One thing that hit me when I first got off the plane in Qingdao was the way it smelled. The sense of smell is neurologically linked to one's memory (the same receptors are found in both the olfactory bulb and the hipocampus, the site of memory and learning), but I had forgotten how powerful this connection can be. That smell that I associate with China, kind of a combination of dust, gasoline, people, and chinese food hit me in the warm evening I came and hasn't left; it permeates every street corner and sidewalk, and even the pores of my skin. I had forgotten it, but now I remember how much I smelled that scent in Beijing, it's not really a bad smell, just different. It's funny, when people ask me to describe what is so different about China, or even about Philadelphia, I am generally at a loss of words. Sure, I know they are very different, but I can't necessarily describe how. But now that I think about it, it's in those subtle ways-- the scent of the air, the street, even the chalkboard that makes China seem so foreign, and ultimately, makes it so real I am not in the United States.