I went out for lunch with my colleagues the other day and couldn't resist snapping some photos of the menu for your viewing pleasure.

There are just . . . so many options here. It's overwhelming.

I haven't written it up here yet for fear of jinxing myself, but it's been six months and I still think it's true: I have the best job ever. It's the kind of job I always wanted but had NO idea how to get. (Apparently, working in a marina in Guizhou was not the career-killer some people probably thought it would be.) It's the kind of job that has me staying in five-star hotels to "evaluate the service," or eating in award-winning restaurants to "learn more about the cuisine on offer" or going on twelve-day tours of the most beautiful regions of China for "product investigation."

In order to feel slightly less guilty for proclaiming my job's awesomeness to the world, let me interject here and say that at least half of my job involves more spreadsheets than I ever thought possible and the use of Microsoft Word in ways I still struggle to understand, and that a year ago I was sharing a seventh-floor walk-up with a family of really enormous spiders. So I'm allowed to have a really cool job now . . . I paid my dues, right?

I just returned from one such product investigation, which took me from Beijing to Xi'an, Chengdu, Dali, and Shanghai. It was a lot of work, to be sure, and very eye-opening to go from the one who is on the tour to the one who sees what happens behind the scenes. (If you've ever been on a high-end tour, you can imagine what I'm talking about. When you put your bags outside your door at midnight, they don't magically appear in your new hotel room hundreds of miles away the next day without complicated things happening backstage.) Even though it was exhausting at times--somebody has to be cheerful when the guests come down for their 5 am transfer to the next airport, and here's a clue: it's not the guests--I loved every minute of it.

Below, my journey in pictures. I'm not including any with guests to protect their privacy, though I wish I could share some of their smiling faces with you! The families we traveled with were lovely, and it was hard to see them go on the last day.

The first stop was Beijing. Good thing I'm already here, because I had less than 48 hours' notice that I'd be going on this adventure. I spent the weekend before the trip frantically trying to decide what constituted an appropriately professional-yet-outdoorsy wardrobe for the trip. It was Guizhou all over again.

The Forbidden City:

During our rickshaw tour, we stopped in the hutong home of a famous Chinese painter to hear his story and see some of his work.

Our Great Wall trip was to Badaling, which is the most crowded section of the Wall and subsequently my least favorite section of the wall. But this trip was special, because we actually got to help restore a portion of the Wall that's not yet open to tourists. This was a big hit with the kids and the adults alike.

The last stop in Beijing was the Temple of Heaven, where the guests tried their hand at the ancient art of Tai Chi. During the rest of the tour, our guide (who also happens to be a tai chi master, ohbytheway) offered morning classes to the guests who were interested in learning more.

In Xi'an, we made our way to the Terracotta Warriors. These figures are over 2100 years old (!!!) and were just as amazing the second time around. They inspire the same awe in me that the Great Wall does. I never get tired of seeing these incredible places in China, but I certainly get tired of the crowds. In keeping with the hands-on theme of the tour, the kids got to make their own mini warriors out of the same clay found in the pits. Some of them listed it as their favorite activity of the whole tour.

One of my personal favorite parts of the trip was the excursion we took to Hu Xian County, a rural farming village that happens to be the spot many famous painters were sent to do hard manual labor during the Cultural Revolution. We met one such farmer/painter, who showed us the tools he used during the 1960s and 1970s to farm the land by hand, as well as his art studio, where he developed an entirely new form of "farm art" in China. The paintings done in "farm style" are completely different from traditional Chinese watercolors--they are bright, colorful, and full of energy.

The farmer-artist himself painted an entire watercolor for us from scratch while he told us about his life experiences. It is clear from his humble story that beauty and art can rise up out of hardship, loss and pain.

We also went to Chengdu, but since I've already posted a story about Matt and my trip to hug pandas and take the train to Tibet, I won't spend much time on that. We saw the Giant Pandas, went to a brocade museum that the kids hated, stayed in one of the nicest hotels I've ever seen, and saw an amazing Sichuan Opera variety show that had us transfixed for an entire hour. I even convinced two of the kids to try "Ear Picking," a weird but strangely enticing experience that is exactly what it sounds like. I'm a veteran at this, but I wish I could share a picture of the kids' faces as they tried it for the first time. (For the record, both of the brave little souls loved it and would do it again.)

We headed to Dali next, which is a beautiful town tucked into the rice paddies of Yunnan province. This was the only city on the tour that I'd never seen before, and I was two parts amazed and one part completely deflated to discover that Yunnan is Guizhou's much more successful and attractive older brother. Everything in Yunnan was better: the weather was gorgeous (cool and not humid, even in July), the attractions were tastefully done, the scenery was stunning. Fine, Yunnan province. Be that way. Guizhou has . . . nice stuff, too.

I won't go into how utterly gorgeous, tranquil, and perfect in every way our hotel was. You can check it out yourself at The Linden Centre's website.

Spectacular views in Yunnan:

Happenings in Xizhou Village:

A cheese-making workshop in an old courtyard home:

A rice noodle factory, also in Xizhou Village:

The local wet market, filled with vibrant produce and many, many options, both tasty and less tasty:

Clockwise from upper left: Fresh bamboo chutes / Dead fish / Chinese long beans / Eggplant (my favorite!) / Nasty Chinese herb that tastes like dog hair (zhe'er'gen)

One of the most amazing things we saw on this part of the trip was the cormorant fishing on Erhai Lake. We were rowed out onto the lake by a 61 year-old woman (who could easily have passed for 80) to watch the demonstration. The fishermen would untie the birds and shoo them out into the water, where they would dive down and come up with a fish nearly half the size of their own body. They'd fly out of the water and perch onto the fisherman's net, depositing the fish neatly inside, before receiving a treat (more fish) from the fisherman for a job well done.

Another highlight was the visit to a green tea plantation, where we picked tea leaves and learned how to dry them and brew them for the freshest and most organic cup of tea ever. We also hiked up to a waterfall above the tea plantation, where the water was apparently fresh enough to drink.

(I did not test that theory. China is China, no matter how organic the tea is.)

Dali is known for its three ancient pagodas, which are flanked by this enormous golden eagle.

The last leg of the trip was to Shanghai, and we all know how I feel about that city. This time was no different.

We got our wedding pictures this week and I am so excited to share them with you! The 24th of May was just all around the most amazing day, and these pictures capture things perfectly. Planning a wedding from China was not easy, but everything came together so well in the end, and we would not have changed a thing.

Pinterest inspired me quite a bit throughout the planning process, and I think it's a great tool as long as you don't let all of the options out there overwhelm you. I'm pretty excited to get some of my own wedding pins out there in the interwebs -- who knows, maybe they will inspire someone too! If you'd like to see my wedding board of "pinspiration" for our big day, click here.

We chose coral, ivory and gold as our colors, which popped so nicely against the greens and greys of the venue and the weather that day. It rained a tiny bit as we began our photo shoot, which is apparently good luck! The drizzling stopped completely after a few minutes, and we didn't see another drop all night.

Guests came from all over the country and all over the world -- we had five(!) come all the way from Germany and one from the UK to be with us! We had 133 family members and friends join us to celebrate, and we are so grateful for all of the love and support.

The vast majority of the China-related content on this site has historically been a combination of the absurd, hilarious, and sometimes amazing experiences I had while running a marina in Guizhou. But now that I have a job that is more mainstream and people above me who speak perfect English, China-related content (especially of the more absurd kind) will no longer include professional stories unless I can get my employer on board. Who knows? It could happen.

But I do want to share an outstanding experience I had recently at a five star hotel in Beijing, if only to promote this beautiful city and the top-knotch hospitality that can be found here. Here goes . . . 

When I arrived at the hotel for my meeting and subsequent weekend stay, I was greeted by a front desk staff that knew exactly who I was. A friendly Belgian woman whisked Matt and me up to our room for a private check-in (there's a first time for everything), and I was able to freshen up a bit before heading back downstairs for the meeting.

Our room was tasteful and modern, with a bathroom that can only be described as over-the-top luxurious. The large bathtub, even larger shower, and fully secluded toilet area (somewhat of a rarity in China) were more than sufficient to delight us, and the small television screen inside the bathroom mirror was a unique addition that would wow the savviest of tech aficionados.

A lovely fruit platter and handwritten cards from the director of marketing and the GM himself were personal touches that made us feel rather special. The large desk and workspace, complete with hotel stationary (that Matt promptly pocketed) would have been a prime spot for me to get some work done if our room hadn’t also come with Executive Club membership, but we were glad it did!

I proceeded to receive a thorough tour of the hotel. I had done my research, so I was glad that the information they shared wasn’t a regurgitation of the hotel website or fact sheet. What I learned was, in fact, much more interesting; for example, about the hotel’s close connection with the local and international art scene, exhibited by the many fascinating works of art on display (and for sale) in seemingly every corner of the hotel.

There are certain aspects of a hotel you simply cannot experience by looking at a computer screen, and the hotel’s Chinese restaurant was one of those. It’s impossible to do this place justice in writing: the stunning red and gold corridor, the tinkling sound of running water from the bubbling fountains in some of the rooms, the subtle opulence of the exclusive bar area for guests enjoying one of the restaurant’s private dining rooms. The cuisine itself has been the recipient of many an award, and was outstanding. Matt and I can attest to the quality of the stir-fried lamb, thinly sliced and cooked with fat, juicy leeks, and the luscious pineapple dumpling and coconut sorbet we indulged in for dessert. The chilled wasabi cabbage rolls, recommended to us as an appetizer, were a bit too zingy for our taste, however. We had already enjoyed complimentary cocktails in the executive club before dinner; otherwise, we might have been tempted to peruse the iPad wine list more closely.

In the spirit of getting to know every aspect of the hotel, we headed to the pool after dinner, which was particularly beautiful at night, offering a lovely view of the city. We soaked in the spacious Jacuzzi for a while before returning to our room and enjoying a hot shower and comfortable night’s sleep in our deluxe room.

Breakfast was the typical five-star, bounteous spread of Chinese and Western cuisine, and I particularly enjoyed the somewhat unusual additions of fresh papaya and homemade breakfast quiche.

I spent all afternoon catching up on some work in the executive lounge and enjoying the various cakes, sandwiches, and salads brought out to accompany tea. The space was quiet and professional, and the staff was very attentive. I was disappointed that I had to check out very early on Sunday morning to attend a company outing, because I would like to have tested the workout room, EC breakfast, and tea garden as well. But I wasn't disappointed for long, as our company outing involved a hike and picnic on the Great Wall of China. Life is good.

I don't have a picture from our stay, but here are a few from the group outing (Simatai section of the Great Wall):

Six months since my last post.

I didn't know that a blog could have an existential crisis, but it turns out, it can. For five years, I crafted this website and funneled many of my adventures and experiences into it. But during all that time, I never actually considered how the person I am and the things that I do shape the way I write, or even what I choose to write here. I just... did it. 

2014 is a big year for me. In March, I signed a three year (three year!) contract with a great company and moved to Beijing, and in just a few short weeks, I'm marrying my best friend and the man of my dreams. And then he's moving to Beijing. With our dog. Those are major things! But instead of writing through it all, which is my usual process, all this transition had me cowering in the corner, afraid to step back and look at the whole picture.

What is this blog?

Who is the writer--really?

Why do I write things here?

How will my site--a 20something's travel blog--grow with me, when I'm gettin' hitched and settling down?

What if... what if I don't have anything interesting left to say?

I've been thinking about these things in my head for months now, but I haven't come to any conclusions. That shouldn't be shocking, considering the fact that I generally need to write things down before I can make any conclusions. So I'm going to do it now, but be aware that even I don't know where this is going. Seriously I have no idea. I'm not even promising myself that this entry will make it on the blog. But it's a start, and that's more than I've managed for six months. Exhale.

Okay first question. What is this blog? Maybe that's obvious. I've tried to make it a lot of things in the past: a place to write about travel, cooking, photography, music . . . Gee, that sounds like a vaguely boring diary. That anyone in the whole wide world can see. Yikes. I've even avoided calling it a blog in the past, preferring the term "website." Blog just sounds so angsty. You know?

From the outside, I've always imagined my site (see, there I go again) as a way for my friends and family (and maybe the occasional like-minded stranger) to follow my somewhat exotic adventures around the world. And that is what this blog is for, partially. But for me personally, it has been a place for me to consistently stretch my writing legs, get the creative juices flowing, and just practice my words. 

I love to write. There are some things I find more inspiring than others as topics--travel, for instance, or occasionally cooking. But that doesn't mean that in the future I will always find those things most inspiring, or that I won't want to write about something else here, too. But is Kaci and the World the place for that? Not sure. Moving on.

I won't get into an existential crisis myself right now (the poor blog has been through enough!) but the fact of the matter is, a few of my core identities are changing. Single --> Married. Still in college grad mode --> Real real life job. Travel any time at a moment's notice --> Dog at home who needs kisses (and food). And when bloggers (hate that word, cringing now) go through something like that, we have a tendency to question the relevance of our words to our "new state". For the record, I have absolutely no idea if other bloggers have gone through similar experiences. Comments welcome.) The bottom line is: Does what I say on this site still apply to who I am? 

And why do I write on here anyway? Other than to let my friends and family back home know that I did actually eat cobra that one time (okay, three times) in rural China? Because I could easily do that via Skype, or emails, or just share the story at Christmas dinner. My whole spiel about 'needing to write' and 'practicing my words' is also fine and grand, but I could do that in a journal like the rest of humanity before the 21st century. Wouldn't that accomplish the same goal? 

No.

Because a blog provides interaction. (Sometimes. Even if it's just with your mom.) It talks back, in the form of comments, Facebook likes, even emails from strangers half a world away. But while understanding that simple fact has helped a bit, it has also made things worse. Like, okay it's cool that people might read this and comment on it, but who am I to think that anyone actually wants to hear what I have to say? Practically every other person has a blog these days, and I think a lot of them are silly! Do people think my blog is a waste of time? Am I being narcissistic by posting all these stories about myself and just assuming that people would want to read them? 

Oh no! I just realized I've broken one of my cardinal laws about blog posts. Must include pictures often and at key intervals. Otherwise it's too boring and no one will read. (That is how I personally evaluate other blogs, so it's only fair that I expect the same of myself.)

Here's a picture of my dog. (Refer to narcissistic question in paragraph above.)

I know, he's adorable.

Right. So you see how I was spinning myself into that unending vortex of wanting people to care about my blog but not wanting to care if people care about my blog? That's the kind of thing that really hurts the number of posts I feel capable of writing over, say, six months or so.

I just decided that I'm going to put myself firmly in the not caring camp, but with a caveat that says that I hope people will care about it, relate to it, laugh at it (kindly!) and comment on it. That's what makes it fun. That is why I do it. But it's not the only reason I do it (remember the part about practicing words?). So those two things combined, plus the sense of feeling productive even when I'm playing on the internets (i.e. blogging), makes it all worthwhile.

I feel accomplished already!

How the blog is going to evolve as I grow as a woman, traveler, wife, mother (some day) and extremely successful businessperson (also some day) is a more complicated question that will take a lot of work on my end, and hopefully will result in something that gets better and better as it ages. Yes, like a fine wine or my fiancé (so he tells me). I love makeovers (What Not to Wear, anyone?), so we can expect the blog to go through quite a few of those. It already has, since those early days in 2009. 

Now to my last question, which is probably what all of this boils down to and the real reason I haven't written anything in six months. What if I don't have anything interesting left to say? What if, since I'm not translating letters from World War II or gallivanting about with my face on billboards in rural China, I'm just not cool enough to write good stuff anymore? I honestly asked myself this question and could not come up with a decent answer. But I have one now!

If I have nothing interesting to say, I will say some uninteresting things instead. But I will do my best to write about them in a way that will fascinate and engage you, dear reader! Beware, there is trickery on this site. You may find yourself glued to the screen, only to discover you've spent the last four hours reading about . . . gasp! Bottled water vs. filter on the tap! (#Beijing #Chinaproblems)

I might even write a post about hashtags, except that I probably need to learn how to use Twitter before I do that. So give me a few more years. By then, Twitter may not even be a thing anymore and I can get back to the important stuff. Like Pinterest.

Boy do I feel great! I love my website! I love blogging! I hate that word! Thanks for reading! 

What do you think? Are you glad to see Kaci and the World back up and running? Isn't my dog actually the cutest?

Comments, please!

Last week, two of my lifelong dreams were accomplished: see the pandas in Chengdu, and go to Tibet. Seeing (and holding) the pandas I can recommend to anyone and everyone without reservations. It was one of the most unique experiences in my life, and worth every penny. (Good thing we didn't pay in pennies, though, because we'd have needed a wheelbarrow to transport all of them.)

I'm sure there's an argument to be made against the panda photo opportunity offered by the Chengdu research bases ("Only in China!" I've heard many people say with disdain), but that's not the position I'm going to take. The one-year-old panda I have my arm around in the picture below couldn't have been happier, chomping away on his bamboo and grinning at the camera. The Bifengxia research base offers even more options for the truly panda-crazed, such as a three-minute panda "experience" in which you can suit up in zookeeper coveralls and go into the panda enclosure for playtime, or volunteer opportunities lasting from half a day to a week or more, where you can bathe and feed the pandas (and perform other, less glamorous duties like cleaning out cages). The money the panda base makes from offering these packages to tourists goes toward supporting the base, which was one of the nicest zoo-like animal habitats I have ever seen. Having been to Chinese zoos in the past, I will simply say that I am very impressed with how nice the pandas have it.

After an incredible two days in Chengdu, Matt and I hopped on a 43-hour train ride all the way to Lhasa. We roughed it a little bit, choosing the "hard sleeper" option, and shared a room with four Chinese people also headed out west. If I could block the memory of the state of the train bathroom by hour 12 (still 31 to go!), I would have almost exclusively good things to say about the experience. The ride was smooth, the landscape was beautiful, and the lengthy duration of the trip gave Matt and I some much needed catch up time (and offered me an excellent opportunity to beat him at a variety of games).

Matt waiting for our train to come in at the Chengdu station:

I had the bottom bunk, Matt had the top bunk, and we had a middle-aged Chinese man in between us. Let's just say that's never going to happen again... Yikes!

It was hard to capture the landscape accurately from my iPhone as the train passed through open plains, low mountains, rivers, lakes, and eventually lots of snow, but here's one semi-successful Instagram attempt:

The numerous websites and blogs I scoured did their best to scare me about altitude sickness, but Matt and I figured that we were young and healthy enough to make the trek without any serious issues. Sure enough, when we got off the train in Lhasa and were escorted by police to our travel guide, we were happy to be breathing in the fresh (albeit thin) mountain air.

On Barkhor Street during our first evening in Lhasa:

We asked our guide to refrain from taking us to the typical "tourist trap" restaurants in Lhasa and to take us instead to a local place where we could sample something authentic. Thus commenced the three day whirlwind of yak and noodles in various forms and at various locations, some cleaner than others but all equally delicious. Matt has always loved spicy food, and I have developed a penchant for it myself after having spent the last year-plus in the firebelly that is southwestern China. Before leaving Lhasa, we made sure to pick up two large jars of the Lhasa specialty, which has hints of sesame seeds and herbs and smoke and is unlike anything I've ever tasted.

In spite of the admonitions of bloggers everywhere to "take it slow" during the first few days in Tibet, Matt and I began our tour of Lhasa bright and early on Wednesday morning and didn't stop until we got on the plane three days later. Taking it easy is fine if you have a week or ten days to take it all in, but our small window of opportunity afforded us no such luxury.

Wednesday provided us with the most intensive introduction into Tibetan Buddhism that either of us could ever have imagined. First we went to Jokhang temple, located smack in the middle of the busiest street in Lhasa and teeming with pilgrims, then to Drepung monastery, and then to Sera monastery. I have been to monasteries and temples in China before, but nothing prepared me for the intricate paintings on the walls, the rooms upon rooms of golden Buddha shrines, or the scent of yak butter and incense that filled our nostrils as we tiptoed around red-robed monks chanting their unintelligible mantras.

Our Tibetan guide, Tsultrim, tried his best to explain to us the significance of each major statue or painting, filling our heads with the names and histories of Tibetan rulers, Nepalese princesses, lamas, and Indian Buddhas. It was as fascinating as it was impenetrable--it seemed to me that no amount of studying could ever reveal all of the complexities that surround this world religion. We Westerners love to throw around the few Buddhist words that have made their way into our vocabulary, touting our belief in karma or gurus or mantras. But the reality is that most of us have no idea what those terms actually mean in their wider context. If Tibet taught me anything, it's that I have a lot more to learn.

After eight hours of meeting the various clay and wooden forms of Past Buddha, Present Buddha, and Future Buddha, Matt and I had to admit to ourselves that the temples were starting to run together. But one experience truly stood out, and that was the monks' debate at Sera monastery. I won't explain all of the history here because I will definitely mess it up, but for those of you who want to know more, this Wikipedia article should be able to clarify a few things and direct you to more scholarly (and trustworthy) sources.

The monastery was founded in the 15th century, and after all these years, the age old tradition of debate is now open for the public to witness. Matt and I were wholly unprepared for the noisy, occasionally seemingly irreverent behavior of the hundred or so monks who filled the courtyard to take part. A system of claps is used to signify whether the monks agree or disagree with each others' responses to their questions, so the air crackled with the sounds of monks clapping and camera shutters firing rapidly amid the din of what sounded like some pretty heated spiritual arguments.

On Thursday, we spent the majority of the day at the Potala Palace, which is the main attraction in the city of Lhasa. Built by a great Tibetan king in the 7th century, Tibetans once believed that it must have been built by the gods--that human hands could never have created such a beautiful (and massive) structure. Photographs are prohibited inside the palace, which was very similar to the many temples we had visited the day before, except that everything was done on a much grander scale. Solid gold Buddhas fifteen feet tall stood sparkling with precious gems that glimmered in the light of the yak butter candles. Ancient scrolls lined the shelves of entire rooms, and monks sat in every corner murmuring prayers and softly rattling their beads.

We emerged from the palace exhausted and in awe of all we had seen. We may have come to Tibet hoping to learn more about the culture and history of this ancient land, but what we realized as each day passed was how complex and (to us) incomprehensible this society was and still is.

That afternoon, our guide led us through the Dalai Lama's summer palace, which is located a few minutes outside of downtown Lhasa. It was a vast park full of hushed gardens and tree-lined walkways. Instead of one large palace, the Summer Palace was actually a series of mini palaces, each built during different centuries and under different Dalai Lamas. For me, the most moving part of the trip took place at the fourteenth (current) Dalai Lama's palace. The other visitors to the palace were not tourists like us; they were pilgrims. Many of them appeared to be well into their eighties, and some had tears streaming down their cheeks. Our guide explained that this palace is a sad place for many Tibetans, as it was not yet complete by the time the Dalai Lama fled the country, and he has never been able to return home to enjoy it.

Our last morning in Lhasa, we drove way out of town and up to the top of a mountain to see one of the four holiest lakes in Tibet. The altitude was just over 16,000 feet, and we could feel it! But that didn't stop us from hiking up and down the area to find the best angle for photographing this incredible landscape, which was lined with the Himalayas in the distance.

When I think back on our trip to Tibet, which was a mere two weeks ago, I am shocked by how tinged with exhaustion my memories are. While neither of us suffered from the nauseating altitude sickness we had been warned about, Matt and I fell victim to what must be the driest air in the world, eventually coming down with pretty serious head colds. We only had three days to see a place we can confidently say we will never see again, so the trip was also extremely overwhelming in a lot of ways. But what stands out to me most now was how utterly different a place Tibet was from anywhere I have ever been before.

I cannot get involved in the conflict between Tibet and China, and am not even sure that a Westerner like myself has the right to judge the situation at all. The only thing I will say on this matter is that having lived in China for nearly a year and a half, and having studied this country and its language for longer, I do not see how Tibet can seamlessly fit inside of it. What I saw and experienced was nothing like anything I have ever seen or experienced in China. And I will leave it at that.

How has it been two months since my last post?!

I wish I had something as insightful to share with you as I did in August. I do have a few ideas for quality posts up my sleeve that will make an appearance once I have enough time and internet to write and upload another post. And Matt and I are taking a 43-hour train ride to Tibet next week, so there will definitely be a post after that.

But for now, you'll have to settle for a good old China story. I haven't told one of these since my colleagues slurped bone marrow out of straws at a business dinner. Today's story is slightly different, but no less absurd. It's also short.

Part I of the story is that a Chinese girl I work with has a food allergy. She is allergic to male chickens. Not hens. Just the roosters. I'm no doctor, so I probably shouldn't question this, but I do. Can one really be allergic to just male chicken meat? Is it so different from female chicken meat that it would cause her to break out into pretty severe hives? The hives are real. Those I can confirm. The cause... Well let's just say I'm not convinced.

I've been aware of Cindy's allergy since she started working at our company, and while I've thought that it's a little odd, I haven't given it much thought. But today, when she brought some Chinese medicine back to our apartment to "cure" her "allergy," I had to laugh. I'm about as culturally sensitive as they come, but even to me, this was funny.

That pot of leaves and MASSIVE DRIED BUGS is currently simmering on our stove, waiting for Cindy's hive-ridden body to partake of its magic.

My apartment smells like a strange mix of dried herbs and something that I'm trying to convince myself is not the dissolving exoskeletons of ten fat cicadas. And to be fair, even Cindy was freaked out. Last time, apparently, there were no bugs. She called her father, who sent her the very expensive medicine, to confirm that the bugs are in fact supposed to be there. They are. I offered her a Benadryl, but she politely declined. To each her own. The bottom line is that I will go to bed satisfied that I don't have to drink it, and she will go to bed satisfied that she will be allergy-free in the morning. Everybody wins.

So I'm a little early for this post. Technically, I'll be celebrating my year anniversary of living in Libo on August 30th. (I will most likely be celebrating by working a ten hour day and then collapsing into the world's hardest bed for a chapter of Dear Girls Above Me before passing out from exhaustion.) But since I haven't written anything myself here in quite some time, the least I can do is deliver my inspirational lesson on rural China to you before you expected it.

I'm writing this post in the context of a recent job rejection. As much as it pains me to share that fact with anyone and everyone reading my blog, it is relevant to the rest of the post. So there you have it: I made it through four rigorous rounds of interviews with a large, international company, and within ten minutes of the final interview, I had an email rejection in my inbox.

I know what you're thinking: Wow, she must have really bombed it. And if that were the case, I would be willing to admit it. But I promise you I did not stutter during that interview, I did not come unprepared, and I answered the man's questions with as much confidence and poise as I did during the first four. I have a few guesses as to what I said that may have resulted in their decision, but even if I could go back and change a few answers, I'm not sure I would.

The feedback I received was: my salary requirement was too high, and I "lack corporate experience."

Regarding my salary requirement, I will just say this: Their starting offer was less than what I am making in rural China, where I don't have to pay for housing, meals, or airfare home. I have it on good authority that my request was well within reason for a person with my skills and experience. Having spent this year reading books like Lean In, Nice Women Don't Get the Corner Office, Developing Global Leaders, Ask For It, How Remarkable Women Lead, and numerous Harvard Business Review articles, the company's response to my salary request does have me wondering whether a man would have been similarly shut down. But enough about that.

This post is actually not about the job interview or rejection. It is not supposed to sound like a rant or a "woe is me, I got rejected" post or a pity party. But the feedback I received from that final round interview is what has inspired the bulk of the post that follows, so bear with me as I continue with this story.

It's the "lack of corporate experience" that has prompted me to share a few things on my blog with you today. The company that interviewed me had (in their mind at least) a valid point. My most recent year of work experience has definitely not been a classic "corporate" experience. I didn't work in a cubicle, I rarely crunched numbers or made cold calls or had meetings in big rooms with white boards on the walls and people in suits. And I am confident that most of the things I have learned this year could not have been learned as quickly or as effectively in that environment.

And now, finally, after a lot of prefacing, I can get to the point of this post, which is, what the heck have I learned from a year in rural China?

1. More Chinese than you can believe. I've finally reached the goal I set at age 18 when I started learning this crazy language: I am mistaken for a Chinese person when I talk on the phone. Being in China has been key, but being in rural China (English-speaking population: 4) is clutch.

2. My strengths and weaknesses as a leader. This year, I have been given more responsibility than any sane person would give a 20-something with zero business experience. It was an ideal situation, really: I was given a $100,000 investment and told to do whatever necessary to make it profitable. In reality, though, it felt like this:

    My boss (Eric): I'm going to give you a house!
    Me: Awesome! I can't wait to move in!
    Eric: Well, it isn't built yet.
    Me: Um, okay! What should I do to help?
    Eric: Don't ask me, you're in charge! I got you this piece of land for it.
    Me: ...Just the land?
    Eric: Oh, and four big pieces of wood!
    Me: ...
    Eric: It's going to be easy! All you need to do is find some people to help you and some tools, and then draw up the plans yourself and follow them. But you should know--we're not going to pay for any expert "construction workers"--you're going to just need to find some recent college grads and teach them how to build.
    Me: But... I don't even know how to build a house myself.
    Eric: Well, I guess you're going to need to learn!

And that's what I've been doing this year. Not building a house (that was a metaphor), but building a business with whatever resources I could come up with. A lot of the time, I felt like my main goal was to not mess anything up too badly.

Aside from the entrepreneurs who start their own businesses at 25, few people are given such a huge amount of responsibility when they first start out. Therefore I think it's safe to assume that few people are able to learn so much about their leadership and management styles in their 20s. And since we are more flexible, more adaptable, and more receptive to change during our 20s than, say, when we become middle managers at the age of 40, I think the fact that I've tapped into this side of me this early on bodes well for the future.

So forgive me for stepping off the humble bus for a moment as I briefly outline my strengths as a leader:

• Seeing the "big picture"--understanding a company's vision, and then being able to communicate that vision to others.
  
• Motivating a team to stick together, do their jobs, and stay positive even when things get really tough. 
  
• Taking responsibility for all members of my team's actions. When someone makes a mistake, I coach them through it and work with them to make sure it doesn't happen again. But when I have to explain that mistake to my boss, I understand that it happened on my watch, and was therefore my responsibility. I don't use names if I don't have to, and stay solution-oriented instead of passing blame off to someone else.   
  

The combination of these characteristics has helped me to inspire loyalty within my people, resulting in my department have the lowest turnover rate company-wide (and me getting promoted!).

Even more valuable than knowing my strengths as a leader has been discovering the areas in which I am weakest:

• Numbers. It isn't a surprise (math was never my thing), but not having a basic understanding of finance makes running a business tough. I'm enrolled in an online Introduction to Finance course, and I try to spend at least some of my rare free time watching lectures and working through the homework problems to bring myself up to speed.
• Naïvety. This one has two parts. The first is that when I ask someone to do something, especially in a work setting, I expect that the staff member I asked will, in fact, get it done. I'm a reliable person, and I expect that same reliability from other people. Unfortunately, that means that my follow-up isn't always as rigorous as it should be, and has caused me to miss deadlines or fail to achieve certain targets. The second part is that I am "too nice." I hear this from every direction (and always have). In life, I'm okay with it. In business, it's not working out. This is incredibly difficult to change, but I am trying. (Hence the Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office on my reading list above.) Judging by the books on my reading list, I make a lot of the same mistakes many women in business do: phrasing instructions as questions ("Would you mind translating this email for me?" instead of, "I need you to translate this email for me by 2 pm"), not speaking up in meetings until the very end, letting others take credit for my ideas. Addressing this weakness will be an ongoing process, but knowing it's an issue is a step in the right direction. A combination of more experience, more reading, and an MBA at some point down the line should have me singing a different tune ten years from now.
  

3. The most valuable traits in an employee and in an employer. Being the middle woman between a staff of fifteen and the CEO of a major company has been very enlightening. As a manager, I have discovered that the best traits in an employee are (in order of importance): the ability to achieve results, a positive attitude, and loyalty to the team and the company's vision. Everything else is a bonus. Managing others has helped me understand how to be a better employee myself; if I expect those qualities in my staff, I better be willing to demonstrate them myself. I strongly believe that if you possess those three qualities, you will earn the respect of your boss, your colleagues, and your staff. And you might earn yourself a raise, too.

Ultimately, my year in Libo has been a time of incredible personal and professional growth. When I had a bad day, I didn't get to go home and snuggle up with my dog and my fiancé, have a pint of Ben and Jerry's and call it a night. I literally live with my coworkers--the people who work for me and occasionally frustrate me to no end are the same people I eat all my meals with and go out with at night. I have dealt with cold showers, aggressive mosquitoes, and gigantic spiders. I have fired someone I considered a friend, I have defended what I knew was right, even when it wasn't popular, and I have taken a stance against policies I considered unfair. And instead of doing all of this in a "cubicle in the big city," I have gotten to do it in one of the most beautiful regions of China.

Whether it's next month or next year, I will almost certainly be headed into a more "corporate environment" for my next job. I am so grateful that I will have the unique experiences of this year to draw upon when I face challenges down the line, and I think my future boss will find him- or herself grateful as well.

And now, the fun part! Pictures of me in my non-corporate environment over the last few months.

Solving technical and operational problems:

Gaining buy-in from stakeholders:

Leading a diverse team; possessing deep knowledge of local customs and business practices:

Ability to perform under pressure:

Responding to customer queries and/or demands; ability to convince others and influence effectively:

Using market knowledge to create and execute innovative and successful marketing initiatives:

Driving market demand; increasing volume of sales:

Being a Brand Ambassador:

Below is the long-awaited, much sought-after, first-ever GUEST POST (!!!) from my friend Meredith, who came to visit me approximately one million months ago and has just now given me her spiel on the adventure. I am so excited to share this with you, and so is she! With only very minor edits (and the addition of pictures) and without further ado . . .

Dear world,

Hey, remember that rainy, lingering winter month way back when… you know, the one we all wish we could just remove from the calendar?  February. Yes that one. Sorry if you wanted to forget that month, because I’m about to take us back there.  But it’s going to be great. I promise.

Before transporting us back to February, I want to say: Hi! My name is Meredith Freeman. A trained eye may have noticed that the opening phrase was probably syntactically deviant from Kaci’s beautiful writing style.  That’s because … it was. It was my personal crazy phrasing that Kaci has graciously allowed me to spew on her brilliant blog. So before I start spewing I want to say thank you, Kaci, for this gift. It is truly an honor to blog on behalf of one of my favorite writers and dearest friends. I can only hope and pray that my words do this honor justice.

And actually, let’s begin by discussing this blog. Kaci’s blog that is. The picture-filled adventure book full of witty remarks and brilliant descriptions of strange foods, new faces, fireworks, pig's blood, costumes, and all of the other shenanigans that illustrate life as the only foreigner in her corner of the world.

I read Kaci’s blog as anyone who has not actually experienced any of this chaos would: Amused, engaged, curious, impressed. But as I sit in my comfy real-people sized western chair and scroll through her photography while sipping some afternoon coffee in a warm office, I now know that my amusement is slightly detached. I’m reading about KACI, without really understanding her WORLD, because her world and her words are SO foreign that they feel as if they only exist on paper and in cool photography.

Well friends, I’m here to tell you that THIS SHIT IS REAL. All of it. Kaci is a real life bad ass and she not only ate the crazy food she was blogging about, she EATS that food. Present tense. In her real life. Every day. Without a break for pancakes or coffee or even toast! Ever.

She REALLY speaks Mandarin, and can read road signs which have NO phonetic or logical basis whatsoever. Her face is REALLY on posters all over her city. And she REALLY runs a business and manages people that are so culturally different that even the way they think and problem solve is FUNDAMENTALLY different than anything we have ever known. And she does it all without a warm shower. (Most of the time.)

So this is the title and the subject of my blog: KACI LIVES IN CHINA. THIS SHIT IS REAL. And I apologize in advance for some of the four letter words. It really is the only way to convey the depth of my amazement at all of it: Kaci’s life, the lack of safety regulations, the food, the people, the pollution, the cab drivers, the massages, the boiled water that had me sick for an entire month after returning … All of it.

So grab yourself a nice Western snack and settle in, because you’re in for a wild blog ride.

Confucius Say: You can sleep when you’re dead (and other sacrifices we make for progress).

While this mini-chapter title might imply some wild story about our arrival adventures and the planes/trains/ automobiles required to get us to Libo on our first night (and trust me, there was much in those first 24 travel hours that was blog-worthy)…that is not actually what this chapter is about. This chapter category is really called “What we sacrifice for the sake of progress”.  Subtitle:  “comfort schmomfort,”  “warmth is for wusses”, or “the toilet is out back, and this floor is cement, but smile! Let me take a picture of you with my iPad and then my extremely expensive Canon camera … and don’t mind the rooster walking in the hallway as you walk out”.

We as Americans make sacrifices for the things we care about--Sleep for fun, sleep for progress, almost anything (sleep, quality, quantity) for convenience—and we don’t think twice about it. Our highest values are can I get what I want, when I want it? And we want a lot of things. I want a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.  I want food right now. Not just food—I want ice cream. No, Thai Food. Ehhhh.. Maybe pizza. Doesn’t matter—we can get it. Even if it’s midnight. Where there is a will there is always a way.

Some might call this the pinnacle of progress. We have secured all things that are necessary—life, liberty, housing, cars, —and we can now focus on the pursuit of happiness. We have become SO efficient in our pursuit of progress  that we can focus not only on production, but quality and worker safety, and convenience, and things like…building tree houses in work places to promote creativity. Like I said…Pinnacles of progress.

But our journey to get here was a long and dirty and polluted one. To illustrate this point, let’s play a game. Close your eyes, and imagine a scene out of The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. If you haven’t read it (or haven’t read it since you didn’t actually read it in 7th grade American History), here is an excerpt:

"Jurgis heard of these things little by little, in the gossip of those who were obliged to perpetrate them. It seemed as if every time you met a person from a new department, you heard of new swindles and new crimes. There was, for instance, a Lithuanian who was a cattle-butcher for the plant where Marija had worked, which killed meat for canning only; and to hear this man describe the animals which came to his place would have been worth while for a Dante or a Zola. It seemed that they must have agencies all over the country, to hunt out old and crippled and diseased cattle to be canned. There were cattle which had been fed on “whiskey-malt,” the refuse of the breweries, and had become what the men called “steerly”—which means covered with boils. It was a nasty job killing these, for when you plunged your knife into them they would burst and splash foul-smelling stuff into your face; and when a man’s sleeves were smeared with blood, and his hands steeped in it, how was he ever to wipe his face, or to clear his eyes so that he could see? It was stuff such as this that made the “embalmed beef” that had killed several times as many United States soldiers as all the bullets of the Spaniards; only the army beef, besides, was not fresh canned, it was old stuff that had been lying for years in the cellars."
Source: http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5727/

Yup. That filth was America. Oh how far we’ve come.

So somehow you were able to read that last paragraph with your eyes closed (see instruction #1) … so I know you are all cheating and have your eyes open now. SO NOW … close your eyes again and imagine living in filthy, stinky, industrializing New York City during the time of Gangs of New York. Where things like plumbing and heat and private space were luxuries. Where out-houses were common place and all of these foreign people who just arrived in this strange land from their home countries were cooking all of their crazy nonsense in their small crowded kitchens, and the smell of their Old Country cuisine permeates through their crowded, shantily built quarters in one very consolidated industrializing area with pollution rising from the factories where they all work across the river. Comfortable, right?  But hey—it’s progress!

Okay, so is this image burned into your brain? Okay…good. Now place Kaci in that image. In the rainy cloudiness of February. In a foreign country, speaking a foreign language, with foreign people, eating chicken feet. Image burned into your brain? Good.

And like all good stories I begin and end with a phrase. KACI REALLY LIVES IN CHINA. THIS SHIT IS REAL. But now I hope that that sentence gives you as jaw dropping a sense of awe as it does me. Kaci, dearest, I applaud you. You have managed to become a real life rock star—complete with posters and billboards all over town with your face on them—and you are RUNNING A BUSINESS in an extremely foreign, and extremely dirty country. All without warm water. Dang girl, dang. I am so proud of you. And I hope you, dear readers, are proud too.

To Kaci! Gan'bei!!

Below are some more pictures of Meredith's adventure in China. Thanks for the awesome (and very flattering!) blog post, Mere! You're welcome back in China any time ... if you dare ...

Monkeying around in the park:

Exploring the Forest on Water:

Learning to play mah jong:

Ringing in the new year with China's favorite invention:

Enjoying a relaxing evening at the spa, complete with silly pajamas:

Hitching a ride from the friendly Libo cops:

Getting ready for yet another breakfast of champions:

It was great to have you here, Meredith! You should come back now that it's 90 degrees and 100% humidity--you won't have to complain of the cold at least! And we have hot water almost all the time!