We ran to many places to accomplish the feat of listing our son's name in our household registration (hukou) in Beijing.

On a recent morning, I braved a downpour of slanting rain and gusts of wind in Iowa City in the United States to hand in my health insurance documents, start payment and tax procedures, get my university ID card photo and apply for the vital social security number (SSN).

As a visiting scholar to the University of Iowa, I'm still fumbling in the maze of the US system. But once I stop complaining and step out of my comfort zone, what would seem to be irritating red tape is actually not that hard to handle.

Even today, many Chinese rely on their work units (danwei) for housing, healthcare and even their children's education.

My trips to Japan as a student and Thailand as a journalist didn't prepare me, either, as my Asian hosts took care of everything.

When it came to the US, I've been caught up in a kid of bureaucratic culture shock, the remedy for which is for me to become a "go-getter".

Applying for a visa was an odyssey in itself. It took several nights on the US embassy's website to complete the process, as the Web pages automatically shut down if you pause for a few minutes.

Imagine my anxiety when it dawned on me that I had to pay the so-called SEVIS fee to get a J-1 visa. In two days, I would face the embassy's visa officer.

Thanks to modern technology and my credit card, I managed to get this done just in time.

The US embassy in Beijing is like the train station before Spring Festival. But the crowd was quiet and only an hour and a half later, I was face-to-face with a blue-eyed American officer.

"Are you married? Do you have a child?" he asked in perfect Mandarin.

I instinctively answered in English. We smiled.

During my nearly two weeks in Iowa, I have met and shaken hands with many wonderful teachers and students. I have shown my class some Chinese films to discuss the situation of an ancient country caught up in the era of globalization.

Everything seemed fine, until my supervisor forwarded me a computer-generated warning e-mail: I hadn't checked in with the OISS office to obtain legal residency in the US.

I have walked past the OISS every day and everyone knew who I was, yet no one had a clue there was a problem.

Perhaps I am a dogmatic person, but I immediately phoned the OISS' front desk, which is five steps outside of my office, and set up an appointment for the next day.

A smiling gentleman handed me more forms and endured my endless questions, until I understood that in this individualist land of freedom, I should handle everything from payment to health insurance, which can't be done without the SSN.

Breathless, steamy and red-cheeked from walking briskly in rain, I found a young officer outside the social security office on the second floor of a post office.

Post office? Sure. This is a federal property with dozens of other governmental agencies.

The officer checked my backpack, struggled with the terrible zipper, then ushered me into the small, empty office.

A lady with the long fingers of a pianist typed in my passport number and my parents' names, and promised the SSN will be ready in about two weeks.

Two weeks? I could be back in my cubicle in Beijing. Then I found my way into the basement of the very old Jessup Hall, where the university's president works.

A smart finance senior snapped my photo for the university ID card. We chatted about job prospects in joint ventures in Shanghai.

As I prepared myself for the rain outside, a finely dressed lady passed by.

"It's such a rainy day," I said.

"It sure is," she said.

I just found out, she is the president of the university, Sally Mason.

Even though I'm here as a teacher, I've learned some important lessons, Ms Mason.