Nanjing, China, Sept. 15, 2003 - Caroline is in her new mother's arms. She stiffens her back, opens her eyes wide and scans the faces around her. She blinks, startled, on cue with camera flashes.

I see her on the display of the camcorder. This is the moment, now preserved digitally, for which my wife Diane and I have traveled more than 7,000 miles. As of today, she is our daughter. Later this week, the Chinese government will make the adoption official.

Caroline is eight months old when she lands in our arms. Abandoned one day after her birth, she has lived in an orphanage in the city of Taizhou, which is about three hours by car from Nanjing, where we are now. We stand in the elevator lobby of our hotel floor as she and nine other babies from the same orphanage land in the waiting arms of expectant parents. The orphanage workers were supposed to bring the babies to our rooms, but they didn't make it that far.

China, a long way away
Our adoption journey started with a conversation. It took two minutes, maybe three, for Diane and I to decide we would adopt a Chinese baby. Then came months of interviews, seminars, recommendation letters from friends, fingerprinting, and mountains of paperwork. And a lot of waiting.

The SARS crisis came and went, pushing back our trip to China a few weeks. On August 4, we got a call from our adoption agency, Brightside, to tell us six-month-old Tai Xiang Zhi was awaiting us at the Taizhou Social Welfare Institute. Expect to travel within six weeks, we were told.

We received pictures the next day and fell in love with our baby as we scrutinized every last pixel. We loved everything about the little round face, the comical tuft of hair atop her otherwise bald head, the rosebud mouth, the big dark eyes, the full cheeks.

When we weren't gazing at the pictures or sending electronic copies over the Internet to everyone we knew, we made preparations: Buying diapers, baby clothes and medicine, inquiring about the weather (hot and humid), and waiting eagerly for travel approval from the Chinese government.

Approval came and we set our travel itinerary, which had us going through Hong Kong for a day-and-half layover (See accompanying story). On Sept. 11, we flew from New York to Chicago, then to Hong Kong. Fourteen hours after leaving Chicago, after flying over Canada toward the North Pole, past the International Dateline (where we lost 12 hours) and into China over Siberia and Mongolia, we saw the turquoise waters of the South China Sea and the rolling hills of Hong Kong.

We left Hong Kong Sept. 14 to Nanjing, where the concrete coldness of the airport was a shocking contrast to Hong Kong's ultramodern feel. It is as if the Dragon Air Airbus had traveled back in time to the early 1970s. Anna, a Brightside representative, met us at the airport. Two other families who were adopting were on our flight, and we rode together in a van provided by the adoption agency to the Ramada Plaza in the city center, where we later met the rest of the 10 families who would be receiving their baby girls the next day.

Nanjing, capital of Jiangsu Province, is a historically significant city. It was the southern capital of China at the beginning of the Ming dynasty and the site of natural disasters, peasant rebellions and even utter destruction at the hands of the Sui dynasty. In 1937, Nanjing's population suffered greatly under attack by the Japanese. The city's Datusha Jinianguan memorial is a somber reminder of the siege.

From the airport, we got into the city center through working-class neighborhoods where bicycles remain a popular means of transportation. The air is thick and gray, but as in Hong Kong, the roads are smooth as silk. In the city center, KFC and McDonald's restaurants coexist with local shops.

Gotcha day
At breakfast on Monday morning, Sept. 15, anticipation curbs appetites. It is "gotcha day," adoption lingo for the day you get your baby. Rumors that the babies have arrived start circulating our floor just after 10 a.m. We were told to stay in our rooms, but when cries emanate from the elevator lobby, we grab the camera and rush over. Seconds later we see the little face from the pictures. Xiang Zhi, our little Caroline, is handed to Diane. She's wearing the same one-piece pajama as in the pictures.

Back in the room, Caroline passes back and forth between Diane's arms and mine. She can't sit up yet, but she slinks around the bed to reach for the toy cups and oversized multicolored worm we've brought her. She submits to her new parents' adoration with quiet, wide-eyed stoicism. She is hearing English for the first time and being nestled in the arms of people who look nothing like the faces she is used to. Her surroundings have changed. Yet, not a whimper from her.

Minutes, maybe hours, pass before her eyelids grow heavy and she falls asleep on the bed, lying between Diane and me. Her nap is short and tumultuous; she rolls, sighs, moans and rolls again.

We spend most of the rest of the day in the room. During a meeting with the parents in the afternoon, the orphanage director tells us through an interpreter about our babies: food habits, daily naps, night feedings. The director also tells us we will be allowed to visit the orphanage the next day. This is unexpected; no group of parents has ever gotten this level of access. Tuesday morning, parents and babies pile into a bus to Taizhou. Caroline sleeps most of the way. The bus is alive with baby giggles, whimpers, cries and lots of parental cooing. Parents share stories of their first night with baby. Caroline had broken her silence during dinnertime, when she started to shake her head, giggle and make "da da" sounds. She cried for the first time in the early morning hours and we gave her a bottle.

Lunch is the first order of business in Taizhou. Between the bus and the restaurant we become a local sensation, as evidenced by the reaction of passersby. For many, this is the first time they see Westerners and some actually stop dead in their tracks to stare intensely.

The lunch is nothing short of a banquet. Consisting of at least 20 courses, it includes beef, salt-cured ham, vegetable platters, duck, crab, prawns and even a bass-like fish from the Yangtze River. The thick brown water of the river over which we passed on our way from Nanjing floods my mind's eye. But I eat the fish anyway. I even try the fish heads served toward the end of the meal. Not bad.

Lunch was more than just a meal. It was a quintessentially Chinese expression of respect and affinity by the orphanage director.

A cold dose of reality
At the orphanage, we see two nurseries, one with newborns and another with older babies. No pictures allowed. The older-baby nursery contains 32 Spartan large cribs with metal railings. Naptime is about to start, so some babies have fallen asleep while others look drowsy. One big-cheeked girl stands holding on to the railing and scans her visitors with interest. The newborn nursery has larger cribs with three babies apiece. Naturally, this bunch is less active. Most of them sleep.

Both nurseries are spotless, antiseptic even.

We stand by the crib Caroline had occupied, already taken up by another baby. This no-frills crib was our baby's home for eight months. Diane and I stand there letting the cold brutality of that reality sink in. I suspect the other parents feel the same. What, in Fate's grand plan, determined that these particular babies should start their lives in this particular place?

Caroline remains stoic through the visit. But is her little mind wondering if she is being returned?

Visiting the orphanage has a sobering effect. Ten babies have just been given homes. But there are so many more.

Back in Nanjing the next day, we do some sightseeing and shopping. We visit Hunan Road, a neon-clad shopping district a few blocks from the hotel. Jade and pearls are common staples on the shop windows here. Clothing is cheap by American standards, so we do a little shopping. Diane stocks up on $4-a-pair shoes for Caroline. We have pizza, California style no less, at one of the many Hunan Road restaurants.

Back on the street, Caroline enjoys the sights from a Snugli pouch hanging from my shoulders. Passersby constantly stop us to coo at her and occasionally they want to take pictures. People of all ages take an interest in our baby, and we notice the same with the other babies in our group. How odd. Here we are picking up abandoned Chinese babies but it is obvious that Chinese people adore children. (Child abandonment in China is primarily attributed to the government's one-child policy. Girls are considered less desirable, so more than 90 percent of the abandoned babies are female.)

On a visit to Zijin Shan, an expansive, meticulously manicured park where the first Ming emperor is buried, we notice the same fascination with our babies by the locals. Sometimes the fascination is directed at us, this small group of Westerners in the midst of so many Chinese faces. More picture-taking.

We spend a couple of hours at Zijin Shan walking toward the tomb but never make it there. There is a lot of climbing and we stop at various monuments along the way, so when the oppressive heat starts to make babies and parents cranky, we decide to turn back. Nevertheless, it is a worthy excursion amid tapestries of bright flowers and elegant shade trees.

We then head to the Nanjing Museum, where we cool off and take in the extensive collection of jade, porcelain, ceramics, textiles and stone figures. Some of the exhibits date back 5,000 years to the Neolithic age. The biggest eye-catcher is a 2,000-year-old shroud from the Eastern Han dynasty consisting of 2,600 green jade rectangles held together with silver wire.

Making it official
On Friday morning the 10 families in our group head to a government office for the final step in making our adoptions official. One by one, each family meets with an official who asks why we chose to adopt a Chinese baby. We promise to never mistreat or abandon our babies. The interviews take less than five minutes. For the bureaucrat it is routine, but for us it is another momentous occasion in a week full of milestones.

We leave the building as a family, officially. Now we have only one more hurdle to clear - swearing our baby in as a US citizen. For that we go to Guangzhou, the Southern China city that westerners historically called Canton.

Our transfer to Guangzhou on Saturday morning starts with a setback. The bus that is supposed to transport us and several other families to the airport never shows, so we scramble for taxis. We still manage to get to the airport with time to spare, and after a mad scramble to get boarding passes for Caroline and us, we finally board the China Southern Airbus to Guangzhou. Then, another milestone: Caroline's first plane ride.

On arrival at the sweltering heat in Guangzhou, where the aircraft's wings look as if they would slash the apartment buildings piled up alongside the runway, we have another setback. We never find the hotel bus, so we hire a cramped van that somehow manages to get eight adults, three babies and lots of baggage to the White Swan Hotel.

Five-star adoption haven
The White Swan, China's first five-star hotel towers grandly in the Shamian Island section of Guangzhou, overlooking the Pearl River. It is a haven for adopting families. We encounter dozens of families who have picked up babies in various parts of China and are waiting for their swearing-in appointments at the U.S. consulate. The hotel offers special rates to adoptive parents and has a carpeted playroom full of toys. We stay in a luxurious suite with a comfortable seating room and a bathroom full of marble. Next to our bed is a crib where Caroline spends her last nights in China.

Our consulate appointment is on Tuesday afternoon, so we have two full days of mostly free time. Guangzhou has a lot to see. Sunday morning I take a walk along the Pearl River before the heat sets in. At Wenhua Gongyuan (Culture Park) and assorted places along the river, a morning ritual is taking place - Tai Chi. Most of the people doing the exercises seem to be middle age and older. I stop a few moments to watch the grace of elder couples moving in perfect fluidity and choreography.

Farther out from the hotel, I amble past Western-style buildings with Roman columns and arched windows. Guanghzou has a long history of contact with the West, and by the time the Portuguese established trade with it in the 1500s, it had already been an international port for at least 800 years. The Western-style buildings, once occupied primarily by French and British businesses, are now mostly government offices. Amid this splash of Europeanism is Shishi Jiaotang, or Sacred Heart Church, a Catholic church that was restored in the 1980s after about three decades of abandonment.

Eventually, I make my way to Qingping Shichang, a bustling collection of market stalls and small shops occupying alleys and side streets a few blocks away from the White Swan. For sale are dried goods, spices, herbs, vegetables, fruits, jade pearls and live animals and insects. One of the most common sights is containers of small live scorpions that, when boiled, are believed to have healing qualities. Also common are the gasps of Westerners when visiting for the first time.

I feel no compulsion to buy anything at the market, but I return two more times in subsequent days. Each time, the shop and stall keepers, clearly used to Westerners regarding the market as a curiosity rather than a place of business, seem mostly indifferent to our presence.

Back at the hotel, Diane and I take Caroline to the White Swan's winding swimming pool, which features a running waterfall. Caroline enjoys the cool water and quickly figures out how to splash water with her feet and hands. Each time we return to the pool in subsequent days, she seems to enjoy it more and more. This is an encouraging sign for a father who dreams about the beach all year.

On Tuesday afternoon, the 10 families in our group file into the U.S. consulate, within walking distance of the White Swan. We mill around in a confused mess of people waiting to have some documents stamped. After a rather unceremonious ceremony in which we raise our right hands to swear our children in as U.S. citizens, our adoption-related activities come to an end.

That evening the families have a last meal as a group and celebrate the birthday of a girl whose parents have just gotten her a little Chinese sister. We gather at the White Swan's River Garden Barbecue, an outdoor restaurant with tables overlooking the Pearl. We dine on grilled duck, steak, prawns, pork and a medley of succulent vegetables and side dishes. Dinner rivals that of the previous evening, when we dined on grilled eel and pickled octopus at the hotel's Hirata Japanese Restaurant.

Wednesday is our first completely free day and our last day in China. Diane opts for rest and shopping with baby in tow. I join a few of the families on a tour of Guangzhou. We stop at an artisan shop where artists hand-paint traditional Chinese ceramics, the Buddhist Temple of the Six Banyan Trees, (Liurong Si) and the Chen Family Temple (Chenjia Si), an art museum dedicated to Chen heritage. Chen is one of the most common names in Guangdong Province, of which Guangzhou is the capital, and families of that name donated money to build the temple.

Built in 537AD, the Temple of the Six Banyan Trees features a 17-story pagoda and several altars with statues of the Buddha. One altar has three giant 17th century bronze statues and another has a statue of the Buddha with feminine features, sculpted that way to appeal to female adherents. The Chinese are not particularly religious, but I notice a stream of non-tourist temple visitors making the altar rounds and lighting incense sticks.

After the tour, more pool time with Caroline. After that, we pack for our return to the United States. That night, Caroline has one of those rare evenings when she refuses to go to sleep by testing her vocal chords and our hearing. Diane finally manages to calm her down and sleep. In the morning she is all smiles again and manages to keep her good disposition through the flight back to Hong Kong and most of the 14-hour flight to Chicago. She sleeps all the way from Chicago to LaGuardia but stays wide-eyed on the car ride home. Our friends Scott and Michele have picked us up at the airport and brought us dinner. Caroline falls asleep on Scott's lap.

Over the next week, we readjust to the 12-hour change. It is especially hard for the baby, who keeps wanting to snooze during the day and play at night.

Home on Long Island
It's 6:20 p.m., a weekday. I open the front door. I haven't seen Caroline since I left for work this morning. She sits in her high chair, evidence of her trying to feed herself dinner shows on her cheeks, nose, even her hair. As I come in, she spots me, waves her plastic spoon at me and breaks into an expansive smile.

For more information on adopting a baby in China, visit: http://www.brightsideadoption.org/china/index.html



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