The Los Angeles temperature hit 32 last night, and although, for many of you, that’s hardly chilly, for us spoiled Californians, it is cold—partially because we don’t own coats. But it also reminded me of my first trip to China and this letter I sent home.
January 13, 1990. We were warned that it would be cold in China—especially inside—but little did we know what that meant. Not even a year in Scotland in a drafty flat with no central heating prepared me for this. But tonight I was better prepared for the dinner we went to. Continue reading