Salon.com > John Krich

Scoring the Beijing Olympics

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 15:30:00 +0000

Reuters / Kai Pfaffenbach

A security guard stands near the National Stadium during the closing ceremony of the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games, August 24, 2008. The stadium is also known as the Bird's Nest.

This is where 12 days of Olympic fandom has taken me. I am plopped on a sofa, shoes being removed by two smiling hostesses in strapless gowns, in the chandeliered lobby of a giant massage parlor advertising something called "Mashed Medical Treatment," done up as a marble-laden Roman bath for VIPs, where I've been handed the following menu of services: "Shu Shi Jie Amorous Feelings" (the most costly, including manipulations a helpful host acts out in explicit manner), "Studtching Body for Important Guest" (but hopefully not too much studtching), "Aromatic Stone Eject Bad Mattels" and the dreaded "Open Superintending Raphe Treatment." Superintending is the last thing I needed at the moment, so I probe no further into what that extra "h" might stand for.

What I couldn’t write in China

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 16:40:00 +0000

Forget about ping-pong. China's national sport is reading between the lines. For decades, even centuries, official pronouncements and state-dictated reports have been carefully scanned for the implications of some critical omission, the leader whose name got left out, yesterday's slogan suddenly discarded.

For me as well, finishing up my Olympic coverage and another challenging stint in China, it seems that what I couldn't find, didn't see, was kept from hearing or reporting, looms larger than all the spectacle scalped tickets could buy.

This wasn't for lack of effort -- which took me out past the new Olympic city to the end of the new northern subway extension. Guided by an adventurous photographer from Philly recently settled in Beijing, I came to see a large enclave of unofficial "recyclers," perhaps a thousand or two former farmhands, all from nearby Henan province, who now saw better opportunity in picking, sorting and cleaning the capital's plastic bottles, cardboard, cotton rags, obsolete computers and other less palatable detritus. Trash was definitely a Chinese growth industry.

Sweet swift deities in spikes

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 15:30:00 +0000

Tuesday, Day 11 of the official count, I finally made it to the real Olympics. It started the moment I walked out on the second half of a handball match, fed up with cheering sections of potbellied Norwegians and Hungarian men going ape over some girls in shorts repeatedly flinging a small ball toward one another's throats. This wasn't what the gods on Mount Olympus had intended, nor anything like the pursuits of laurel-crowned heroes etched on Greek vases that had first got me hooked as a kid (having left me with the erroneous impression that even modern competitors went about running and jumping in the nude).

Fed up with the miscellany of bizarre contests that stray tickets had handed me, I headed straight over to the by-now booming scalper market, conducted openly and with official blessing outside the main subway transfer point to the Olympic complex. I wasn't looking forward to cutthroat haggling, but I had to get back to the roots of my fandom -- and, with just a few hours left before the evening athletic session, I found pricing dropping rapidly into my range.

Dare to struggle, dare to win!

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 10:00:00 +0000

Playing with pain is a slogan in America. But in China, it's a way of life. Nothing is a greater badge of honor in this culture of top-down masochism than bearing the unbearable and carrying out the unreasonable and unthinkable -- whether in legend or in the burdens of daily life.

Traditionally, though less so these days, masters pass down their wisdoms and craft (from Peking opera to Peking duck) through a time-honored process of initiation in which apprentices are expected to put up with insults and beatings. It's worse than hazing in a frat house, where the watchword since Maoist days has been "Dare to struggle, dare to win!"

That's why the biggest fuss of the Olympics thus far here was hurdler Liu Xiang's failure to compete in Monday's 110-meter heat. Among the deluge of gold medals and collective exultation, his was scripted to be the most golden moment. Since winning the first track gold ever for China in Athens, Liu has by far been China's most recognizable celebrity. Forget the ping-pongers and pimply gymnasts. Those are a dime a dozen. Liu, with his mop of hair and mottled good looks, was not just quick but cocky, less a patriot than a perfect icon, the first Chinese to really look just right in Nikes.

The naked city

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 21:20:00 +0000

Photo by John Krich

Artwork from Beijing's 798 art district.

A contingent of merry, mindless militants from the bad old days wave a banner. But this one isn't red; it bears Olympic rings instead. A naked man sprawls illicitly in the tangle of construction rubble surrounding China's gleaming new stadiums. The vaunted symbol of the National Stadium is surrounded by waltzing security guards or columns of giant, Dali-esque ants, and a runner in one photo collage wears the entry number of the Tiananmen massacre: "1989."

Obliquely, but in more ways than anyone expected to be allowed, Beijing's estimated 10,000 artists are responding, if not participating, in the Olympics. But, as Huang Rui, a painter credited with founding the 798 art district, commented to me earlier, "The only golds, silvers and bronzes Chinese artists receive are for the rising prices."

The bluest day

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 10:46:00 +0000

Photo by John Krich

A week into the Olympics, and China finally got its first official "blue day" -- of many more promised, including the dubious target of 250 a year. Never mind conflicting readings of particulate matter in the air. Forget the competition over whose skies are clearer, parks greener, young volunteers cheerier. The "heavens are smiling on this great nation," as director Zhang Yimou declared after a rainless Opening Ceremony. The sun is breaking out all over town, the better to see the gleam in Beijing's daring collection of glassed-over architecture, the better to see the shine in China's gold medals.

All is right with the world, for as long as the world lasts, and I've even had a stroke of Olympic luck. My random morning baseball ticket is getting me into the premiere quadrennial confrontation: Cuba versus the U.S. I can feel the buzz, and hear the rumba beat of Cuban fans, as soon as I get out of the subway a half-mile from the temporary ballpark whose grandstands rise above jungles of scaffolding. Less attended, but taking place simultaneously on a second diamond, is a ballgame with more potential import, though far less dancing in the stands. That's the fledgling nine from China taking on their more baseball-savvy Taiwanese brethren. Some fans even try to watch both games at once from the top rows in right field. And China's novices will battle to a win in 12 innings.

A tale of two Beijings

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 19:00:00 +0000

Photo by John Krich

Outside Johnson & Johnson's exhibit space on the Olympic Green.

First, I got a chance to stroll through a monumentally vast concrete civic promenade, so huge as to forever seem underutilized, fitted with huge, gaudy lampposts and lined with the power centers of the new China. No, it wasn't Tiananmen Square, it was the Olympic Green -- or at least the only semi-open portion of the 4.4 square-mile area bounded by the new Olympic Stadium, Aquatic Center, International Press and Broadcast Centers, and, to the north, the enormous new Forest Park, meant to be the jewel of 20 new Beijing green spaces and containing half a million transplanted plant species. More than big enough to comprise its own township, or swallow up Lichtenstein if it liked, the Green also has its own subway line, accessed through pleasant open-air, sub-ground atria.

Asian athletes kick butt

Wed, 13 Aug 2008 21:00:00 +0000

I'm not sure what Mahatma Gandhi would think. India's first individual gold medal was won in Beijing by a -- yes -- shooter!

This hardly means that the country born of nonviolent resistance (and coming up fast on China in population and development) is about to become another aggressive factory for superstars. The reasons why India has won so few medals over the years, beginning with a distant Paris Olympics where they were represented by one Anglo-Indian tourist, remain in place: A single-minded emphasis on cricket combined with a lack of proper facilities, coaching, competition and coordination of government agencies. Worldview may have something to do with it, too. Last year, I met with a group pushing to make yoga an Olympic sport -- as already there are world meets for young contortionists to score points with amazing postures. Surely, there are more people throughout the world keeping in spiritual shape with "downward dogs" than there are rhythmic gymnasts. And Delhi is already preparing a bid for the 2020 Olympics-- perhaps with the updated slogan, "One Dream, One OM"?

The other marathon: Getting around Beijing

Tue, 12 Aug 2008 13:35:00 +0000

Transportation between the venues of China's games is a snap, if you happen to be a veteran of the Long March.

My favorite event as a kid was the steeplechase, with its numerous hurdles and splashdowns. And that's just what it felt like on my first day of attending actual events -- making me realize that it's not just athletes, but fans, who have to be in top shape for an Olympics.

The first competition of the day went well enough -- except that, for all the signs around the Olympic Basketball Gymnasium (despite the old-fashioned name, an ocher-colored cube that looks from afar like it has been fabric-draped by Christo), none indicated where my highly nervous cabbie should drop me off. Security inspections soon rid me of my umbrella, my ham sandwich and chewing gum (verboten as food or weapon I wasn't sure). The game itself wasn't exactly a hooter, though Russia's women eventually bullied their way to a last-second recovery over "scrappy" South Korea (aren't they always?). The match was enlivened mostly by the Beijing Dream Dancers and their Globetrotter-like stunts plus the sections of enlisted "Beijing cheering workers" thumping their blowup thumpers in a bipartisan manner. Despite the lack of plastic bags, or any bags, at the souvenir shops, all was right with the world when I set out for what I estimated would be an hour and a half trek to the field hockey greens on the north end of the Olympic complex.

Insecure security

Mon, 11 Aug 2008 11:00:00 +0000

These are the most secure Olympics, and the most insecure.

Police on every corner, surveillance cameras everywhere, overpasses cordoned off, listening devices planted in taxis, sniffing dogs, metal detectors and new electric fences all around. In three days, I've already been frisked enough times to feel half the nation is familiar with the sort of chewing gum sticks crumpled in my front pocket.

Still, this hasn't been enough to prevent Chinese leaders' worst nightmare: the killing on Day 1 at a popular tourist attraction of an American CEO and prominent Christian, father-in-law of the current Olympic volleyball coach and father of a former Olympic athlete who watched his death by stabbing.

It also hasn't prevented several new items like this, reported with a familiar twist in Sunday's government-run China Daily: "Chinese people condemned and protested against five foreigners for fomenting 'Tibetan independence' at Tiananmen Square yesterday noon. The five were then taken away by Beijing police."

No way in

Sun, 10 Aug 2008 10:00:00 +0000

Trying to get tickets for these Olympics is torture.

Take 1.3 billion people who are told that attending this event will be their greatest honor, add plenty of freebies scooped up by corporate high rollers and Chinese VIPs or officials, and that doesn't leave much for us bottom feeders. You know you're in trouble when all the sessions of archery, beach volleyball and rhythmic gymnastics are way beyond sold out.

Aside from this, it's almost impossible to find anyone daring enough to scalp tickets in broad daylight, given the security presence around every venue (26 were arrested, and perhaps beheaded, outside the crush of rioting fans at the final-phase sales last month) and the fact that these games have been purposely planned to have no central ground for wheelin' and dealin'.

That leaves the option of taking a chance on what the Chinese term "yellow" Web sites, where prices for premium events like gymnastics or track are heading toward four figures for tickets that may or may not turn out to be fraudulent duplicates. I've found only one anomalous scrupulous agency, CoSport, selling for immediate pick-up at standard prices (U.S. $7 to $14 for a slew of lesser sports). But after an hour of scanning, the only precious seats I land are for flyweight boxing prelims and those thrilling handball quarterfinals the entire world will be glued to.

An opening that keeps the door shut

Sat, 09 Aug 2008 09:35:00 +0000

Photo by John Krich

One of many illuminated Coke bottles at a celebration at an upscale mall in Beijing during Friday's opening ceremonies. Onscreen, Lin Miaoke sings "Ode to the Motherland."

I wish I could tell you that I experienced China's greatest (staged) moment in history amid peasants and workers gazing with teary-eyed awe toward their unlimited future. Instead, I hustled a precious in-crowd invite from Coca-Cola P.R. reps for standing space (past metal detectors) in the outdoor pavilion at the Place, an upscale mall amid the instant mini-Manhattan of Beijing's central business district.

The draw here was the world's largest LCD screen, running along the high outdoor ceiling for half a block. The night's spectacle might have been more spectacular had images of the opening ceremonies somehow been stretched along this overhead stream. Instead, the Coke logo, in Chinese, undulated all night, while more ordinary public screens provided the telecast, which the crowds of Armani-clad kids could glimpse through the giant flags they'd been provided to wave and the numerous illuminated Coke bottles taller than 20 Yao Mings.

The “bitter sea” of Chinese life

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 16:15:00 +0000

Reuters/Reinhard Krause

Fireworks explode over the National Stadium during Opening Ceremonies Friday.

A funny thing happened on the way to the Olympics. One middling typhoon decided to gather in the South China Sea, turning my hour stopover into 12 hours of considering the banners trumpeting the "Olympic Spirit" bestowed to gambling-obsessed Hong Kong solely because China itself was deemed too disease-ridden to stage equestrian events.

I should have known. Every flight into this harsh realm heads straight into banks of clouds out of some ancient landscape scroll. Turbulence is this country's middle name. What else to expect when steering a billion-plus hustlers and hungry mouths, rebels and drones toward some collective landing strip?

Since 1988 -- by coincidence, the starting date of China's efforts to host the Olympic Games -- I, too, had been charting the "bitter sea" of Chinese life. I'd been cursed and spit at, sprayed with Gobi Desert sandstorms, spied on and followed for the crime of holding hands, or worse, being foreign, sickened by grease-laden stir-fries and coal-laden air, cheated by cabbies and betrayed by a stream of women, stuck in faulty elevators for hours, and in one post-Tiananmen crackdown, lined up against a dark wall by rifle-wielding People's Liberation Army troops.

Won Ton Lust

Thu, 18 Dec 1997 20:00:00 +0000

"When you go to Beijing, you see how small a rank you hold. When you travel to Canton, you realize how little money you've got. But when you come to Chengdu, you find out how big is your appetite."

With this contemporary proverb, a sharp-talking deputy from the Sichuan People's Congress welcomes us to "The Storehouse of Heaven." The capital of China's "bread basket" province for a thousand years, Chengdu is less recognizable to Western ears than its home-cooked, chili-laced specialties like twice-cooked pork, tea-smoked duck, dan dan noodles, and ma po dofu. It's said that travel, near or far, is always the shortcut to finding out who we are. But what sort of persons would fly to the western limits of Han China in a whining old Tupelov-154 just to sample a storied bowl of quivering bean curd, most likely too peppery for ingestion?