Thursday was a warm and hazy late spring afternoon. I was teaching on the fourth floor of Building B, its rusty casement windows open over the rose garden, and from beyond came the voices of students playing basketball and football (soccer, that is) on the beaten earth sports area. The tops of the trees began to sway, and in seconds the wind was rattling the windows. A sandstorm always seems to begin in slow motion. A gauzy layer of dust and sand levitates above the ground, drifting with the wind, and then as it rises higher, it begins to swirl and dance in little tornadoes. Gradually the air fills with a nearly opaque burden of dust. The trees thrash wildly. On this day, the students scattered from the sports field; those lingering in the rose garden sought shelter. In our classroom we quickly latched the windows against the rising storm. It lasted longer than usual, through that class period, through my journey home, on into the early evening. Then, with the quality of mercy, came a gentle rain from heaven. It washed our trees, our streets and even our dust-laden air. Friday dawned clear and bright . . . the perfect day in Lanzhou for golf. What, golf? In Lanzhou? Yes, it’s true!

Ordinarily on Friday afternoons I play badminton with a small group of friends. We take our badminton rather seriously here in Lanzhou. Equipment and apparel occupy a good chunk of every sporting goods store; my friend Sadie had plenty of assistance picking out her own personal racquet.
We play in an indoor arena where we stand out as the noisiest court, laughing and teasing through every set. Other players, all Chinese, are serious and dignified. Winners and losers alike say little.

Today, however, we took advantage of the fine weather to travel to the top of Lanzhou’s highest mountain, Lan Shan, to the Lanzhou Longshou Golf Club.

There is, indeed, enough wealth in this desert town to support a 9-hole golf course at the top of an arid mountain. The clubhouse is beautifully
appointed and air conditioned; the pro shop features Callaway clubs. And if the challenge of the game of golf is in the hazards, this small ravine between the tee and the green of the
second hole certainly qualifies.



No, we didn’t actually play nine holes. We fooled around on the driving range for a couple of hours, predictably making more noise than the sedate Chinese athletes around us.














P.S. The rain on Thursday night created puddles in our rutted side streets. On Friday morning, as we rode the bus to the university, there was a traffic jam in front of the slaughterhouse. As our bus inched forward, we could see that the problem was a crowd of gawkers gathered around two fresh hog carcasses lying in a broad mud puddle. It appeared that the porkers had fallen off the back of someone’s bicycle and their purchaser had ridden on without noticing.