Of the many shocks in returning to the United States, none will be as difficult to bear as our reduced standard of living. And to add insult to injury, we also face a lowered social status.

I would not have guessed that in Communist China, we would be living like aristocracy. When I imagined our life here, I pictured myself in a cold, dreary, cement apartment, eating three meals of rice a day, sleeping on a lumpy mattress, fighting off mosquitos at least, and rats at worst. Instead, we have one of the nicest apartments of my life, with fresh white walls, hardwood floors and tons of natural light. Any yuppie in Cambridge would be proud to live here. We have an endless variety of delicious food, primarily Chinese, but when we tire of that, we can eat homemade mozzarella and rich tiramisu at Rocco's Italian restaurant.

What makes this high life possible is that by local standards, we are rich. (And really, what other standards are there when it comes to wealth?) More significant than having the money is the freedom with which we spend it. We have no illusions about saving money (total income for the year will be just over $3000) and we spend it with less regret than a child feels when standing before and ice cream truck. Since nothing is too expensive, we never feel that we can't get whatever we want.

Sometimes it seems that we are living in the world of "The Talented Mr. Ripley." We're not quite so young (or attractive) as those characters, but we do have the carefree attitude of people enjoying a life of luxury among others much less well to do. I'm sure that some of the people here feel resentful of our privilege, and I can't say I blame them. But at least to our faces, people treat us very kindly. We have made some friends, for sure, but even total strangers are inexplicably nice to us.

Many people are also unnervingly curious. Each time I leave our apartment, I have to remind myself that almost anything I do will be a source of fascination for someone. The works crews on our residence grounds will put down their rakes, or rest their wheelbarrows just to watch me walk to the bike shed. Occasionally, one of them will be brave enough to call out "Hello," and when I answer, they react with the kind of astonishment I would feel if I were to whistle in the woods and hear a bird sing back in response.

I must confess here to being one of those people who has always wanted to be famous. Not famous for anything in particular, just somebody who is widely known and admired for... well for just about anything. China has unexpectedly given me that opportunity, since we are in a sense, famous for being The Foreigners.

I have to think of it as fame, because we receive the kind of treatment that you associate with celebrities. We get asked to appear before auditoriums full of strangers. When we arrive, the room explodes in applause. People hang on our every word, despite the fact that most of them have no idea what we're saying. And after we're done, we are given gifts, and surrounded by feverish autograph seekers.

When we visit a public park, people with cameras ask to have their pictures taken with us. Chance acquaintances lead to dinner engagements. If I were younger and single, the dating potential would be awesome. I have been asked to become business partners with a young man who promised to raise 1,000,000 yuan for investing in any project of my liking. We had spoken for less than two hours before he made this proposal.

I realize this is nothing particular to us, and that forces me to remain humble. Practically all foreigners here get this treatment; we've done nothing special to deserve it. And as much as I enjoy the attention, the absurdity of it does not escape me. Perhaps all fame is necessarily this shallow; isn't fame essentially being admired by people who know next to nothing about you?

That's not to say that it isn't still pleasant. And despite the awkwardness of having people stare, being the center of attention and knowing you will not be criticized, is a great confidence builder. One of the things we dreaded before coming to China was the prospect of being called upon to sing in public, something we were warned would be a common occurrence. But what we've discovered is that, despite being much worse singers than anyone else we've heard, no one is ever less than delighted when we belt out a verse or two of "Oh Susanna" or "I've Been Workin' On The Railroad." Performing publicly without reproach, no matter how badly, is a very liberating experience.

We have also felt the freedom to take part in activities far outside our stateside range. Earlier this month, we ran in a road race, supporting Beijing's bid for the 2008 Olympics. (No, I don't see the connection either.) I can't even run a city block without getting winded, but everyone assured us that just showing up was all that was important. It was certainly important to all the photographers and TV stations that aimed their cameras at us. It seemed equally important to the 10,000 other people who ran, many of whom commended our participation in their campaign. As it turned out, there were so many people packed onto the road, and such a short distance to cover, that most of our time on the one kilometer course was spent walking. But regardless of our modest achievement, our faces still showed up on the evening news.

We have the luxury here of being rewarded for our intentions, not our performance. It doesn't matter if we do something well, only that we make the effort. This is not the real world for most people in China, or anywhere else that I can imagine. It is the self-esteem movement gone amok. When people write to us from the US, telling us how brave we are to have come to China, admitting they would never be able to do something like this, I have to feel that they are missing the big picture. We are treated here like spoiled children, smiled upon in success and failure alike. I can't imagine another situation that could give such great rewards for such modest accomplishments.

Is it any surprise then, with only days left before we return to the US, we are thinking less about Cambridge and more about coming back to Kunming?