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.

It was around 3 pm when the rain cleared, and the sun crept out from behind sodden clouds. I rechecked the forecast. No rain in sight, and temperatures would hover around 75 degrees. Perfect soccer weather. It would be hot, humid, and nearly unbearable on a typical mid-summer day in Beijing. The Footballing Gods had approved of my plans.

Almost immediately from the restart, the lifeline that the match had needed was either found in the locker room or in some moment of inspiration on the pitch, I could tell this forty-five minutes would be different.

The most glaring one is that the local club opened their newly rebuilt stadium just in time for the beginning of the season. Beijing Guoan spent the previous three seasons at a temporary ground in the west of the city. And this new stadium, built on the grounds of the old one, was purpose-built for the beautiful game. As anyone would imagine, the buzz around the new ground led to a sellout for the opening match back in April and that sentiment has continued ever since.

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.