Ten months ago, when we moved to China, we stayed at the illustrious Dragon Hotel while we searched for an apartment. Upon check-in, we were presented with flutes of champagne and tiny cheesecake bites. Our room was stocked with a bowl of fresh fruits. “That’s a nice touch,” I said to Nick.
Today, as we made the 12-hour journey home (via bus, ferry, taxi, bus, taxi) from some Nanxi River valley villages outside Wenzhou, I glanced up at the handles running along the ceiling of the bus. There hung clusters of small black plastic bags, perfect for grabbing if you needed to spit out a chicken bone or melon seed. I turned to Nick and said, “That’s a nice touch.”