Everyone's been struck by the continuing altruism and idealism of
young Chinese who flocked to quake-devastated Sichuan province to
help, any which way they can. For some Americans the scene evokes
almost a kind of latter-day Chinese Woodstock. Jennifer Conrad
recently got a taste of life among the volunteers:

     I flew to Sichuan a couple days ago, and met a twenty-something girl
from Guangxi province. Smart and witty, she had shaggy bangs and
wore blue pointy-toed snearkers. She told me she'd come from Beijing,
where she now lives and works, to help out with quake relief efforts.

     And she's found plenty to do, traveling to the affected areas to
assess needs and then returning to Chengdu each day. She also
helps foreign relief groups handle the logistics of working in China.
She'd seen a town cut in half by a landslide and temporary shelters
built with whatever could be scavenged, including pieces of
old billboards. During one trip, a group of children saluted the
volunteers' car as it drove into town.

      She stays in an apartment that was rented by a guy from Beijing so
that volunteers could have a free place to stay. She took me back to the house
where a bunch of guys were smoking cigarettes and sharing a big meal.
Several of them were shirtless; they sat around in shorts, looking
like they'd been through some hard days of work. A few others were
sacked out on the couch watching TV. About a dozen guys were sharing
the place;  three women stayed in a separate bedroom.

     The volunteers--most in their 20s and early 30s--had come from all
over China, taking hard-seat trains to Chengdu to do whatever they
could to help out. One of the leaders I met had spent several days
pulling people out of the rubble. None of them was willing to be
interviewed or photographed. They said they didn't want to be
famous--I'm not sure how much of it was modesty and how much was
nervousness about talking to a foreign journalist. But they were all
excited to have an American girl around. I spent 15 minutes posing
for photos with them--some haven't met many foreigners.

      The apartment had a sort of college-dorm feel, with empty beer bottles
clustered in one corner and minimal furniture. There's been some
drama, too: The woman who took me to the apartment told me she got
into a fight with one of the guys the night before. He'd claimed her
experiences couldn't match his, saving people who were trapped in the rubble.
She brushed it off, though, attributing the oneupmanship to too many beers and
the stress of work.

     On the wall was a giant communist party flag that all the volunteers had signed.
Apparently, this was their second such flag--the first one had already been completely
covered with signatures. A few hours earlier, I met an expat who was
coordinating some relief efforts. He said there's been tremendous support
from the foreign community in Chengdu, but the majority of volunteers are
coming from within China. The young woman who showed me around told me
her experience had been incredible; she wishes she could stay longer.
It's inspiring to see so many young people -- without a plan or a ton of cash --
showing up to do whatever they can.