9/24/07 Shaoguan, Lela’s Turn
Today we are going to Shaoguan to visit Lela’s SWI, Social Welfare Institute. We were not able to visit when we adopted her in January 2005 because of scheduling problems and the impending Chinese New Year, which closes down the country for two weeks. She has been very nervous about this visit. Somewhere in the back of her head she is afraid of being left or reclaimed, despite all our reassurances. I am hoping this visit will put paid to some of her kidnapped by a monster bad dreams.
Our guide will meet us at 8am at our room, so we must get up early. No problem for me, since my usual wake up is 4am, but we set the alarm just in case. I am up well before, trying to catch up on my writing and e-mail. We wake up the girls at 7,and both are tired and logy, but we hustle them into clothing and through breakfast. Our guide, Daniel, arrives at our door at 8:10, but we still need a few more minutes. I have to race upstairs one more time when Lela decides she wants a pretty dress to wear. This is so they will know that she’s not a baby. The trip will take about three hours on the new expressway built in 2002. Before that it was a six hour drive on a two-lane road, twisting along the mountain sides. We find that Chinese highways are set up a bit differently. Our inside passing lane is the car lane, the middle lane is for passing and trucks are on the outside.
It’s sunny as we head north on the expressway. Beyond the airport we start seeing hills rise up. I didn’t realize that there were mountain foothills so near Guangzhou, but we will be climbing higher. It takes a while to exit the suburbs of Guangzhou, and we have glimpses of all the facets of a big city, industrial warehouses, train yards, busy shopping streets and thousands of apartment buildings, from modern high rises to deteriorated but still populated structures. As we near the boundaries, tiny vegetable plots are crammed into every vacant space.
Daniel tells us about the area. Though Guangdong is the wealthiest province in China, that wealth is concentrated around the southern cities. 60% of the population still lives below the poverty level in rural areas. Guangzhou has gone from a population of about 1 million in the 70’s to 7 million residents and roughly 5 million immigrants come seeking factory jobs. This is where a lot of the cheap junk in Wal-Mart comes from, the sweatshops of Guangdong. The famous low prices are built on near slave labor working conditions, 7 days a week, 12 to 14 hours a day, locked into dormitories to sleep – mostly manned by young woman. But for adoption, that might be have been the fate of our daughters. OK off the soap box.
We are still seeing factories surrounded by farm land. Daniel explains that Guangzhou has enacted pollution laws, and many of the worst types of plants have moved out to rural areas where the authorities welcome the money they bring, so we see cement factories, chemical plants and smelters.
The land is lush and green. We are surrounded by plantations of litchi trees, Guangdong’s major fruit product, banana palms, many kinds of squash and beans. Farming villages are clusters of one to three story homes and apartments surrounded by a patchwork in shades of jade and emerald. The flat land near the highway grow a grassy crop, perhaps rice, with fruit trees climbing the hills.
The weather begins to deteriorate as we climb into the mountains and rain starts to spatter. Around us are rolling ridges, backed by sharp peaked mountains spiking into the low clouds. There are glimpses into steep gorges and verdant valleys. Cuts into the earth reveal a rust red soil. The unrolling scenery is picture postcard perfect, though hard to photograph from a van zooming along at 70mph.
About an hour from Shaoguan, there is trouble ahead. The road is closed. We are directed off an exit ramp. Now we are going to be really late. Daniel gets on his cell phone to the SWI director. She isn’t in Shaoguan, but on her way back from Hunan. She tells him to take us to lunch and she will join us if she can, or we meet at the SWI at 2:30. Our driver, Mr. Lee, finds out that there is roadwork going on. There is a very liaise faire attitude about this. The detour is not marked, and you had better know where you are going. Luckily Mr. Lee knows this trip and we are off into real rural China.
Now the distant glimpses are up close and real people go through their daily lives as we bounce by. Dirt poor is an accurate statement. Many of the buildings we see have an open side and dirt floors. People squat or sit on low stools in rutted muddy yards. Women in bright polo shirts tote baskets slung on poles. Except for the clothing and the omnipresent scooters, not much has changed in thousands of years. Paving is limited to the main road way. The traditional homes are low slung one-story buildings of brick or rammed earth, with tile roofs, one room deep. Many appear to be crumbling. Fixing broken windows or shutters does not seem to be a priority. There are no lawns or flowers. We get an overwhelming impression of hardship. I think of the photos of depression era rural poverty in the US, and they seem luxurious by comparison to much of what we are seeing. Rural poverty in China is several circles of hell down from our definition. And clearly China needs their equivalent of the crying Indian anti-litter campaign, as thousands of flimsy plastic bags in a rainbow of colors are discard along the roadway, loaded with god knows what.
There are some signs of success. New homes are dotted about, uniformly three story cubes of glazed white or yellow brick, with a tiny decorative mansard of tile roof that reads more Spanish than Chinese. A new car is pulled into a run down farmyard. A farmer speeds past on a new scooter, his tanned and deep lined face topped by a shiny bright orange helmet.
We take a bathroom break by a Buddhist temple, the Nanhua Si (Southern Flower Temple) founded in 502 AD, at the Vege Tarian restaurant next door. The temple entrance is marked by an elegant stone triple archway and a long walkway surrounded by manicured grounds. Daniel tells us that the Red Guard tried to destroy it but were stopped by local farmers, so even if it’s not in their own yards, there is an appreciation for beauty. We stretch our legs for a few minutes, but there is no time to visit so we resume our voyage. Heavy truck traffic clogs the road and we dodge and weave. Passing on any side seems to be acceptable. Most of the vehicles we see now are scooters or mini trucks, about one step up from a golf cart, though not quite as big
Inside the van it is increasingly noisy as Lian bounces about demanding snacks or retrieved toys with loud exclamations. Daniel says she is saying something, but he can’t understand, perhaps it’s a local dialect from HanZhong. Lela sits in the back with me, wanting to play her princess or baby games one after the other. I finally tell her we need to look at where we are. We talk a little about what will happen at the SWI and I tell her I will carry her the whole time if that is what she needs. She says she does need it. Our little pumpkin is being brave, though she is afraid of her unknown past.
We are coming to an area where urban residents come to vacation at hot springs or to shoot rapids. A modern townhouse style hot springs resort development is plunked down incongruously amid the surrounding rustic squalor. The Shaoguan region is regarded as one of the cradles of the human race in China. Bones dated as early as 129,000 years old were discovered in a nearby cave, Shizi Yan, and named Qujiang Maba man.
We finally reach the suburbs of Shaoguan. Children are getting out of school for lunch, and dozens roll by on bikes, dressed in school uniforms of blue and white tracksuits.
We reach a street alongside a wide river in an urban area. I recognize the view towards a bridge that I’ve seen on the internet. We are in Shaoguan. Shaoguan is built on a peninsula between the confluence of two rivers that create a third – the Beijiang (North), one of the main tributaries of the Pearl River, and up into the surrounding mountainsides. It has had a long history of military importance as the rivers cut a pass through the mountains between Guangdong and northern China.
We pull into a restaurant. The restaurant name translates roughly as Wineshop Best Seafood restaurant. Apparently it is part of a chain from Macau. We are escorted to a luxurious private room on the second floor. A floor to ceiling sheet of plate glass facing the riverside lightens the 9-foot high dark wood and brocade covered walls. In addition to the expected round table, set with blue glass plates and apricot napkins, a small seating area of brocade stools and a side table is in the corner and the room features a private toilet hidden behind a concealed door. Our presence seems to require half the wait staff. Daniel confers with us on our preferences and then with the head waitress. Mr. Lee puts in his two cents. We end up with spicy shrimp meant to be eaten shell and all, a creamy tofu in egg sauce, delicious sautéed local vegetables – some kind of bok choy, fried vermicelli noodles, and pork dim sum, with coconut flavored gel cakes and fresh fruit for dessert. After much discussion, Lela gets fresh squeezed apple juice. It is delicious, but not what she is used to, so rejected. She cannot sit still or eat. She wanders the room and takes one of the warm washcloths we had been brought and starts to scrub the glass top of a corner table to try and calm her nerves She is being Cinderella before the ball, an apt metaphor. When she moves onto the plate glass window we have to tell her to stop.
After a leisurely meal we are on our way to the SWI. The rain has stopped while we were eating. Daniel and Mr. Lee consult over a map. We describe the surroundings of the SWI that we have seen in pictures, a 9 story modern pink building in a courtyard, facing a mountain view. After a few detours and stops for directions, we swing onto a traffic cirlce that has been curbed but not paved, then jolting down a half paved track and up a steep drive. Ahead is the building we’ve seen in photos. We are here. This is where Lela spent the first year of her life.
We clamber out bearing bags of gifts, children’s clothing, gifts for the Ayis (translates as Auntie) of nail polish and deodorant (recommended by Love Without Boundaries, so I hope no one is offended) candies and separate bags for the director and assistant director. We are quickly escorted up the elevator to the top floor. The lower floors are a senior citizen home. We are met by the assistant director, the director is still not back.
Though we’ve seen pictures, it is sparer and smaller than I expected. We have arrived at nap time and there are only a few Ayis, as the rest don’t come until 3pm. The crib quilts are rolled up for the summer and the children sleep on bare boards. But there are good changes. Lela was never out of her crib, but thanks to Half the Sky training, the babies now get tummy time on bright colored mats. The rows and rows of cribs we saw in pictures from 2 years ago are dwindled to a few – there are only about 20 children now, mostly special needs. The assistant director explains through Daniel that domestic adoption quickly takes most of the healthy infants. The area is relatively more prosperous. She says also that birth control is being strictly monitored, with IUD’s being installed in all married woman and checked every three months, so there are less accidental babies. This mirrors what the Chinese Central Adoption Agency has been saying about the slow down in referring non-special needs children.
Lela has allowed me to transfer her to Jamie. Lian, who I had been concerned would perhaps feel she was being brought back, is oblivious. This place is so different from her SWI there is no connection and she hangs on to Jamie’s pants leg or toddles over to inspect some of the kids. I snap pictures of the children, including two new babies with clefts. The view out the window is a mountain across a steep but densely built up valley. This is real deja vu. We’ve seen photos like pieces of a jig saw puzzle, but now it is all forming a complete picture.
The layout is central lobby with the elevator and two small room for isolating sick or new children, an open air exercise area to one side and the largest room with cribs on one side and the larger portion now with mats and some toys.
Lela buries her head in my shoulder when the director attempts to talk to her. When we venture out on to the open roof area and I try and put her down, she clings and whispers, "You promised you would carry me the whole time." I am beginning to regret not adding clauses, like, "except if I am also trying to record this for your future information and carrying two bags." But this is painful for her. This is confronting the unknown, a place with no conscious memories but a chain on her. This is the past that divides her from us. She would be happiest if it was only a bad fairy tale. But it is real and unescapable. Lela has nightmares about monsters that snatch her from her bed and take her back to China. Her deepest fears about this trip were being left behind. We are hoping that confronting the reality and returning home will help her. Finally she begins to relax. The asst. director gives both girls an apple. Then she and another nanny, who we recognize from our adoption photos as the one who carried Lela, present Lela with several children’s books. They say they do remember her, and when asked by Jamie if she looks the way they imagined, reply "she’s very tall."
Three o’clock and more nannies arrive. The children are taken to the exercise area and share a banana as a snack. Our guide is champing at the bit to get going as we are running very late. We visit the toilet, a squatty potty down a half flight of steps and get a glimpse into the senior home a very familiar sight – a group in bathrobes watching TV. Outside Lela is relieved and cheerful. We visit the small garden in the courtyard where her referral pictures were taken, take pictures of the building and then into the van. I realize I have forgotten to ask to see her original paperwork.
The asst. director will accompany us to visit Lela’s finding spot. Every child in China’s Social Welfare Institutions has a finding spot – a place and time where the course of their lives altered. For the ones who are adopted internationally, it was the beginning of gaining a new family but losing their culture. We hurry through Shaoguan’s busy streets for a few minutes and then stop in the middle of a block on a bustling four-lane road. A steep driveway leads up to a building a level above the street. This is the spot, no actually up above. But there is a guard. An animated discussion and we are allowed to walk up. But it’s all changed - a new building has been built on the spot. Lela poses without any sense of recognition, and it doesn’t seem to bother her. The asst. director points out a building across the street and tells us it is a maternity hospital for women and children. If Lela ever decides to seek her past, this will be a starting point. Then we go to visit the finding spot of Lela’s SWI sister, Raeghan. I think we are returning to the SWI when the van stops, the asst. director gets out to take a bus? back. That’s it. We head back out of town. The highway is open going south. As we speed through the mountains and many tunnels, the darkening sky looses a heavy rain, and Lela finally relaxes and curls up to sleep on the seat next to me.
Today we are going to Shaoguan to visit Lela’s SWI, Social Welfare Institute. We were not able to visit when we adopted her in January 2005 because of scheduling problems and the impending Chinese New Year, which closes down the country for two weeks. She has been very nervous about this visit. Somewhere in the back of her head she is afraid of being left or reclaimed, despite all our reassurances. I am hoping this visit will put paid to some of her kidnapped by a monster bad dreams.
Our guide will meet us at 8am at our room, so we must get up early. No problem for me, since my usual wake up is 4am, but we set the alarm just in case. I am up well before, trying to catch up on my writing and e-mail. We wake up the girls at 7,and both are tired and logy, but we hustle them into clothing and through breakfast. Our guide, Daniel, arrives at our door at 8:10, but we still need a few more minutes. I have to race upstairs one more time when Lela decides she wants a pretty dress to wear. This is so they will know that she’s not a baby. The trip will take about three hours on the new expressway built in 2002. Before that it was a six hour drive on a two-lane road, twisting along the mountain sides. We find that Chinese highways are set up a bit differently. Our inside passing lane is the car lane, the middle lane is for passing and trucks are on the outside.
It’s sunny as we head north on the expressway. Beyond the airport we start seeing hills rise up. I didn’t realize that there were mountain foothills so near Guangzhou, but we will be climbing higher. It takes a while to exit the suburbs of Guangzhou, and we have glimpses of all the facets of a big city, industrial warehouses, train yards, busy shopping streets and thousands of apartment buildings, from modern high rises to deteriorated but still populated structures. As we near the boundaries, tiny vegetable plots are crammed into every vacant space.
Daniel tells us about the area. Though Guangdong is the wealthiest province in China, that wealth is concentrated around the southern cities. 60% of the population still lives below the poverty level in rural areas. Guangzhou has gone from a population of about 1 million in the 70’s to 7 million residents and roughly 5 million immigrants come seeking factory jobs. This is where a lot of the cheap junk in Wal-Mart comes from, the sweatshops of Guangdong. The famous low prices are built on near slave labor working conditions, 7 days a week, 12 to 14 hours a day, locked into dormitories to sleep – mostly manned by young woman. But for adoption, that might be have been the fate of our daughters. OK off the soap box.
We are still seeing factories surrounded by farm land. Daniel explains that Guangzhou has enacted pollution laws, and many of the worst types of plants have moved out to rural areas where the authorities welcome the money they bring, so we see cement factories, chemical plants and smelters.
The land is lush and green. We are surrounded by plantations of litchi trees, Guangdong’s major fruit product, banana palms, many kinds of squash and beans. Farming villages are clusters of one to three story homes and apartments surrounded by a patchwork in shades of jade and emerald. The flat land near the highway grow a grassy crop, perhaps rice, with fruit trees climbing the hills.
The weather begins to deteriorate as we climb into the mountains and rain starts to spatter. Around us are rolling ridges, backed by sharp peaked mountains spiking into the low clouds. There are glimpses into steep gorges and verdant valleys. Cuts into the earth reveal a rust red soil. The unrolling scenery is picture postcard perfect, though hard to photograph from a van zooming along at 70mph.
About an hour from Shaoguan, there is trouble ahead. The road is closed. We are directed off an exit ramp. Now we are going to be really late. Daniel gets on his cell phone to the SWI director. She isn’t in Shaoguan, but on her way back from Hunan. She tells him to take us to lunch and she will join us if she can, or we meet at the SWI at 2:30. Our driver, Mr. Lee, finds out that there is roadwork going on. There is a very liaise faire attitude about this. The detour is not marked, and you had better know where you are going. Luckily Mr. Lee knows this trip and we are off into real rural China.
Now the distant glimpses are up close and real people go through their daily lives as we bounce by. Dirt poor is an accurate statement. Many of the buildings we see have an open side and dirt floors. People squat or sit on low stools in rutted muddy yards. Women in bright polo shirts tote baskets slung on poles. Except for the clothing and the omnipresent scooters, not much has changed in thousands of years. Paving is limited to the main road way. The traditional homes are low slung one-story buildings of brick or rammed earth, with tile roofs, one room deep. Many appear to be crumbling. Fixing broken windows or shutters does not seem to be a priority. There are no lawns or flowers. We get an overwhelming impression of hardship. I think of the photos of depression era rural poverty in the US, and they seem luxurious by comparison to much of what we are seeing. Rural poverty in China is several circles of hell down from our definition. And clearly China needs their equivalent of the crying Indian anti-litter campaign, as thousands of flimsy plastic bags in a rainbow of colors are discard along the roadway, loaded with god knows what.
There are some signs of success. New homes are dotted about, uniformly three story cubes of glazed white or yellow brick, with a tiny decorative mansard of tile roof that reads more Spanish than Chinese. A new car is pulled into a run down farmyard. A farmer speeds past on a new scooter, his tanned and deep lined face topped by a shiny bright orange helmet.
We take a bathroom break by a Buddhist temple, the Nanhua Si (Southern Flower Temple) founded in 502 AD, at the Vege Tarian restaurant next door. The temple entrance is marked by an elegant stone triple archway and a long walkway surrounded by manicured grounds. Daniel tells us that the Red Guard tried to destroy it but were stopped by local farmers, so even if it’s not in their own yards, there is an appreciation for beauty. We stretch our legs for a few minutes, but there is no time to visit so we resume our voyage. Heavy truck traffic clogs the road and we dodge and weave. Passing on any side seems to be acceptable. Most of the vehicles we see now are scooters or mini trucks, about one step up from a golf cart, though not quite as big
Inside the van it is increasingly noisy as Lian bounces about demanding snacks or retrieved toys with loud exclamations. Daniel says she is saying something, but he can’t understand, perhaps it’s a local dialect from HanZhong. Lela sits in the back with me, wanting to play her princess or baby games one after the other. I finally tell her we need to look at where we are. We talk a little about what will happen at the SWI and I tell her I will carry her the whole time if that is what she needs. She says she does need it. Our little pumpkin is being brave, though she is afraid of her unknown past.
We are coming to an area where urban residents come to vacation at hot springs or to shoot rapids. A modern townhouse style hot springs resort development is plunked down incongruously amid the surrounding rustic squalor. The Shaoguan region is regarded as one of the cradles of the human race in China. Bones dated as early as 129,000 years old were discovered in a nearby cave, Shizi Yan, and named Qujiang Maba man.
We finally reach the suburbs of Shaoguan. Children are getting out of school for lunch, and dozens roll by on bikes, dressed in school uniforms of blue and white tracksuits.
We reach a street alongside a wide river in an urban area. I recognize the view towards a bridge that I’ve seen on the internet. We are in Shaoguan. Shaoguan is built on a peninsula between the confluence of two rivers that create a third – the Beijiang (North), one of the main tributaries of the Pearl River, and up into the surrounding mountainsides. It has had a long history of military importance as the rivers cut a pass through the mountains between Guangdong and northern China.
We pull into a restaurant. The restaurant name translates roughly as Wineshop Best Seafood restaurant. Apparently it is part of a chain from Macau. We are escorted to a luxurious private room on the second floor. A floor to ceiling sheet of plate glass facing the riverside lightens the 9-foot high dark wood and brocade covered walls. In addition to the expected round table, set with blue glass plates and apricot napkins, a small seating area of brocade stools and a side table is in the corner and the room features a private toilet hidden behind a concealed door. Our presence seems to require half the wait staff. Daniel confers with us on our preferences and then with the head waitress. Mr. Lee puts in his two cents. We end up with spicy shrimp meant to be eaten shell and all, a creamy tofu in egg sauce, delicious sautéed local vegetables – some kind of bok choy, fried vermicelli noodles, and pork dim sum, with coconut flavored gel cakes and fresh fruit for dessert. After much discussion, Lela gets fresh squeezed apple juice. It is delicious, but not what she is used to, so rejected. She cannot sit still or eat. She wanders the room and takes one of the warm washcloths we had been brought and starts to scrub the glass top of a corner table to try and calm her nerves She is being Cinderella before the ball, an apt metaphor. When she moves onto the plate glass window we have to tell her to stop.
After a leisurely meal we are on our way to the SWI. The rain has stopped while we were eating. Daniel and Mr. Lee consult over a map. We describe the surroundings of the SWI that we have seen in pictures, a 9 story modern pink building in a courtyard, facing a mountain view. After a few detours and stops for directions, we swing onto a traffic cirlce that has been curbed but not paved, then jolting down a half paved track and up a steep drive. Ahead is the building we’ve seen in photos. We are here. This is where Lela spent the first year of her life.
We clamber out bearing bags of gifts, children’s clothing, gifts for the Ayis (translates as Auntie) of nail polish and deodorant (recommended by Love Without Boundaries, so I hope no one is offended) candies and separate bags for the director and assistant director. We are quickly escorted up the elevator to the top floor. The lower floors are a senior citizen home. We are met by the assistant director, the director is still not back.
Though we’ve seen pictures, it is sparer and smaller than I expected. We have arrived at nap time and there are only a few Ayis, as the rest don’t come until 3pm. The crib quilts are rolled up for the summer and the children sleep on bare boards. But there are good changes. Lela was never out of her crib, but thanks to Half the Sky training, the babies now get tummy time on bright colored mats. The rows and rows of cribs we saw in pictures from 2 years ago are dwindled to a few – there are only about 20 children now, mostly special needs. The assistant director explains through Daniel that domestic adoption quickly takes most of the healthy infants. The area is relatively more prosperous. She says also that birth control is being strictly monitored, with IUD’s being installed in all married woman and checked every three months, so there are less accidental babies. This mirrors what the Chinese Central Adoption Agency has been saying about the slow down in referring non-special needs children.
Lela has allowed me to transfer her to Jamie. Lian, who I had been concerned would perhaps feel she was being brought back, is oblivious. This place is so different from her SWI there is no connection and she hangs on to Jamie’s pants leg or toddles over to inspect some of the kids. I snap pictures of the children, including two new babies with clefts. The view out the window is a mountain across a steep but densely built up valley. This is real deja vu. We’ve seen photos like pieces of a jig saw puzzle, but now it is all forming a complete picture.
The layout is central lobby with the elevator and two small room for isolating sick or new children, an open air exercise area to one side and the largest room with cribs on one side and the larger portion now with mats and some toys.
Lela buries her head in my shoulder when the director attempts to talk to her. When we venture out on to the open roof area and I try and put her down, she clings and whispers, "You promised you would carry me the whole time." I am beginning to regret not adding clauses, like, "except if I am also trying to record this for your future information and carrying two bags." But this is painful for her. This is confronting the unknown, a place with no conscious memories but a chain on her. This is the past that divides her from us. She would be happiest if it was only a bad fairy tale. But it is real and unescapable. Lela has nightmares about monsters that snatch her from her bed and take her back to China. Her deepest fears about this trip were being left behind. We are hoping that confronting the reality and returning home will help her. Finally she begins to relax. The asst. director gives both girls an apple. Then she and another nanny, who we recognize from our adoption photos as the one who carried Lela, present Lela with several children’s books. They say they do remember her, and when asked by Jamie if she looks the way they imagined, reply "she’s very tall."
Three o’clock and more nannies arrive. The children are taken to the exercise area and share a banana as a snack. Our guide is champing at the bit to get going as we are running very late. We visit the toilet, a squatty potty down a half flight of steps and get a glimpse into the senior home a very familiar sight – a group in bathrobes watching TV. Outside Lela is relieved and cheerful. We visit the small garden in the courtyard where her referral pictures were taken, take pictures of the building and then into the van. I realize I have forgotten to ask to see her original paperwork.
The asst. director will accompany us to visit Lela’s finding spot. Every child in China’s Social Welfare Institutions has a finding spot – a place and time where the course of their lives altered. For the ones who are adopted internationally, it was the beginning of gaining a new family but losing their culture. We hurry through Shaoguan’s busy streets for a few minutes and then stop in the middle of a block on a bustling four-lane road. A steep driveway leads up to a building a level above the street. This is the spot, no actually up above. But there is a guard. An animated discussion and we are allowed to walk up. But it’s all changed - a new building has been built on the spot. Lela poses without any sense of recognition, and it doesn’t seem to bother her. The asst. director points out a building across the street and tells us it is a maternity hospital for women and children. If Lela ever decides to seek her past, this will be a starting point. Then we go to visit the finding spot of Lela’s SWI sister, Raeghan. I think we are returning to the SWI when the van stops, the asst. director gets out to take a bus? back. That’s it. We head back out of town. The highway is open going south. As we speed through the mountains and many tunnels, the darkening sky looses a heavy rain, and Lela finally relaxes and curls up to sleep on the seat next to me.
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