posted by Baggiesboy

(Baggiesboy filed this dispatch from Beijing this past Monday, and I’ve been so swamped with work this week that I’m just now getting it up for your enjoyment. Seems as if China is being kind to his eyes and unkind to his feet. Even when you’re an international man of mystery, it’s always bloody bleeding something, innit? -L)

All around Beijing banners proclaim ‘One World One Dream.” My dream right now is a cure for blisters. Last week I made the classic Great Wall of China rookie mistake: I wore flip-flops. Since then I’ve heard tales of pre-pubescent gymnasts twirling around the uneven bars with separated shoulders, swimming studs slicing through the water with broken hands, and legally blind pole-vaulters (but only in one eye) leaping to new heights. No doubt, these Olympians are all dreaming of a gold medal. But in the spirit of the Games, I’m sure they don’t mind me having a different mission here.

Beijing is not what anyone would call a walking city. The tarmac concession in this town must be worth more than the GDP of most of the 204 countries on hand for the five-ring festivities. Such is the detail of organization here that even painful feet seem to have been catered for. For a couple of weeks at least, it’s relatively easy to get around Beijing on wheels. For starters, half the cars are put in park on an every-other-day rotation. Next, the ring roads all boast that splendid Olympic host city invention: the media lane. For the credentialed fourth estate Beijing’s clogged arteries offer a smooth ride. And then there are the taxis: very cheap and most cab drivers refuse a tip. What more incentive do you need to stay off the pavement? None. But this is the Olympic Games and its time to step out and dream a little.

Now, I make no claims to being a Robert Korzeniowski, but I enjoy a good Olympic walk. It’s amazing what you see strolling through the Olympic Green. Light shows galore for one. The Water Cube is not just a blue bauble of wonder: it’s the aurora borealis. Its panels transform from blue to purple to red to gold and every other combination of the color spectrum. As I walk by the Cube every night, I fight the urge to reenact the scene in Local Hero where Knox Oil and Gas point man, MacIntyre, calls his boss, Houston oilman Felix Happer, from a phone box in a Scottish fishing village and tries to describe the northern lights. ‘Sir, its amazing , its green, its yellow, its red , IT”S RED ALL OVER!!!”

The Rubik’s Cube of swimming pools isn’t the only building keeping the power grid busy. A whole series of light strips guide the way around the Bird’s Nest , seemingly inspired by Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” video , and all the surrounding buildings from hotels to shopping centers have a variation on the disco ball dazzle. But the most dazzling things are the little things you see on foot patrol: young soldiers squatting in a corner of one of the Great Wall’s lookout towers playing cards. Hundreds and hundreds of spent mortar launchers used for the spectacular Opening Ceremony fireworks display all neatly lined up on a grass verge at the edge of the Green waiting to be hauled off to the Olympic landfill. A cop having his photo taken in front of the National Indoor Stadium, who decides at the last second to take his uniform cap off for the snap. An exchanged knowing glance between strangers results in a wider grin for the family album. Rows and rows of bicycles, rows and rows of volunteers, and on the eve of the Opening Ceremony rows and rows of soldiers. Precision is big in these parts. But like the colorful parade of parasols that keep off the sun, there is a surprisingly delightful airiness to it all.

And, of course, there are the crowds and crowds of families all drawn to the state of the art sporting edifices that symbolizes a new world to the locals. I keep reading that these Games are a coming out party to the world, but strolling around the Olympic city it seems that message of a new China is hitting home at home for the first time as well.

Chinese eyes dance with delight as they stand in front of the Bird’s Nest and the Water Cube. They simply can’t believe the Olympics have bloomed in their midst. I don’t understand Mandarin, have never felt more out of sync with a new culture and am in a constant state of disbelief at the smog that cloaks me as much as the city. But smiles are not lost in translation.

Putting a band-aid on a blister though can be challenging in this environment. I thought I had finally cracked the code last night. My own supply had run out and not finding a band-aid store anywhere nearby, asked for assistance at the front desk of my hotel. Confucian enlightenment only dawned when I wrote out the words BAND AID. The concierge promised to send the desired strips up to my room. And 20 minutes later, room service delivered precisely one band-aid. With a smile as wide as a young Chinese child looking at the Olympic flame, I signed for my single blister soother , price 5.40Yuan. A bargain in any currency: but not quite enough to let my feet do the walking I so much want them to do. It’s one fascinating world here, where my dream remains a cure for blisters.