Category Beijing Olympics

At 6am we heard a knock at the door of the Mansion and Mike went in his boxers to see what the ruckus was. Ana and Dale, with bottles in hand, were just coming back from the bars. The sun was peeping over the trees behind them and they covered their eyes from the light. We all went to sleep and at noon, we were all on the couch again laughing, hydrating and looking for tickets on craigslist. Luckily the mansion had a cleaning lady who showed up shortly after we all awoke and began collecting bottles and sweeping up chips.

Train travel

Personally, I think having a cleaning lady is morally and ethically awkward. Another human being comes to clean up after you—I find it hard to digest. In China a cleaning lady is called an Ai’yi. Ai is the same sound as the word for ‘love’ in Chinese, and many expats living in China do indeed love their ai’yis, and would hardly survive without them. The mansion was just such a place, and the ai’yi looked at home amid the boy’s jokes and half nude greetings of hello.

Dale had to prepare for a party he was throwing that evening, so Ana, Mike and I set off to see what had changed in the past two years in Beijing. This turned out to be a far bigger project than we could manage in one day. First we went to eat lunch at a small side-street café. It could just as well have been Pairs for all its charm. Afterward we went to see the now famous CCTV building, which is shaped like a moibus strip.

Construction was not yet finished, but we took pictures and walked around marveling at the rate of development in the area. We headed off towards Tienanmen Square after the CCTV tower, eager to revisit all of our very first hostel in China—the Far Eastern Hostel near the square. A great place, which I highly recommend. However, the area around the hostel (though not the street itself) had been completely leveled and rebuilt in the past two years! People were everywhere, the street looked like a movie set where the buildings are only real on one side. Mike was visably distraught while Ana got extremely quiet and contemplative, musing at the intricate yet plastic light posts meant to resemble the Qing dynasty.

At a small tourist-trap stall Ana spotted children’s T-shirts for RMB10, or about a dollar. She tried it on and it barely fit. We both purchased them and went to a nearby bar and requested three beers and a pair of scissors. We cut the necks lower, the waists higher and the sleeves off, and then we put the shirts in our purses and headed for the subway—the athletics final would begin in less than an hour.

The Beijing subway has been greatly improved in the past two years, however, it still leaves a bit to be desired in that an exit from one line may be a good half mile underground from the connecting line. Meaning, we were extremely late getting to the Bird’s Nest. We popped out of the Olympic metro rail into the Olympic park, a massive cement field with flashing colored lights, statues and a massive walkway that truly was, dare I say—Olympian. We rushed towards the stadium, completely in awe of its glowing red design. Finding our sector we climbed a massive set of steps to the third tier and found our seats. I remember very vividly the very first glimpse I had in the Nest, we were walking up the steps to the entry way and I heard a roar so loud my feet trembled. I looked up and saw thousands of people, it looked like a vermin-infested bird’s nest alright, only humans were the vermin. I was shocked to see so many people in one place. Ana and I pulled on our modified kids T shirts, which read across the chest, “I Love China.” We pulled out American flags and sat them on our lap, and pulled out our cameras and poised them for the first spectacle.

Looking down on the field, it felt too close, like we could spit and hit a world class athlete. We all sat silently in our seats for a few moments before bursting into screams the moment our first relay began. Ana and Mike were jumping and screaming, I was half crouched under their waving arms, urging our runner to pick up the pace. This continued for a half an hour before the first beer run. Beer, as I may have mentioned, was less than a dollar a glass at the Olympics, and truly a gift from the government. When Ana got back we all sipped our beers and watched a new Olympic record in javelin. Afterward we saw several men sprint 12 laps, an Ethiopian runner took first and looked excited but not the least bit tired as he sprinted across the finish.

The night wore on amid pictures, races, throws and more pictures. Anthems were sung, medals were given, and beer was accidentally kicked all over the back of my I Love China T-shirt.

-posted by Lauren.

Canadians

I’ll never forget the women’s relay race where the US was in second place in the final 100 yards and then, with some unknown superhuman strength the US runner pulled past her opponent and barely made it across the finish, but did indeed come in first. The whole of the Bird’s Nest was in a frenzy and people were hugging and jumping around like madmen. A whole row of Jamaicans in front of us were on their feet as well. It was a truly universal moment, a single tear kind of moment.

Ana has long blonde hair and is a very attractive young lady. Several people in the stadium came up to her with their children or their husbands and took pictures with her. Though a shy girl, she could shine in front of the lens. After the games ended, we sang our anthem loudly, cheered all the drinkers in our area, and had our arms around each other as we marched out of the stadium and into the night. It was near 11pm. We saw a concession stand near the Water Cube and wanted to take a closer look at both. Mike bought beers while Ana and I danced around the cube singing our anthem. With beers in hand we decided to have our own mini photo shoot and see if we could get a shot of Ana and I in mid air, jumping in front of the Cube.  Nearly a full 50 pictures later we had yet to get one with both of us in aviation. A group of Canadians watching the spectacle introduced themselves as a wandering trio. We had more beers, talked about Canada, had more beers, took more pictures and then all left together for Dale’s party.

The Canadians were travelling around the world together and had just come from the Trans-Siberian Railway, which they said was amazing and well worth putting up with Russia over. We boarded the subway, and then split into taxis and finally found Dale’s mansion in full party mode. Poker was being played, people were dancing, food was everywhere and beer flowed like water. I played a game of poker (all in on an A,7 to an A,2,4,5,2 flop) which I lost in a late round before heading off to find a nearby McDonald’d at 3am. When we returned with our tasty burgers the mansion was silent. The poker games were over and the music was off. We ate, chatted with the winner of the game and finally fell asleep around 5am.

The following morning we needed to find a way back to Shanghai. We visited the train station to discover the entire train was sold out—and all subsequent trains for three days. We stood in shock, who was fleeing Beijing before the closing ceremony that evening? Why was the train booked? Dismayed we took a quick subway up to the airport and watched the basketball gold medal match from the subway’s TV. What an amazing game! We finally found tickets on a plane back to Shanghai two hours later, though they may have been the last two seats out of the city for all the trouble we went through to get them. We grabbed a quick bite, talked about the amazing weekend, and boarded our plane home. After two hours of terrible turbulence we landed back in Shanghai, exhausted and all smiles. We’d never been happier for acting on a whim.

-posted by Lauren.

Vince Vaughn

We finally arrived at the baseball stadium, though an hour and a half early. There were over forty volunteers checking tickets and working security machines. I took out my camera, aimed it at the volunteers and was instantly tackled by a young man saying in broken English, ‘no pictures!’ I laughed and said back in English, ‘no pictures at the Olympics. Are you serious?” He was not laughing.  I put my camera back in my purse, shrugged and walked towards a metal detector.  Another volunteer yelled towards the back of the procession in Chinese, “hey, can we let the foreigners in yet?” Mike and I looked at each other in awe. Chinese visitors were already streaming into the area, why wouldn’t we be allowed in. Someone in the back yelled an affirmative and we went through security. Mike’s cargo shorts beeped each time the volunteer swept the wand over his legs. It would beep and Mike would say, “keys” and the volunteer would not and sweep another beeping area, “belt,” “camera,” “sunglasses,” “change.” This went on for quite a while, the volunteer never asking to actually see inside the cargo pockets to see if Mike was telling the truth. He was. But naturally it was funny because it just as well had been “knife” “gun” “mace” and the guard would have nodded and moved on. Meanwhile, an aspirin container in my purse was being emptied onto a metal table. I explained that they were vitamins. He asked why some were red and some were white. I explained, without batting an eye, that they were A and B vitamins, and possibly C in there somewhere as well—have to keep the body healthy! Aspirin is prescription only in China and one cannot carry pills without prescription.

The baseball stadium was a small assemblage of temporary scrap steel twisted into the façade of an arena. We walked along the outside for a long while until we finally found out sector. Outside the heavily guarded entrance was a concession stand. Beer was less than a dollar! We loaded up on beer and sugar popcorn and headed for out seats. The whole area was empty so we sat together. After a few minutes two Americans showed up and sat next to us, one was from Boston and looked like Tony Sapprano. The other was from New York and looked like he might have been a club bouncer. Mike offered to  buy them a beer and boom, we were on the good graces of the American mob, which was comforting. We wished we were sitting somewhere else.

Tony Soprano yelled at the Cuban team as it took the field. Naturally, we yelled along with him after he nudged me with his elbow and gave me an urging look. We drank our beer, cheered for the good ol’ boys and generally had a great time.

Olympic baseball

After a few disappointing innings we found ourselves in the unfortunate situation of being out of beer. Mike made the trek to the nearby concession. While he was away a familiar looking gentlemen sauntered by us and sat towards the back of the stadium. I recognized him from somewhere but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then Tony Soprano stood up on the bench and screamed, “we fucking love you Vince Vaughn!” I was astonished! Not only did Vince turn, but seeing the giant and the mobster, he smiled and cheered on the American team in unison with the mobsters. I sat petrified, meanwhile, at being in the middle of such an awkward and embarrassing scenario, and I wished Mike would hurry back with the beers. Liquid courage. After another round Mike and I went up a few steps and talked to Mr. Vaughn. I had my picture taken and Mike shook his hand and he instructed us to enjoy the rest of the game. I felt bad for the man, who was sitting alone and would have liked to ask him to come sit with us if it didn’t mean including the mafia. We were all smiles as we sat back down. Neither one of us had ever met a celebrity—he was amazingly normal. Totally drunk, though, as one should be at a baseball game.

-posted by Lauren.

After a while it was obvious we were not going to win the game, and in fact it was 10- 2 Cuba when we walked out of the stadium with our heads down. We caught a cab and met some friends in SanLiTun, the infamous bar street in Eastern Beijing. The street is notorious for heavy parties, drugs, illicit film stores and hundreds of foreigners and very few local Chinese. It was, basically, what Chinese locals thought of America—dirty, drugged and laughing about it. We met up with our already trashed friends in a bar called the Q Bar. A young Chinese lady in the tiniest shorts and smallest shirt came up to Mike and took off his baseball cap and put it on her head.

Pollution

Naturally I was furious, more because it was actually my hat, not his, and I didn’t want it getting an STD. She giggled and fell down on a padded sofa lounge, pulling another of our friends down on top of her. This went on for quite a while, until after some time it seemed normal and we forgot all about her presence.

At the Q Bar a friend of ours from Shanghai showed up with tickets to the athletics finals which he had scalped earlier that day from a Finnish soccer player. He sold us the tickets for only RMB200 more than face value—an unheard of deal. We happily paid our friend, who was unaccustomed to the lady rolling on the sofa and therefore uncomfortable, and he left. He was Australian.

The finals were the next evening at 7. We had four tickets and it did not take long to convince our friends Ana and Dale to go with us. They were more than happy to oblige. After a bit we left the Q bar and sat around outside on a park bench marveling at the clear sky.

Pollution in China is a massive problem, and one without an obvious answer. Development and industrialization is their right and aim, yet to achieve this is it really necessary to go through such a period. Already China’s progress has mimicked Americas in that we had out industrial revolution and then, when wages were high in the US and manufacturing was not really economically feasible—we outsourced our factories and became a service society. China was already following this trend in outsourcing to India. Soon, would it be a reality that all the factories in China would move outside the nation and it would too become a service industry. Meanwhile, pollution in China was rampant as most factories remained in the mainland. The next phase in a free market economy is not yet fully underway and the pollution from factories, and 1000 new cars a day added to the streets of Beijing, has left the city permanently under a heavy grey cloud. We lay on the park bench in SanLiTun and marveled at the clear sky because it was not more than two years ago we lived in Beijing and had chronic coughs, blew our nose into white towels to reveal black goo, and generally could not run more than 100 yards without collapsing. Now, looking up at the full moon we were astonished at what had transpired. Would Beijing go back to its shitty air and poor traffic and collapsing citizens after the Olympics? Probably. We got in a cab and headed back to Dale’s mansion.

-posted by Lauren.

Scalpers in Beijing

I woke up at 6am, still on the train in my mini-bunk. I rubbed my eyes and, out of the corner of my sleepy vision, saw a Chinese local with a business suit on standing in front of Mike’s bed—watching him sleep. Somewhat startled and unsure of how to react, I simply watched the man silently. Eventually he bored of his voyeurism and wondered down the hall. I rolled over onto my stomach and washed my face with a napkin dampened in bottled water, then finished my book. When I was done I looked over and woke up Mike and told him about his on-board fan club.

We arrived in Beijing two hours behind schedule, and happily so. We were on our way to drop off our backpacks at Dale’s house. Dale recently took a ‘real’ job where he previously played a certain card game for income. His roommates all made money in a similar fashion. Needless to say, they lived in the penthouse of a downtown Beijing apartment, literally a two story (with two balconies and four bathrooms) suite. The fish tank in their entry way was larger than the walking area of our entire apartment.  At 11am, when we arrived, no one was awake—having suffered a serious night of drinking and playing the previous evening. We knocked to the sound of our own echo.

Eventually a very friendly hangover answered the door. We were later to learn his name was Ben. His girlfriend, Kristy, was sleeping soundly—unamused perhaps at our ‘early’ arrival. We set down our bags and hooked up Mike’s laptop to their Wi-Fi to search for tickets. The games, sadly, were sold out. We wondered if coming to the city on a whim with no plan was a bad idea….. and then we found online scalpers.

Online scalpers are a strange lot. They openly advertise aspirations for an illegal transfer of money for tickets—something the Chinese government fought earnestly against. Craigslist.com and other social selling spots were brimming with tickets to every possible event—though at a markup, of course.  We quickly found tickets online for a reasonable fare to the Cuba vs USA baseball quarterfinal game. They were RMB 300 each, not bad.

After calling the ticket holder on the craigslist posting we were advised to trek to a specific street corner near the subway, once at that street corner we were to call the ticket holder again and he would deliver further instructions. Now, we had been watching the hit TV show The Wire, and were amazed at the similarities between dealing drugs and dealing tickets. The phone rang as we stood at the street corner, dripping sweat and wonderment. We were to head into a nearby building and await further instructions. We did do, giddy at such a silly secretive illegal dance for something that was blatantly posted all over the web (with IP tags).

A kind, overweight Armenian man came out of a nearby elevator and spotted us on the phone. He marched over and made small talk—making sure we were in fact the saps who were overpaying for baseball. We assured him we were. He produced the tickets in a sealed envelope with Mike’s name written on it. Very subversive! I put the tickets, labeled with Mike’s name, into my purse. Meanwhile Mike reached for his wallet. The Armenian screamed and then looked around the lobby. “Not here!” and then he marched off down an unlit hallway. Confused, and somewhat too honest for our own good—we followed. In another lobby, with CCTV coverage of the whole area staring back at us as the Armenian put his palm out under Mike’s nose and looked around suspiciously. A real pro.

Tickets

With the transaction complete we sat in the cab silently blinking away amusement at what had transpired. I pulled out the envelope with the tickets. Despite having watched The Wire, we had not checked the ‘purity’ of the goods. I starred at our seat assignments- the tickets were not for the same row or aisle, though they would be in the same general area. At least, we sighed, no stadiums had appeared full on TV—maybe we would be able to swap with someone?

-posted by Lauren.

We went up to the Beijing 2008 Olympics on a sudden impulse. It wasn’t because we were so much swept up in the fervor as just tired of feeling left out. On a Wednesday evening we were watching the Olympic men’s gymnastic team competing and looking at the crowd of screaming, crying fans wondering if we’d ever be so gullible as to scream for nationalism.

Apparently we are. Thursday morning I told my boss I was thinking of vacating the office early that day. I called Mike and propositioned. Naturally with a little sweet talk and some womanly maneuvers I had him agreeing to an overnight train ride to Beijing in no time.

I left work that same evening at 4pm on an excuse of packing and passing out business cards. I jogged to the Shanghai subway and boarded the metro—itchy and anxious for another adventure. It felt like I had been stable for far too long (though it had only been two weeks!).

When I got back to the apartment I was ecstatic with energy and adrenaline. I walked in the door, and embraced my baby.

Beijing Bird

After a shower we realized we had no time to properly pack, and each threw a few shirts into separate backpacks, grabbing toothpaste and random accessories as we reached for the door. We were nearly late getting to the Shanghai rail station because our cab driver (an over-weight smoker from south China with a thick local accent from years of fitting in) pretended not to know the fastest route north.  Eventually, and several mini- panic attacks later, we arrived just in time to race down the tarmac to our train car.

Boarding our car, we were encountered with a stench that can only be described as ‘travel smell,’ it’s a disgusting mix of body sweat, excitement and laziness. I love it. Imagine sawdust and a urinal, mixed with egg whites and a bit of bark.

Our bunk (it was a sleeper car) was in the middle row, car 6, bunks 3 and 4 to be exact. Bunks come in rooms of 6, with one and two on the ground level with two above that and two more hugging the ceiling. The middle row has a nice view of the scenery.  I lounged in my mini-bunk, reading ‘Men without Women’ a Hemingway book my father had recently sent me from Afghanistan where he was working. I nearly finished the book when exhaustion and excitement mixed inside me and made me fall asleep, the book resting on my chest.

-posted by Lauren.