentioned being robbed of several naps by the instrumental harmony of construction equipment. I've mentioned that car horns rule the road. Cell phones resounded like fire alarms. And barely a day passed without someone near the condo setting off fireworks, loudly audible from within. This upcast in volume applied even to voices. Several times, after Mo Ya and her father conversed in Chinese, I would ask what they were quarreling about. Mo Ya would respond that there was no quarrel. I came to understand that the general volume levels of conversation were high, with a volume we tend to reserve for shows of excitement or anger.

Mo Ya is proud that Chairman Mao is from her province of Hunan. She loves Mao the way an American might love George Washington, if Washington had an active propaganda campaign on his behalf. On Friday, she, her parents, and I took a car trip to Shaoshan, Hunan, birthplace of Mao Zedong. This town, at least the area I visited, had become something of a shrine to Mao.

Mao's bronze statue standing high above the crowd, we attended a Mao-themed museum. The Maoseum treated its subject with considerable applause and fanfare. Mao is depicted as honest, thrifty, and straightforward. Communist-style propaganda depicted the Chairman standing happily before prosperous, bountiful fields. We saw the single pair of pajamas Mao retained for decades, mending holes rather than replacing them -- a display of thrift. The museum displayed his poems, stating that his personal funds consisted entirely of poems and writings he sold to magazines. Afterward, Mr Mo bought me a small statue of Mao, and a small bust of him too. My friends at the office can look forward to these adorning my desk in the near future.

Dinner tonight was just the four of us, for the first time. We went to a nice restaurant, and ate in a manner similar to a larger feast, though we did not have our own room. The pumpkin pieces fried in egg were excellent. We had spicy tofu, which the Mos insisted was not spicy. The Thai-style pork was more fat than meat. But the spicy eggplant and taro cake were great.

We returned home, and I took my second shower of the day.

Saturday July 10

It always begins with a sore throat. Every cold or flu that assails me strikes there first, before moving on. I was hoping that the unpleasant feeling in my throat yesterday was due to air conditioning, but today proved otherwise. Coughing, feeling sore. A slight fever, read the thermometer under my arm.

On the bright side, today was my birthday. Normally, my birthday occurs somewhere around the 14th of June. But since I was unable to do anything to celebrate my birthday at the proper time, Mo Ya's parents decided to celebrate it today. How could I argue?

I was given a gift -- a nice Chairman Mao themed mug, made of nice red ceramic. Later in the day, I would also be taken to a store and asked to select a pair of shoes for myself. In addition, I was given gifts to take back to the United States for various people.

The Mos celebration of my birthday continued at lunch time, where we went to a restaurant serving both Chinese and Western food. Mo Ya's parents both ordered stone pots of rice. I ordered filet mignon. I was slightly surprised when the waitress asked me which sauce I wanted on my steak, and I took it plain. The proportion of meat to fat was correct, and the steak was moist and tender, with an impressive texture. It was easily the best ten dollar steak I've ever had. Afterward, we enjoyed a cream cake that Mr Mo purchased from Rosa's bakery.

After picking up some food for dinner, Mo Ya and I headed to the commercial district. As we stood waiting for a taxi, a car that was clearly not a taxi pulled up. Mo Ya and the driver conversed in Chinese, and he took us to the shopping area. Apparently, this person operated an illegal taxi service.

Shopping consisted of obtaining a set of gifts for folks back home and enjoying a taro-milk beverage. We also found a copy of the new Karate Kid movie, likely as legitimate as our taxi driver. Given my burgeoning flu, we stayed in and watched the movie that night, rather than going out. That night, I was denied air conditioning, given the belief that it would have an ill effect on my health.

Sunday July 11

Still sick -- a slight fever, a runny nose, and a hoarse voice. Getting better would likely need to wait until I was back in the States. Nonetheless, I had resolved to ask Mo Ya's parents' permission to propose to her. And some flu would not deter me.

After a breakfast of wheat noodles, the four of us went to an amusement park. There were some standard amusement rides -- Mo Ya and I shared a bumper car. Then there were some amusements that might not have been accepted in the US, like a small pool in which amusement-seekers were fishing for small goldfish, using actual hooks. Mo Ya, her parents, and I then rented a boat for a couple hours. Mr Mo and I took the pedals, and we had a lunch in the lake that we had purchased earlier from a bakery.

All the while, my stomach was in knots, and I took a brief nap once we returned to the condo. I had wished that I had found someone other than Mo Ya to do the translating for me. I had wished that I weren't feeling sick at the moment. But there was no putting matters off any longer. I grabbed a bottle of Coke Zero and strode into the living room, sitting among Mo Ya and her parents. I had something to ask Mr and Mrs Mo.

Speaking through Mo Ya as translator, I recalled that she and I had been together for five years. That we were looking toward taking our relationship to its next step. I told Mr and Mrs Mo that, having spent time with them, I felt they would make excellent grand parents. I told them that, having seen Mo Ya's adorable little nieces, I knew her children would be beautiful. I requested their permission to, in the not-so-distant future, propose to their daughter.

Mr Mo asked if I had said everything I had to say. Mr Mo then, also through Mo Ya, told me that Mo Ya was their treasure. He said that Mo Ya has always been a seeker of knowledge, and a seeker of novel experiences in life. I nodded. He stated that Mo Ya has long spoken of how well she has been cared for in the US by me and my family. That we were both of an age for marriage. He said that Mo Ya had made her choice, and she had chosen me. She loved me very much.

With that, Mr and Mrs Mo gave their consent for me to propose marriage to their daughter.

I stood, embracing both Mr and Mrs Mo. My emotion was one of both joy and excitement. I felt as though gravity had lost much of its potency.