If there’s anything from living in Washington, DC that prepared me for living in Beijing, it has to be spending the previous four and half years living on Georgia Avenue. I know what you’re thinking, ‘But David, Georgia Ave and Beijing are nothing alike.’ Au contraire, mon ami. They very much are. Well, at least in this one very narrow aspect…bad driving maneuvers, specifically U-Turns.

There’s nothing more shocking than walking into the local nut store (yes, there is a local nut store) only to be greeted by a timid ‘ni-hao’ from behind one of these pastel face coverings. Am I speaking to the man in the iron mask or the lovely woman who sold me Turkish pistachios during my first week here? I don’t know because that mask makes it impossible to sort out what’s what.

I was reminded of it early on after our move to Beijing. Dog ownership isn’t a new thing in China, but the rapid rise of it over the last decade has turned it from a novelty into something more commonplace. This is especially true for millennials who have, for several reasons, put off starting a family.

But unlike in the US, where certain, dirtier aspects of pet ownership see both widely held adherence and some level of public opprobrium if not followed, those things are the exception rather than the rule in China.

Here’s the thing. This happens all the time here. A delivery driver calls to say they’ve dropped off our dinner at the front desk; after providing the necessary signal that I don’t speak the language, they continue anyway. At a restaurant or grocery store, there’s an exchange in which it becomes clear that you don’t and won’t likely understand. Yet, they continue, undaunted by your lack of comprehension.

But there are things that folks would be less used to, even if they do live in a big city. As I’ve described in previous posts, they’re everywhere and go in every direction. Any surface on which they can make progress toward their endpoint is useable. They sneak up on you, though. Most are electric and barely make a sound. They whir along at ungodly speeds in the tightest of spaces making hardly any noise. Heads must always be on a swivel.

I didn’t care. At that stage of my college life, I thought it was cool not to be into anything mainstream. We had a great foreign film series every semester, and I absolutely loved it. First of all, it was free. And second, it was an excellent way to figure out if the chick you were trying to holler at was willing to expand her horizons.

Like jaywalking and lack of salt in our food, it has been one the constants of our short time here in Beijing. Old men, and it’s almost always old men, sitting on the banks of the restored river casting a line in hopes of catching whatever swims in the waters below.

One of three things happens when white folks find out I’m Iranian-American. It’s like clockwork, and I can usually predict people's responses just by looking at them. I’ve gotten so used to them that I’ve been disappointed when my assumptions are proven incorrect, and none of the potential outcomes occur.

Before me was a man that can only be described as a Chinese version of The Dude from The Big Lebowski–disheveled hair, a scruffy five-day shadow that probably took a month to grow, a ratty, holey t-shirt, shorts that just as easily could have been boxers, and flip flops that likely doubled as house shoes. I am convinced he had a robe, but that’s likely chalked up to projection.

So it should come as no surprise that the prevalence of jaywalking in Beijing shook my American sensibilities to their core. I mean, folks, when I first arrived, it felt like it was a god damned free for all on the side streets of Beijing.

But, I’ve been stuck on the odd number of slices thing for the last few weeks. What’s going on there? Is there a culture of eating half a sandwich? Piling in all the goodies and then trying to keep it all contained inside a single slice of bread folded over? Do they prefer open-faced sandwiches or tartines?

But here’s the thing, even in the places you’d expect to respect the sodium requirement of a cultural-casserole-esque palette, I’ve been let down.

If patience were an actual virtue, we’d be the most virtuous couple on the planet. After a five-week wait, we’ve finally sorted our wifi mess and, my brothers and sisters, it is the most glorious thing ever. The Luddites among you will shake their heads, the rest of humanity, the people capable of emotions, they’ll understand completely. Yes, yes, yes, I’m overreacting. One may even suggest this is all hyperbole, but what were we going to do if we couldn’t join Threads?

Settling is as settling does. A few days shy of a full month in the Chinese capital of Beijing and the settling is certainly threatening to move from subplot to main theme. We’re told, at some point, the whole exercise becomes an afterthought, an exercise from a bygone era of transition. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Moving to a place like Beijing has been a bit like parenthood. Everyone already here or with extensive experience has their own tidbits to share. Go here, use this app, hire this person, etc. It’s up to you to sort out which morsel will fit your needs. Because what works for some folks may not work for you. And that’s okay.

We’re well into our second week in Beijing and each day, we’re getting ever closer to the ever-elusive idea of being settled. Our US phones are still not functioning properly, which sucks, but is ultimately fine as we’ve sorted out basic communications with friends and family. We did finally get a food ordering app set up on our Chinese phones and that has been a game changer.

Beijing is a pleasantly odd place. It is both familiar and foreign. It is, at times, an assault on your sensibilities while at the same time accommodating them. It takes whatever limits you may have set for yourself and gently prods you to test them.