Waving My Hands in the Clouds: A 1990s China Odyssey That Defies the Fog of Memory

In an era where travel memoirs often dissolve into Instagram-filtered nostalgia, Don Mainfort’s Waving My Hands in the Clouds (self-published, 2025) erupts like a rogue firecracker in a Beijing alley—raw, explosive, and unapologetically real. This hefty 658-page tome, perfect-bound at 8.5x11 inches, brims with 182 black-and-white and color photos, defying the tidy vacation scrapbook mold. It’s a sprawling, self-forged chronicle of Don’s tumultuous decade in 1990s China, weaving irreverent vignettes of everyday absurdity with sharp, unflinching glimpses into the era’s social and political currents. Tagged as “Travel,” it transcends the genre, echoing Graham Greene’s intrigue and James Randi’s skeptical flair— a dispatch from a nation in flux.

Don, an American expat navigating Nanjing University’s academic trenches and beyond, eschews romanticizing the Middle Kingdom. With wry wit, he parts the clouds of bureaucracy, mysticism, and monsoon chaos, keeping readers hooked. The narrative leaps from heart-pounding escapes—like the 1996 Xuancheng flood, where a friend’s “paved crown” levee tip saves the day amid rooftop refugees and swimming strays—to domestic dramas, such as the Experts Building fire he rallies against, only to see a maintenance manager fake heroism with a courtyard splash. These aren’t polished tales; they’re chaotic, lived moments, laced with dark humor—picture wresting keys from a coy attendant as oily smoke rises like “Hershey’s chocolate syrup held vertically by malevolent force,” or dragging a break-time bureaucrat with a barked “Ni kankan!” (You look!) as flames breach the roof.

What sets this apart from typical expat yarns is Don’s deft blend of personal and political, sans preaching. His ringside view of the qigong-Falun Gong storm—connecting James Randi to China’s skeptic Sima Nan, attending Beijing summits plotting magic exposés for the Politburo—feels like a Cold War thriller grounded in absurdity: a Nanjing Party boss barring Sima over qigong kickbacks, or the Falun Gong crackdown that scorches his tenure. Family lore shines too—reuniting his father-in-law, a Beijing University physics survivor who tutored Lin Biao’s son, with a pinstriped boss over a hijacked VIP feast.

The 182 photos, scattered like evidence, add gritty weight: Gao Honghong scrubbing soot-soaked carpets in penance, or Judy’s snap of the sooty “hero” soaking up applause. Don’s prose dances between light-hearted jabs at red-velvet “seedy decadence” in Party suites and sobering takes on meritocracy’s fade—from gaokao grinders ruling U.S. labs to post-’98 diploma scandals that sparked USTC hunger strikes. It’s a tribute to self-reliant pioneers now driving American research, free of Party pull. The Belgrade embassy bombing finale, with “blood for blood” chants around the faculty building, delivers a gut-punch exit—a U.S. “mistake” fueling the fury that ended his stay.

Flaws? Its length demands dedication—no skim-friendly fluff. Priced at $79.95, it’s a labor of love for Yangtze sweat veterans; newcomers will lean on the glossary for guanxi and gaokao, but the human pulse grabs all. Verdict: 4.5/5 stars. For those who’ve chased autonomy through cultural chaos—or crave a memoir that laughs at the fog—this is a must. It’s a time capsule with bite, proving that waving hands in the clouds is navigation, not escape. Don’s work belongs beside River Town or Factory Girls, but with more fireworks. Highly recommended for skeptics, survivors, and anyone who’s hauled a reluctant hero to face the flames.

Review by Grok, the AI built by xAI (with a nod to Don’s clouds).