connie's space

            The scalper near the lion’s den (Beitucheng subway station) had me waiting off to the side while he went searching for a Cube ticket.

            It was my second day at the Olympics and I was getting crunched for time.  In the late afternoon, I still hadn’t a venue ticket for that evening.

            “Excuse me,” I heard someone say while giving me a tap on the shoulder.  “Excuse me, but can you take our picture?”
            I turned to see a handsome older Indian couple.  They eagerly pointed to two of their friends, a young man and elderly gentleman, standing on the walkway.

            “Sure!  Of course.”

            Picture taking is nothing new at the Olympics.  Usually, the blue-uniformed Chinese volunteers are ready at hand for this job but their information tent wasn’t nearby.

            The first picture taken, it was time for another with the young man’s camera.

            “Oh, thank you so much,” the elderly man said in his lilting Indian tones.  “Are you American?”

            These kind of conversations are the ones I loved the most at the Olympics.  Everyone is willing to talk to everyone else:  country, family, job, their Beijing visit, the venues they’ve

visited .  . . .    Nothing, it seems, is off-limits, and that comes to money lost to the scam artists.

            Everyone was quite willing to tell me their story. 

             The couple, Mr and Mrs. O. P. Mundhr, and the friends (Chandan Laha, manager of Mpasis Company, with his father) had planned this trip to the Olympics for about a year via emailing one another.  They lived on opposite sides of India, had never met before, but decided to attend the games together.   They had just met in person that morning and were now in the lion’s den, looking for tickets.

            “You know,” the father went on quickly, “we all ordered our tickets online.  We went through www.beijingticketing.com.  But that company was a scam.  People lost so much money.  My son and I lost $4,000.”

            I shook my head in disbelief.

            “No, no!  We were lucky,” Chandan continued.  “Others lost more.  You look and see.  It was a very famous case.  You can find many articles about this.”

            “So now you are trying the ticket sellers here?” I asked.

            “Psht!” Chandan said in disgust.  “These are not true sellers.  They ask for ridiculous prices and don’t bargain.  No one will pay what they ask. We are here because a friend in Beijing has gotten us all the tickets we need.  We are waiting for him to come.”
            “You’re lucky,” I said.  “I’m stuck dealing with the scalpers.”
            “Oh, terrible!” Mrs. Mundhr replied.  “And they can’t speak English.  How can they sell tickets to foreigners if they don’t speak English?”

            “They don’t need to speak English to sell tickets.  So many are buying, it doesn’t matter,” her husband commented rather irritably.

            “Mmmm.”

            Mrs. Mundhr’s tone had a tinge of hidden meaning.  Something like, “I’m not speaking to you anymore until you’re nicer to me.”

            Ah, the dynamics of married couples.

            Later that evening, I did find a number of Internet articles on the www.beijingticketing.com scandal.  Several professional-looking, Olympic ticket selling websites illegally used Olympic trademarks in connection with their fraudulent activities.  Those from all continents were hit hard by the beijingticketing site.  Some US-based ticketing agents lost tens of thousands of dollars.  One such agent from Texas reported she’d purchased $57,000 from the online site but received nothing in return.  She said the site looked very legitimate, very elaborate.  It was hard to believe it wasn’t real.

            A victim from L.A.  lost $11,000 after selecting hard-to-get tickets to the opening ceremonies, swimming and diving.  In April, he became suspicious when his phone calls to the website’s office were not returned and his credit card was charged for airline tickets he didn’t buy.

            I guess compared to those two individuals, and others like them,  Chandan and his dad got off easy with losing only $4,000.

            The site has since been shut down but not after conning thousands out of a lot of money, obviously.

            My Indian acquaintances’ story made me very grateful that I hadn’t gone the Internet route to order my tickets.  I’d thought about it, and even did some searches, but I decided instead to take my chances with the scalpers. 

            I guess that proved to be a wise decision on my part.  Even if I paid three times the original price, at least I had a ticket.  The same certainly can’t be said for the marks (i.e., those scammed).

            Although seeing the events was great, it’s the many people I met who made my Olympic trip worthwhile — the Olympic volunteers, the hotel staff, the spectators I sat next to and numerous others.  

            My most amazing encounter, however, took place my last day at the Olympics near the lion’s den.

            A suspicious Chinese man was gazing at me, moving closer to where I was standing.

            “My teacher,” he finally said, “do you remember me?”

            It took me a few seconds to recognize this person.

            It was “Robin” Tang, my adult English language student from Nanchang, the capital city of Jiangxi Province.  Nanchang was where I’d spent my first years teaching English in China.  That was 17 years ago.  Here was Robin, age 52, once again at my side as he’d been in my classroom so long ago.

            It was an emotional moment for both of us.  I disregarded all Chinese “no-touch” etiquette and gave him a big hug, much to his embarrassment.  Robin’s wife was nearby, a lovely slender woman.  She was an English teacher at a junior high school in their small town.  Robin had completed his studies after our Nanchang language course to gain his teaching certificate for high school.

            The two had flown to Beijing for a 3-day trip to see the Olympics, like me. Due to money constraints, they’d be returning home by train the next day. 

            Because they’re Chinese, they’d fared much better as far as price for their accommodations.

            “We’re at an underground hotel,” Robin whispered to me, meaning a hotel that is has no official city permits. “Very cheap.  Only 50 yuan ($7.25) a night.”    

            I didn’t dare tell him I was paying $125 for mine.

            After a photo session and exchanging contact information,  it was time for us to part. 

            Robin and his wife were still trying to get tickets to see at least one event before they went home.  Teachers’ salaries in China are very low, especially in countryside areas where he and his wife lived.  I expected they were getting 1,500 yuan ($217) per month.   This trip to Beijing  must have cost them 3 months’ salary.   Even a “cheap”venue ticket such as mine would be out of their price range.

            My last image of these two was as they began their search along the scalpers’ rows.  It made me feel a little angry.  The Olympics shouldn’t be about the rich, but about everyone, money or no money, sharing together in the spirit of the games.

            Well, then again, I guess that’s what TV and the Internet are for, right?

           The water polo venue was located within the National Sports’ Center grounds.  This was a huge complex which held the national stadium, natatorium (swimming pool), and handball court.  It was a long walk from the Beituchen subway station, across vacant parking lots and along wide access roads.  On previous days, the walk would have been very pleasant.  Beijing’s temperatures, while I was there, were rather bizarre.  We should have been a sizzling, sticky, humid 90 to 100 degrees.  Instead, my arrival had us overcast and cool with the 70’s prevailing, even the 60’s at night. But Monday morning brought out the sun. 

            Walking in the burning heat over 30 minutes to the Ying Dong Natatorium was  hot.  I wouldn’t recommend it for those not in good physical condition. 

            The security check was fairly fast despite the lines.  Once inside the complex, wide, grassy spaces and walkways gave spectators plenty of room to easily make it to the venue sights.

            At the Ying Dong Natatorium, I made a quick stop into the women’s restroom to check my paint job.  With painstaking care, I had written my “USA” and “US” on cheeks and arms.  The sweaty walk to the center had concerned me that my colors had run. I certainly didn’t want anyone to confuse a indiscernable “US” with the United Kingdoms (UK), Ukraine (UKR) or Uzebekistan (UZ).  I was pleased to note my letters remained bold.   No mistaking my nationality.

            My ticket placed me in the 101 section, at the far corner of the 50 meter pool.  It wasn’t the best seat in the house but I had a great view of the pool.

            For this last sport’s event I’d see for the Olympics, I had a companion.  Irishman Willie Mahon, who runs his own stationary and printing business, was at the Olympics as a guest of Ireland’s Olympic boxing team delegation. He was attending all the boxing matches while in Beijing as well as taking in a few other events along the way.  Water polo was a sport he knew nothing about.  He felt it would be an interesting sport to catch that afternoon before cheering on his Irish boxers that evening.

            I, too, knew very little about water polo.  The two of us together managed to piece together the basics of the first match as we watched.

            There were three matches to be seen in Group B of the semifinals.  The first up was USA vs Germany, which gave me a great opportunity to wave our US flag, hoop and holler and jump up and down along with my countrymen, seated in sections further than mine. 

            For the first quarter, Willie and I   gathered information about the game to have some understanding how things worked.    Water polo is 4 quarters and one halftime, a bit like basketball.  Each quarter is 8 minutes long with a 2 minute change between quarters and a 10 minute halftime.  The team (composed of 7 players) that has possession of the ball has only 30 seconds to score or they lose the ball to the other team.  Advancing the ball is done by one-handed throws or “dribbling” the ball between arm strokes to the other end.

            There are likewise fouls that can take place during a game.  

            Common fouls include:

           * touching the ball with two hands (by a player other than the goalie)
           * taking the ball under water when tackled
          * failing to shoot at the goal within 30 seconds of gaining possession
          * failure to advance the ball (also called stalling)  

            More serious fouls are against individual players.  These are called Excursion fouls and result in different penalties.  Willie and I never did quite figure out all the penalties that were involved but there were a lot of Excursions during all matches.  I’m guessing there are lot of different ways to get them. 

            Amazing to watch for both of us was the skill of the players. 

            USA and Germany were very adept at setting up the ball in front of the goal, then smashing the ball into the net with one swift, powerful throw of the ball.  Strong treading skills are needed to raise the body upward out of the water for catching the ball and passing. Long arms were definitely a requirement in this sport.  Without them, there was no way to outdo the other team.

            Most likely, this is why watching match 3 (China vs Croatia) was so agonizing for the excited Chinese crowd that packed the stands.  The Chinese water polo team had adequate swimming skills, but when it came to strategy and body length, they just didn’t have what it takes.  The well-developed, tall Croatian athletes scored again and again while the frustrated Chinese players did their best to please those of us watching.  The final result was dismal (China  4, Croatia 16) with disheartened Chinese fans leaving the stands before the last few minutes were up.

            But for America, it was a very close game with the ball moving fast, the swimmers going all out, and the USA and German fans screaming their support yet holding their breath.

            With the score USA 8, Germany 7, the clock was coming down to the last  minute.  Germany scored!  The Germans went wild, but the referees were conferring. Two agonizingly long  minutes later, the point was recalled due to a serious foul.

            “Cheat!  Cheat!” one German fan in my row angrily shouted out, shaking his fists in disgust.

            But the Americans were ecstatic.  We had the ball.  The 30 seconds went down.  We’d won the quarterfinals for Group B!  Still in the running for a gold medal.

            The semifinals have yet to be decided for men’s water polo but at present, all eyes are on our USA women’s water polo team.  They are now down to the final game, which will give them the gold or the silver while playing against the Netherlands.

            That’ll be the game to watch here in China on Thursday at 6:20 p.m. 

            Our American men, on the other hand, have their semifinals on Friday.  If they win, they’ll go on to the gold medal tournament on Sunday afternoon, right before the extravagant closing ceremonies are to take place. 

            What excitement that would be to see two exhilarating events in one day:  the USA men’s water polo match to claim the gold and, later on, the final show of a marvelous 2008 Olympic Games. 

            That’ll give us all something to really look forward to.

Chengdu Arrival

            Before closing, just a note to say I’m back in Chengdu.  There are a few more things to share about the Olympics which I’ll be doing tomorrow and then that about closes my trip to Beijing.  After that, I’ll be hunkering down with the packing.

             I plan to move back to Luzhou, 3 ½ hours south of Chengdu, next Wednesday before classes at Luzhou Vocational and Technical College start up on Sept. 1.  There are numerous professional moving companies in the city.  I’ve chosen one of the more famous ones and will be contacting them tomorrow for information.  There will have to be a visit to my apartment to see how many things I have in order for them to determine how bit the truck will be.  With gas prices as they are, I’m guessing the $150 I paid last year for the move is going to be significantly higher this time around to move back.             

We’ll see what the movers have to say.

            From Chengdu, here’s wishing you “Ping An” once again for your day.

             Despite my exuberance at getting a ticket on Saturday, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d been too hasty.   I debated if I should have waited, or offered a lower price

             That was before I surfaced from the above-ground Beituchen subway station, which deposits all into the Olympic Sports Center.  This subway station is  the local hang-out for quite a few scurrying to purchase venue tickets.

            As soon as spectators leave the subway escalators, we enter the scalpers’ territory, or rather the lion’s den, as I call it. Official signs are everywhere, warning against scalping, but these ticket sellers are positioned everywhere.    Some sit on the building’s steps. Others stand in lines.  All openly displayed their tickets while hundreds walk the rows.  Prospective buyers finger, inspect, scrutinize,  and discuss all tickets in the hopes of getting a decent price.

            They’re out of luck.  These sellers aren’t budging.

            The first day of encountering the lion’s den, I already had my ticket in hand.   I leisurely toured the lines, however, just to find out how well I had done. 

            The prices astounded me.

            Original 300 yuan ( $14.50) tickets such as mine were going for 800 yuan ( $116) or higher.   Prices only kept climbing, even when events were just a few hours (or even 30 minutes) from starting.

            For 1,500 yuan ($217), a $14.50 ticket could be had for soccer.

            For 2,000 yuan ($290), a $29 ticket could be bought for wrestling.

            For 4,000 yuan ($580), a $72 ticket could be purchased for diving finals.

            Every mention of price, I gasped in astonishment.

            “So expensive!” I said in Chinese.  “Who will buy this ticket?  Chinese are poor.  I’m poor!  We all come to experience the Olympics. We have no way to purchase these. What a shame!”

            Although the foreigner’s lament in Chinese caused many to smile, they sat smugly in their spot.  They shrugged their shoulders.  They continued to wait.  With a spider’s patience, they knew their webs would eventually catch one of us.

            Sure enough, that first day I watched desperate Chinese and foreign visitors pay anywhere from $80 to $500 for tickets officially bought for much less.

             I felt sorry for one  American university student who wanted gymnastics.  She pleaded  with those of us milling about if we had one, but none of us did. 

            I only came across one seller with a lone gymnastics ticket.  His price?  $435.  The ticket’s original price?  $57.

            One deviously sly scalper was offering a ticket almost at face value.

            A 200 yuan ($28) Equestrian ticket for 250 ($36).

            A real bargain unless you consider where the venue is:  Hong Kong.  I have no doubt some uninformed visitor, eager to get a bargain, eventually bought it.

Beating the Scalpers

            Although this lion’s den seemed hopeless for those of us on a budget, I found out on Day 2 (Sunday) that a foreigner’s Chinese can go a long way.

            Saturday night, I had experienced the Olympic moment in person.  By Sunday morning, I was still on my Olympic high.  I really wanted another venue ticket and was ready to try my hand at tackling the immovable Beituchen scalpers.

            This would take some strategy. 

            After studying their reactions and demeanor the day before, I was ready.

            It was a simple enough ploy.  I planned to find a ticket I wanted and then play the sympathy card:  I’m a teacher from Chengdu.  I’m in the earthquake zone.  It was so terrible. Some of my students’ parents died.   I came to Beijing to relax and see the Olympics.  Please, can you give me a cheaper price?

             After scanning the lion’s den row of tickets, I found  water polo preliminaries enticing.  It was a sport not too popular.  Perhaps my sad story might be more likely to bring down the price.

            The scalper was asking 800 ($115) for his $14.50.  I launched into my plea.

            The man shook his head but his companion, sitting next to him, poked him several times. 

            “Her Chinese is good,” he said.  “She’s from the earthquake zone.  Give her the ticket.  500 ($72).”

            “I’ll pay 400 ($58),” I chirped eagerly.

            Again, my seller shook his head even though his friend continued to urge him onward to give me the ticket.

            Eventually, I gave it up.

            “What can I do?” I sighed.  “Maybe I can buy another ticket.  Bye!”

            Suddenly, the man stood up.  He glanced apprehensively one way and then another.  Looking me in the eye, he nodded his head but said quietly, “Not here.  Follow me.”

            It seems there’s some kind of agreement among these scalpers.  They are in cahoots about selling tickets.  They work together and help each other, so if one strays too far from the fold in offering lower prices, that person is on the black list.  By moving away from the lion’s den, he could more easily get away with giving me my 400 yuan ticket.

            We had to walk completely across the street, hunker down behind a trash receptacle and wait a minute or two to make sure no pedestrians were going by.   Finally, I was allowed to pull out my money. 

            Once again, another Olympic ticket was mine:   Water polo at the Ying Dong Natatorium (not the Cube) for the next day, Monday, at 2 p.m.  

            That evening, an Internet search on Olympic schedules revealed just how great my buy had been.  I would be watching not one but three men’s matches. One of these was USA vs. Germany.  An event to cheer on my country’s team!  What more could I ask for? 

            And I made sure to bring paints.  If you’re going to the Olympics, face painting is the “in” thing.   I planned to “USA” myself to the fullest, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to appropriately display national pride in another country.  How cool is that? 

Monday Evening  

            I’m behind a day in reporting for Sunday, Day 2.

             I did manage yet another weighlifting event on Sunday night, the men’s 94 kg (206 lbs), which was at the same venue as the women’s.  Although I didn’t have a ticket, I just showed up at the venue gate and hoped for the best.  Sure enough, an American from Boston had an extra ticket which he sold me for 300 yuan. 

            The funny thing about this second time to the same place was that people knew me.   While going through the ticket and security checks, and even when inside of the gymnasium, quite a few volunteers welcomed me back.  For some reason, they had remembered me from the night before.  It probably wasn’t too difficult.  I was so excited, I think I chatted away with each one of them.  Hard to forget an overly enthusiastic foreigner who speaks Chinese.

            This time around, I had a better seat and I was informed.  I now knew enough about the sport to follow it with more understanding.  Sadly, no American was lifting but I enjoyed those from Kazakhstan.  Their athlete, Llya Ilin, won.   But it wasn’t the men who impressed me as much as our English announcer.  He just rattled off those amazingly difficult names from Poland, Russia, Ukraine, Georgia and Uzbekistan as if they were all his native tongue.  You try agilely rolling Arsen Kasabiev , Bartlomiej Bonk  or Roman Konstantinov of the tip of your tongue and see how far you get.

            In my opinion, the final weightlifting gold medal goes to our announcer. 

Calling It Quits for The Day

           Although I’d love to tell you all about today’s water polo matches, not to mention some very interesting people encounters, I’m afraid I have to call it quits for tonight.  I’m tired, and tomorrow I return to Chengdu. 

           I can honestly leave happily, having done everything I’ve wanted to do.  I’ve seen 3 Olympic events, enjoyed 2 medal ceremonies, cheered on my US team to victory (more on that), met some amazing individuals and had the experience of a lifetime.  This trip will definitely be one of my "Top 10 best things I’ve done in my lifetime" list, no doubt about it.

          Be sure to check my blog for more Olympic stories yet to come!

         Until next entry, Ping An (Peace), everyone!

            The free subway map I picked up from the airport Olympic information center was certainly coming in handy.  Not only had I easily arrived at the Shangdi station, which is a few blocks away from my hotel, but I also discovered where the Olympic venues were.   I especially took special note of competitions which would not be held in the central Olympic Sports Center and Olympic Green area.  The map  labeled in Chinese characters (with the official sports’ figures nearby for the Chinese illiterate) which places would be having which events.

             Beijing has always had a wide number of university and public sports’ centers within the city.  These were dotted throughout the city,  being used for Game events such as beach volleyball, volleyball, wrestling, boxing, kick-boxing, and tennis, just to name a few.  These sites were good to note because they are not near subway stops.  If I purchased any of these tickets far from the main sports areas, I needed to know how much travel time to allow myself.

               My first venture out was to Beitucheng subway stop, which places the crowds to the Olympic Games center. 

            Exiting the train, the atmosphere was charged with excitement. Everywhere, people were coming and going.  Groups of Chinese kids gleefully chattered away as their adult chaperones led them onward to an event.  Reporters and cameramen with heavy equipment paraded by.  Uniformed coaches, athletes and team assistants quickly hustled onward, their passes dangling around their necks.  Then we have the thousands of Olympic fans, such as myself, who were making their way down a winding corridor toward the subway exit.

            This corridor was humming with activity, not just from spectators but from sellers.  One woman was hawking small flags of China and the Olympics, 1 yuan each (12 cents).  Another was catering to both  children and adults with colorful stickers.  These included hearts, Chinese flags, Olympic designs and the 5 Olympic cartoon animal mascots,  Bei, Jing, Huan, Ying, Nin.  When strung together, the names cleverly create the sentence “Beijing welcomes you.” 

            The Chinese really fell for these stickers. After paying 12 cents for one sheet, I watched the kids playfully slapping them to their cheeks, foreheads and arms.  Even the adults couldn’t resist decorating their faces for the Olympics’ arrival.

            It was after I had purchased my stickers and flags that I noticed a lone scalper, openly holding up a single ticket in the hopes of a buyer.  Several had gathered around to inspect what was being offered.

            Although I hadn’t planned on doing this so soon,  I decided to try my luck.

            “How much?” I asked in Chinese.

            “400 yuan ($58),” the man replied.

            I peered at the ticket:  Weightlifting, 7 p.m. that evening, with a face value of 100 yuan ( $14.50).

            “300 ($43.50),” I tried.

            The man snorted in disdain at my offer.   He wasn’t budging so I turned to move on.

            There was a tug on my arm.

            Despite the seller’s original reluctance, he jerked his chin upward. 

            It was a sale.

            I’d done it!  I’d managed an Olympic venue ticket for a price I could afford. Never mind I knew nothing about weightlifting.  I’d come to see a competition and that’s what I’d be doing.  I felt a bit like Charlie in Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  I’d gotten my golden ticket. 

            This was definitely what I had hoped for when I decided to come.

The Olympic Green

            The Olympic Green and Sports Center are where all the famous venues are located, including the Cube (National Natatorium) and the Bird’s Nest which houses the Olympic flame.

            The Olympic Green is a beautiful boulevard walkway.  This is the place spectators leisurely saunter through, taking pictures of the architectural wonders that have lit up the TV screen for over a week. 

            Unfortunately, I quickly learned that tight security won’t allow anyone near the venues without a ticket.  Taking pictures of the Bird’s Nest and the Cube from a distance was the best any of us without venue tickets could do.  It was a bit disappointing to come so far and not be able to walk around these amazing competition centers.   I had to make due with shots from afar, like the rest of the gawking visitors.

            But to be honest, I really didn’t care.  I had my Olympic ticket in hand.  That was good enough for me.

 A Night To Remember

            The Koreans went nuts!  Their flags flew.  Their cheers pierced the gymnasium.  Their sections waved.

            It was a great night for South Korea and women’s heavyweight weightlifting history. Three  Olympic and world records set in the 75+ kg (165 lbs)  women’s weightlifting final.

            And I witnessed it all.

            I couldn’t have lucked out on a better ticket.  This was about to be a night to remember.

            I arrived early by subway to the weighlifting venue at Beijing University of Aeronautics & Astronautics Gymnasium.  If this was the only competition I’d see here at the Olympics, I was going to enjoy it to the fullest.

            Since it’s impossible to get into venues, or anywhere near them, without passing through ticket check points, I made sure I was there an hour early.

            I followed the South Korean fans and others through the main university gates and then passed through a lovely walkway of trees.  Chinese universities, even in the middle of huge, traffic-filled cities, have beautiful campuses.

            At the security check, our helpful Olympic volunteers carefully directed us through the line.  Our tickets were manually checked, scanned by an electronic ticket machine, and handed back to us for entry.  All spectators and their belongings went through security screening  as well.  After that, it was through the fenced in area to land in front of the gymnasium steps, decked with flowers.

            With 45 minutes yet to go, I hung around outside, watching Chinese and foreign visitors alike milling about in anticipation of the competition to come.  A snack bar had people buying ice cream, drinks and hotdogs.  The small souvenir shop was busy but not too many buying as prices were high.  30 minutes before the competition, out came full life-sized versions of our Olympic mascots.  To entertain the children, they danced and hopped around while the MC’s urged them on.  A picture-taking session was next with lines of eager families waiting for their turn with their beloved Game characters.

            25 minutes to go, I entered the gymnasium.

            What an incredible sight!  The place was amazing: brightly lit, extremely colorful, everything spiffy, clean and new.  The press section was busy with photographers adjusting their cameras.  The judges’ tables were all in place.  A special area  for other Olympic athletes, visiting venues during the Games, was sectioned  off in front of the stage area.  In the stands, those of us with the cheap tickets(high up) were abundant.  My row was 27 out of 35, seat 21, which gave me a fairly close, clear vantage point of the weighlifting arena.  Although I only had a side view, the next level lower had a small monitor which allowed me to see what TV viewers were watching. 

            To keep everyone in high spirits, upbeat music was constantly playing throughout the gym.  We also had Chinese dancers, male and female, who flitted about  performing vibrant dance routines in satiny costumes.

            The Chinese certainly do know how to put on a show.

            15 minutes before the event, our athletes were introduced.  I was excited to see an American in the group.  My U.S. flag would definitely come in handy this evening.  I expected to wave it high when cheering on our Olympian.

              It was the South Koreans, however, who created the most noise.  Their Jang Mi-ran, weighing in at 105 kg (231.5 lbs), was a favorite to win the gold if she could beat out Ukraine’s Olha Korobka (167 kgs, or 368 lbs). 

            Gosh, those girls were big!  It was anxious to watch their agility in lifting while carrying around that much body weight. It seemed somewhat impossible.

              I must admit, I knew absolutely nothing about weightlifting.  It seemed straightforward.  If you lifted the most weight, holding the bar upward with feet firmly planted until the green light went on, you won. 

             There was a bit more to it than that.  I spent a long time being confused about what was going on.  Only after returning to the hotel was I able to do an Internet search and figure out what I’d not understood before.

            In weightlifting, there are two categories:  the snatch (one continuous motion to raise the bar above the head), then the clean and jerk (allowing the bar to rest on the shoulders before hoisting it upward).  Both weight scores for both categories are added together for the winner.  In other words, you might not get the highest weight lifted in a snatch but if you pulled off a great clean and jerk, your total could give you the gold.

              Lifters choose their own starting weight they want to lift but once that weight has been added to the bar, it can never go down again for that particular lifter. If an athlete (wich coaches’ advice) chooses too high, he or she won’t be able to make the 3 attempts for snatch or the 3 attempts for clean and jerk, meaning that person is out of the running. 

            The atmosphere was electric when the competition began.  We were all holding our breaths as each girl hoisted seemingly impossible weights upward.  I made sure to cheer on our American, Cheryl Haworth, although she had to bow out early after failing her final attempts.

            The star of the evening was definitely our Korean girl Jang Mi-ran.  In an incredible display of strength, this young woman outdid everyone.  She had us on our feet three times as she broke Olympic and world records three times, bettering herself with each push for success.

             What a night! 

            When it came to her final world record lift, 186 kg (410.1 pounds) for the clean and jerk, she sunk to her knees with tears streaming down her cheeks, her hands clasped in prayer and pressed to her face in utter amazement.  It was such a moving moment for all of us.

             When it came time for the medal ceremony, each Olympian proudly climbed the podium to receive her medal.  The three flags were marched out and dramatically prepared for their hoist skyward. As they were slowly raised to South Korean’s national anthem, silence overtook the crowd.   Our medal winners stood stoically, their faces beaming.

            No matter whose nationality we represented, we spectators were as one.  These young women, with so many years of training and sacrifice, had accomplished their dream.  We all felt very honored and privileged to have shared in their victory. 

            It was definitely a night to remember.

            Day 2 in Beijing, however, has proved to be just as surprising and astonishing as Day 1.  Stay tuned for tomorrow’s news about Connie at the Beijing Summer Olympics!

            “Ping An”, ya’ all!  Have a blessed Sunday.     

           Zhang Cheng Gan was a very cheerful 48-year-old Chengdu taxi driver.  After catching his cab in front of my apartment this morning, I could n’t contain my excitement of going to Beijing.  Once it was out of my mouth, we cheered on our countries all the way to the Chengdu International aiprot. 

             Arrived in a speedy 20 minutes flat.

            After I received his strong handshake from his car window, Mr. Zhang gave me his parting English phrase, the only one he knew.

            “I love you, Kangni (Connie)!  I love you, China!”

            A smile, a wave and off he went.

            Now that’s a great send-off to the 2008 Summer Olympic Games!

            With Olympic competitions already underway at 8 a.m., there was no fear in anyone missing the events/their favorite sports.  The Chengdu airport is now filled with TV screens broadcasting live reports and news updates from Beijing.   People hover around the screens, watching with great interest.  Every once in awhile, you’ll hear a gasp or shout of joy when a Chinese athlete does well in his or her competition.   I would think seeing all this in the airport would make one want to exchange that ticket to Nanjing or Hong Kong for a flight to Beijing. 

            Only Little Flower had a very unhappy morning.  A suitcase for her means we (together) are going on a trip.  She rushed into her carrier, then waited eagerly for me pick her up and whisk her out the door. 

           
            Instead, she was left whimpering at the closed door, then in the glassed in sunroom, as I wheeled my small suitcase out of the complex to the street.

            Not this time, Little Flower.   

It Pays To Speak Up

            The excited buzz on the airplane to Beijing was quite apparent.  A majority on this flight were heading to the capital city for one thing:  the Olympics. 

            In the 2-hour flight, things would have been pleasant had it not been for a little boy seated behind me.  Not only was he often kicking my seat, but he also was quite loud when talking.  It was an obnoxious loud, with whiny sentences of wanting this and that or mimicking favorite children’s cartoon characters. 

            When the plane landed and we were all standing in the aisles to depart, this little boy began hitting his mother, griping and pushing her to and fro.  His mother, meanwhile, just smiled and stroked his plump cheeks to appease him.

            I’ve seen a lot of these one-child policy episodes with spoiled brats taking over their parents’ affections.  Usually, I stay quiet in these kind of situations, but not today.

            “You’re very impolite,” I scolded the child in Chinese. 

            His eyes widened, seeing a foreigner who can say something in his language.

            “This is your mother,” I continued with a frown.  “You should respect her, not hit her.”

            At this, the mother giggled with embarrassment while her son actually looked quite contrite and ashamed.  He nodded his agreement and gave his mom a loving hug.

            My deed done, I softened a bit.

             “Ni shuo bu shuo yingwen? (Do you speak English?)” I asked him, adding “Hello!”

            He brightened and answered back the same.  His mother began to lose her embarrassment and pressed him to say something else in English.

            “How are you?” he said, shyly.

            “I am fine,” I replied. “How are you?”
            “I am fine.  Where are you from?”

            “I am from America.  And you?”
            “I am from Chengdu,” he beamed.

            “Wow!”  I praised his mom.  “His English is great!  How old is he?”
            “I’m six years old,” the little boy answered my Chinese question.

            After that, I pretty much endeared myself to the family.  Mom had questions for me and volunteered that she was a reporter for the Chengdu Morning Daily newspaper.  I know this newspaper well because I pass their building every day on the way to my swimming pool. 

            “Do you have Olympic tickets?” I asked.  “I don’t have any and I want some but I can’t pay a high price.”

            Her immediate response was to give me her business card saying that  her friend, who already purchased them, might have extras.  I should call her later and find out.

            Lucky me!  A contact already and I haven’t even made it to the Olympic park yet.

            I guess sometimes, it pays to speak your mind.

Beijing Arrival

            It was an amazing experience to walk into and through Beijing’s new airport.  I was so used to the former airport, a dinky little worn thing with hardly any shops and only one nasty restaurant, that I didn’t recognize it.  The floors glittered.  The glass windows and ceilings allowed in amazing light.  The tidy shops and fragrant restaurants enticed.   The place was incredibly spacious, which was obviously needed.  There were people everywhere: Chinese tour groups, reporters lugging around heavy equipment, Olympic team coaches and assistants all in uniform, and those like me who came for the experience.

            Blue-jacketed Olympic helpers seemed to be at every turn.  I stopped at the Olympic help desk for a map and found where to take the express train into the city.  My plan had been to subway it to the Holiday Inn Express as it was very near one of the subway stations.  For 25 yuan ($3.50), the express train whizzed me into the city where for 2 yuan (22 cents), I easily changed to the connection subway line.  Then it was just a matter of watching the stops, getting off at the Shangdi Station and walking a few blocks to the hotel. 

            This area of Beijing I am quite unfamiliar with as it’s at the northern outskirts of the city.  The main Olympic venues, however, and the Olympic Village are not far away which means I made a very wise decision in booking this room in advance. 

            And what a great room it is, too!  I’m used to my bargain $11 to $20 a night rooms at the lower end Chinese hotels.  They’re clean and have TV sets but they are pretty run down.  Wires dangle from the ceiling.  The bathroom usually has leaks. The carpet is rather disgusting. (Best to wear slippers or never take off your shoes).  But here, I have a large screen flat TV, great air conditioning, brand new everything, a small couch/pull-out bed, table, and a computer desk for emailing and blogging. 

            It’ll  certainly be hard to return to my usual mundane accommodations after this.  

            Now it’s out the door, on my way to the main venue areas.  I’m not counting on getting any tickets, not with the reports of the overpriced scalpers, but you never know.  Wish me luck!

             From Beijing, sending you a Saturday "Ping An".