His steel-grey hair was cropped in a crew cut, and his manner was energetic as he indicated different works of art with precise movements. The lady in the flowered blouse and brown pants who stood at his side was his wife. I didn't at first pay much attention to them because, as a language professor, I was fascinated by the beautiful Mandarin characters on the scroll he was displaying.

I didn't realize then that this inconspicuous Chinese couple would play the lead roles in a very special memory of this Olympic summer.

The day was lovely. I savored my orange Popsicle as I wandered along a white-stucco wall, noticing plants and Chinese architectural details.

I then came to an open door. A weathered bronze sign nearby read: "Artistic and calligraphy work." There were many more Chinese characters below, which unfortunately I could not read.

The narrow passageway opened onto a small courtyard with a covered passageway on three sides, but my view of the fourth side was blocked by two huge "rockeries" - or large sculptures of pitted white boulders. Samples of very old calligraphy mounted under glass were hung on the walls along the covered passageway.

Then I noticed, between the boulders, a small pathway of white stepping stones. A man appeared on the pathway, pointed to some Chinese characters painted in red on the boulders, then gestured for me to follow.

He led me to a building that was so small the rockery had hidden it. Inside a young woman showed me old drawings of Beijing from the 1920s and 30s. A saleswoman told me they were the work of a famous Beijing artist, and I purchased a small scroll.

As I left, the couple was also leaving, accompanied by a man whom I thought was a chauffeur or escort. As I followed them across the threshold and courtyards, the grey-haired man spoke. The first comments were perfunctory, but he clearly wanted a response from me. He gestured back in the direction of the small building, spoke with greater volume, and finally pantomimed, becoming more frustrated with each attempt.

Finally he looked directly at me, and he asked his most urgent question: "Zhongguoren haoma?" I slowly smiled at him, held up one hand and said: "Chinese people are very good." Then I held up the other hand and I said: "American people are very good." Then I took his hand between my two, held it for a moment, and emphasized, "Chinese. Americans. friends!"

The smile that lighted his face was beautiful to behold, and the satisfaction on his face was heartwarming. I saw amazement in his eyes as he saw and understood the concern and reassurance in my glance.

As he processed my sincerity and realized the import of my words, the moment deepened, and, for just a second or two, time stopped.

Two strangers from different cultures peered beyond preconceptions and generalizations and liked what they saw. Shortly afterward we reached the lake and my new friend and I parted, but we had just shared one of the most moving moments in my life.

(China Daily 08/27/2008 page20)