Our plane began to descend through thick cloud. We were about to land in Chicago. All of a sudden I remembered those few pages from the book about the steel tycoon in Chicago, the book I'd found on the street in our commune, years ago now, the one that had stirred up such curiosity in my heart and mind. I longed to see if the little knowledge I had learnt from that book was true about this Paper Tiger country.

Zhang and I got off the plane and collected our luggage. Then we just stood there in our oversized suits and looked around. We didn't know anyone except Ben Stevenson. How would we recognise the person who was supposed to meet us?

People around us collected their luggage, came and went, while we became more and more nervous. What if nobody showed up?

Suddenly I saw some people standing behind some glass windows on a second floor, and there was Ben, jumping up and down like a yo- yo, trying to catch our attention, with a card with my name written on it in Chinese. Zhang and I were overjoyed. Ben came to meet us just outside Immigration.

"Ni hao," he said, one of the few Chinese phrases he knew. "Hello," I replied, one of the few English words I knew.

Ben asked us some questions and I tried to use the words from my dictionary to show him how ecstatic I was, but Ben was just happy to share our excitement with nods and smiles and when we couldn't understand his words we just smiled more and said yes. My dictionary became my best friend from then on, but I had at least learned some expressions already: "Oh dear me" and "Upon my soul". They'd be very useful, I thought. I also knew a few propaganda words and some communist expressions which might come in handy. And although my English was not good, Zhang's was even worse and I ended up translating for him as well.

We boarded a flight to Houston and with Ben by our sides we began to relax. As we flew over the American landscape I noticed how green it was and that it was neatly divided into squares by straight roads and streets. We saw many little square patches of blue too. Ben said they were swimming pools-he mimed swimming and drowning motions with his arms. He made us laugh but I could hardly believe there could be so many swimming pools in just one area. The contrast with the bareness of China was so amazing that I started to wonder once again about America 's prosperity and the stories we'd been told.

When we arrived at Houston Airport we were met by Clare Duncan, head of the Houston Ballet Academy, and two Houston Ballet board members: Preston Frazier, a very tall man who spoke softly, and Richard Holley, a medium-sized man who spoke loudly. They handed Zhang and me a small bunch of native Texas flowers and a cowboy hat each. Zhang and I hesitated. We didn't know whether to accept these gifts or not-we were suspicious. We simply didn't trust these Americans. But I was the assigned leader of the two of us, because my political standing was higher than Zhang's, so eventually I told Zhang to accept the gifts. It was the first time anyone had ever given me fresh flowers.

The Americans' happy smiles also made us nervous. This is not what it is supposed to be like. Something is wrong here. They are our enemies. Behind their smiling faces will be a hidden agenda. I'll find out what it is soon, I said to myself.

Like the inside of the plane, the airport was surprisingly cool. I thought we had been given the wrong information about Houston 's hot weather and I was thankful we had our jackets on. But the pleasurably cool air didn't last long. As soon as we walked outside an intense and humid heat, like a hot wet blanket, overwhelmed us. I found it hard to breathe. Then one of the ballet board members, a woman Ben introduced as Betty Lou Bayless, ushered us into her car and it was cool in there too. Betty Lou was an elegant, softly spoken lady with a kind face. Her car was so comfortable, so smooth. This was the first time I had ever been in a car. Such luxury could only be enjoyed by government officials in China and I felt incredibly privileged. I could hardly contain the excitement in my heart.

When we passed downtown Houston and saw all the modern office buildings and the spectacular skyline I thought to myself, if Houston looks this prosperous, what would New York and Chicago be like? Nothing I had seen so far matched the dark, decaying, depressing picture of America that the Chinese government had painted in my mind. Instead I saw high-rise buildings, wide clean streets, a green and orderly environment. I knew our foreign hosts could maybe fake their behaviour, but they simply couldn't have built these buildings just to impress us. I was confused. Someone had lied to us about America being the poorest nation in the world and China being the richest nation. It seemed to be the opposite. But still I was confident I would eventually find many things about America that I could hate.

We arrived at a large house in a fenced complex with a security gate and guards. Zhang and I were ushered through a big sliding glass door-and my jaw dropped…

I saw a huge room, beautiful beyond belief, with pastel colours, sofas and matching chairs. And mirrors, giant mirrors. There was carpet too-beige, soft and bouncy. To the left I saw a kitchen- and my jaw dropped even lower. A refrigerator stood against the wall, as tall as me and four times as wide. And an electric stove and two sinks. And there seemed to be many other things-gadgets whose purpose I couldn't even imagine. The kitchen was simply enormous. So many wooden cabinets on the walls and under the counter. Has the Western world gone mad with all this? Did they have a robot toilet to wipe their bottoms? I couldn't help myself from being constantly shocked. Everything was new. Even the air smelt new.

Ben showed us around and led us upstairs to our bedroom, which had two single beds in it, a small walk-in closet and the same luxurious carpet as downstairs. There was a chest of drawers and small tables with lamps beside each bed. It even had its own bathroom with a human-sized bathtub! I had never used a bathtub before. Couldn't be more beautiful than a shower. Couldn't be.

That first night in America we were taken to a local Chinese restaurant called "The Mandarin". A Chinese lady greeted us at the door with rather broken Chinese. She wore a long black silk gown and she had a heavily made-up face. I thought she looked more like a Beijing Opera singer, but she smelled so strong! She must have poured a whole bottle of perfume over herself.

The restaurant was very crowded but we were taken to our own private room. Clare Duncan and the two gentlemen we had met at the airport, the quiet Preston and the loud Richard, were there too, as well as two other friends of Ben's, Jack and Marcia. Both Ben and Richard joked throughout the night and made everyone laugh. But Zhang and I knew we were facing six possible class enemies here. We didn't know what attitude we should have towards these people. If this were China they would have been killed or jailed under Mao's regime simply because of their wealth. But here they were, relaxed, joking and laughing like they were having the time of their lives.

We had a couple of tasty Tsingtao beers from my home town, the first time I had ever had one, and as the evening progressed we gradually let our guard down just a little and joined in the fun. Ben ordered many delicious dishes, including Peking Duck. I'd never had Peking Duck before either, and it just melted in my mouth. Here we were, having two Chinese icons right here in America. No one is going to believe me back home, I thought. I noticed too that these Westerners called Beijing " Peking " all the time-even that seemed odd.

Many courses later, Ben asked us if we were still hungry. We didn't understand what he was saying, but we remembered that we had to keep smiling and saying, "Yes, yes!" just as the Chinese officials had told us. But more and more food kept arriving. Eventually I just held my head and shouted, "Oh dear me!" and everyone burst into roars of laughter.