Okay, so I thought that dumping live prawns into my soup would probably be the highlight of the trip when it comes to bizarre cultural practices. But no.

On Friday, we went shopping.

Well, actually, when I say "we," I mean me, four of my students, and Hannah, the 24-year-old daughter of one of the other teachers. So, two male students and two female students, and another Westerner who could bear witness to this fiasco. I'd asked the students to show me something of Harbin, and the only condition I'd made was that I wanted to ride the bus. (I still have this fantastical notion that somehow, I might be able to navigate this city by myself at some point. At the moment, though, I feel as if I should leave the dorm with a sign saying "If found, please return to Harbin Institute of Technology" pinned to my shirt. Really, it is overwhelmingly disorienting not to be able to read any signs; every street pretty much looks like the next, and they go on and on for miles - sort of like the Chicago suburbs.)

Anyway, god knows why they decided to take me shopping. I was walking along, having this very pleasant conversation about architecture with one of the students when they sprang the shopping idea on me. I wanted to say, "Really, do I look like someone who enjoys shopping?" I'm totally neurotic about this even in my own country, where I am sort of near the top of the size range as it is - but in this country, where I stand a good head taller than most women - women whose waists are of dimensions not seen on my body since preschool - well. It was an adventure.

We first went to an underground shopping mall that consisted of little stalls/shops where, apparently, the prices are not fixed and it's expected that you'll bargain. Vigorously. As soon as it seemed like we were honing in on something, these . . . these harpies descended on us from out of thin air and began haranguing us in what didn't sound like very pleasant speech. Even after we walked away, we could hear them calling after us.

But it seemed quite apparent that if I contented myself with window-shopping, the students were going to be very disappointed. So when they found a blouse they thought would look good on me, I agreed to try it on - only to discover that the small shop didn't actually have a dressing room - the saleslady held up a sheet behind which I crouched, hoping to god my male students were looking elsewhere and consoling myself with the thought that in this culture, I'm so decidedly Other that it didn't really matter if they weren't . . . (there's a tangent here about certain foundational garments that I inadvertently forgot to pack, too, but I'll spare you the details.)

So the blouse looked really nice (and I may get it yet), but I decided it was too expensive. Off to the next place, where I found something I actually wanted and was cheap. There ensued what sounded to my American ears very like a shouting match between my guides and the proprietress of the stall. I wanted to try on a pair of pants. The proprietress believed that the pants were too small, and I should try another pair. After some back-and-forth, she agreed to let me try on the pair I wanted . . . I got to try them on over the pants I was wearing while everybody watched. Think I'm kidding? Hannah took pictures:







After I got them on, everybody rendered their opinion: Too small.







(Oh, yeah, that wasn't embarrassing.) I tried on the same pants in a bigger size, and everybody gave their approval.

So, what the hell, I tried on a third pair. (And yes, Liu Yang is holding the other pair I'd decided to buy, along with a bag containing a skirt for Emma and another bag with some of Hannah's purchases. Wotta guy. He said he was practicing to be a "model husband."):







And after I got this pair on, I just asked everybody, one by one, "What do you think?" "And what do you think??" After all, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, or something like that.

So I ended up with two pairs of capris and a shirt. (The red printed one, hanging on the wall in that top picture up there.) It only took a medium-sized brouhaha between my guides and the salespeople to make it happen. (I short-circuited the arguments by just paying what the people wanted me to pay, despite the fact that my hosts and hostesses deemed it too much money. But really. Open conflict in public places makes me nervous.) And in the end, everybody was happy.

Then it was off to a fantastic dumpling restaurant, and then home: tired, happy, and speechless all at the same time.

I can only imagine what tomorrow might bring.