I once bought something that I believed was ginger. The peasant put several pieces on the scale, but I wanted only one. He stared at me, wondering whether I was joking, and started to laugh. The others came over and he told them that the lao wai (foreigner) wanted only one piece. What was so funny?

Surrounding me, they asked: "Ni shi bu shi meiguo ren?" (Are you American?). Could the Americans buy a single piece but not the other nationalities, I wondered?

As I insisted, they consulted amongst themselves, finally deciding to charge me "2 mao". Once at home, I realized that the ginger had no odor at all: What I had bought was a kind of small, wild potato.

Another experience that taught me a good lesson involved rice. In the early 1990s, ration coupons were still necessary for staples such as cereals (including bread, cookies), oil and meat.

Not being a Chinese with a Beijing hukou (residence permit), I had no tickets, but my students gave me some as they ate at the university cafeteria. But at the State-owned grain store, the woman wouldn't sell me the rice. She tried to explain something that I guessed was "Where did you get these tickets? You are not Chinese, you can't buy."

I insisted with gestures, in French, Italian and English, but I was talking to a wall. Then, she took me by the sleeve and, as I expected, threw me out. Outside, she pointed at a restaurant across the street. To make it short, once more the mistake was mine. I had asked for "mi fan", which means "steamed rice ready to eat", while she was selling raw rice or "da mi".

Coming to China, I wanted to experience a new life. How could one know the taste of something exotic without taking a bite? That's why I always recommend that newcomers take buses instead of taxis, visit vegetable markets instead of sending their maids to shop for food, and mix with locals instead of sticking with the foreign community.

Mistakes are inevitable and, sure, embarrassing, but they are our best teachers.