Springing into China

I'll never forget the day that I was cheered around a racetrack by nigh on 1000 students at No. 1 High School in Xiamen, China. It was the first and last time I have ever been cheered for my athletic prowess (bar the homeless man who clapped me as I wheezed past on my morning run yesterday, more out of pity than excitement). Considering I had spent the last few days collapsing to the floor in kung fu class, in an attempt to resemble a young, female Bruce Lee, and only being able to produce what looked like an angry wombat in calligraphy, this was a bit of a turn in circumstances for me. So I did what anyone in the same situation would. I smiled, waved, and then, buoyed up on my success, attempted to clear the high jump bar as a fitting grand finale. Needless to say, I ended up soaring over the end of the mat and landing painfully on my bottom. The students started laughing, clapping, and waving broomsticks about, which of course is a Chinese cultural symbol of respect.
My (rather convoluted) point in all this is that Chinese people really are excellent. Our group spent the rest of our trip being showered with gifts ranging from cakes made of bean curd to four leaf clovers, being yanked away and sandwiched between a nodding woman's two small children to make a very confusing family portrait, or giving people their very own English names. I actually managed to convince one poor confused boy to name himself gorgonzola, before telling him it was a very cheesy joke and deciding that Cornelius might be a better fit.
The endless greenery, eerily misty beaches and the sweet charm of piano island Gulangyu all contributed to the warmth already present in Xiamen due to its people. We were able to see and do things that we otherwise never would've, like accidentally being stuck in a 10,000 strong assembly headed for the field to do morning aerobics when all I really wanted was breakfast, eating sea cucumber and fish bladder, playing a very bewildering 'Chinglish' game of charades, and riding on a three-seater bicycle (which went down about as well as the fish bladder). But every good memory I have of that journey exists because of the people I met, who made a shy, awkward New Zealander with the legs of a baby giraffe such as myself, feel like Usain Bolt for a fleeting moment.