The first Chinese rose I planted weeks ago finally blossomed. With multiple layers of velvet red pedals, the rose has a funny name: Buda Senator. I guess "Buda" is short for "Budapest". But why senator?

When I ordered the roses online, I was intrigued partly by their names. "Madame Black" is a dark beauty. But why should "Mr Lincoln" be of the same color? The "Acrobat" has bright yellow pedals inside layers of pink. Did the botanist who invented it fancy that the colors could leap and dangle on a thin wire in mid-air?

Taobao.com, one of the country's online private business portals, offers a dazzling array of choices from diapers to bed covers and remote-controlled toy helicopters. We've bought books, porcelain, phone cards and mosquito nets from Taobao.

Part of the fun of online shopping rests in its unpredictable nature, an excitement that you won't get from department stores or a flea market.

After spending nights pondering over the colors and prices of flowers, we finally sent the order both online and via the phone. A man who spoke softly and musically promised he'd choose the best flowers for us.

I was very curious how the plants could be packaged and survive the journey across thousands of miles from East China's Zhejiang province to Beijing. Four days later, an express delivery man knocked on the door, carrying a 2-m long, 40-cm broad box on his shoulder.

It was about to rain, but I couldn't wait for another moment to see my treasure. We cut the layers of adhesive tape and found all our roses, winter jasmines, bamboos, one small tree of Chinese prickly ash and a wintersweet pressed tight in separate plastic bags. There was hardly any soil on their roots.

My friend, who ordered flowers with us, dug pits on the flower bed along the balcony. I tried pressing down the roots deeply, then lifting them a bit in the soil, believing that the roots needed space and time to adjust to the soil, water, air and sun of northern China.

An old story says that when the sweet and plump tangerines from the southern bank of the Yangtze River are planted on the northern bank, the fruits become small and bitter. This centuries-old wisdom still applies to our balcony.

The "Buda Senator" is the only rose that has blossomed. All our neighbors who bought local varieties from flower markets are enjoying huge blossoms - and I never see them bending over to attend to their plants.

To help the vines of several roses grow into flowering curtains, I asked my parents to find branches during their daily walk. They came back with a bundle of firewood, among which was a Chinese toon that has been deserted by the road for weeks and burned on the tip. Its remaining roots reached out like claws, I could spot green under its brown skin.

I planted it by the "Buda Senator". After the rain this week, a dozen leaves have propped up. With flowers, we probably shouldn't have let fancy take our nose. By the road, there are plenty of plants that will thrive with a bit of care.