If I thought my Kunming grandmother was overprotective, she has nothing on my Shaxi mother.

Since my ISP has been predetermined by Zhong Laoshi of the Tufts Chinese department to be on the Mosuo people of Lugu Lake, I wanted to spend my time in Shaxi learning about what I’m really interested in: farmers. My Shaxi mother and uncle are both farmers, but since they can barely speak Mandarin we are reduced to the communication equivalent of body language.

Yesterday morning my host mother took me on a walk along the river on the outskirts of the village. It was just about the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Even in Yunnan, at its tropical latitude, you can feel autumn. The patchwork fields were out of a storybook, with far-off villages dotting the mountain foothills. Everything had a dreary tint to it, perhaps because of the rain that hasn’t let up in four days, but that just made it even more majestic.

She dropped me off at the village school, where I met a few of the teachers. One teacher, whose English name was Victor, took me to his dormitory and cooked me lunch. Now I know my mother might be worried reading this post, but as I told Jess Bidgood, white women in China have about the appeal of Eleanor Roosevelt. He played me traditional Bai music, and found one of the gym teachers, who used to be a farmer, to talk with me about agriculture. I stayed there for hours, drinking cup after cup of tea. The gym teacher invited both of us to eat dinner with his family that evening. Victor also invited me to sit in on his classes that afternoon, but I told him I had better check in with my host mother to tell her where I was. Which I felt was very big of me, considering the opportunity I was passing up.

I ran into my host mother while I was walking home, and asked her if I could eat dinner with the gym teacher, expecting her to say alright. “Bu xing, bu xing,” she repeated. “Not okay, not okay.” “Weishenme?” I pleaded, why not? Because I had already eaten lunch with them. That should be enough. I didn’t need to eat dinner with them.

Xiao Zhou told me that my host mother had only said that per routine, and I should disregard her and eat with them anyway. But as I was on my way to buy them cigarettes as a thank-you present, I ran into my host mother again. “Bu xing, bu xing.” I was almost in tears as I brought her back to Xiao Zhou, who, after an epic discussion on my character flaws and attributes, convinced her that since the family who would cook me dinner was not the same as the family who had cooked me lunch, I would not be too much of a burden.

Sometimes I hate traditional Chinese culture.

But thank god I ended up eating dinner with them, because it was the best experience I have had in China to date. I felt so welcome in the gym teacher’s home. He would speak Bai, and Victor would translate into Mandarin, and we spent three hours eating and chatting that way. All my malevolence towards China went right out the window, as I felt how rewarding it was to speak with them in earnest. The gym teacher invited me back to hear him play traditional Chinese instruments, and I regretted my time in Shaxi was so short.

I received a call from Xiao Zhou half an hour before I had said I would come home. My host mother was beside herself with worry. It was 7:30 at night, where on earth was I? Victor and the gym teacher walked me home, and halfway there we ran into my host uncle, who was out searching for me with a flashlight. He wordlessly brought me to my host mother, who made me call Xiao Zhou right away to tell her I was safe. She followed me into my room and made me change socks in front of her, because my old ones would “make me catch cold.” Then I sat on the bed as she personally rolled up my pants legs. She scolded me for my secret stash of crackers, and took all of my clothes to put in the wash.

It’s not the living conditions I mind here in Shaxi. I couldn’t care less that there’s no running water, or that the bathroom doesn’t have a door. It’s the lack of personal choice. I wish I could be allowed to hear that gym teacher play the erhu for me, without my host mother thinking I was too much of a burden. I wish I could communicate with her, because living in the countryside makes my two and a half years of Chinese feel like nothing.

In a small moment of freedom before bedtime, I shined my flashlight in on the pigs. The three of them were asleep, fat, and snuggling side by side.