I had arrived at Dandelion after a two-week stay in the center of urban Beijing . In the city, all modern amenities are readily available and extremely convenient. I ate expensive meals, had my own private apartment, complete with a Western model toilet, and was generally given the freedom to wander all over the city. After its novelty had worn off, however, the city felt somewhat alienating: if I was in the mood for conversation or interaction, most people on the street or in restaurants were constantly occupied. They went to and from their jobs or engagements, only pausing to wait for a bus or taxi. Beijing was a city that stopped for absolutely no one.

Dandelion was different, to say the least. There were no private bathrooms, and the public ones were strictly limited to the lassic gutter model toilet. There was no air conditioning, no gourmet restaurant down the street, no subway station. It felt, at times, like we were a million miles away from civilization. But what Dandelion had, that my visit to the city seemed to lack, was personality and community. Everybody lived together, dined together and even in some extreme cases, patronized the bathrooms together. What Dandelion had, that Beijing never really managed to convey, was people. People who are interested in learning, people who are interested in teaching, people who are committed to their occupations; in some cases would have to commute as far as an 8-hour train ride from their hometowns to work at Dandelion. And their enthusiasm shines through their work, as I would often see the students and teachers interacting as peers, smiling and joking outside of class. The students loved the teachers, and the teachers reciprocated the sentiments. Looking back on my trip, I realize that all the amenities I missed at my time there are small sacrifices to pay for the experience of not only being in China, but being part of such a close-knit community, if only for a couple of weeks. (2006)