If all goes according to plan, when you read this I will be laying on a beach in Sanya, Hainan, a tropical island off China's South Coast. We planned a short trip there to reconnect as a family -- our sons returned from three weeks in the U.S. on Tuesday -- and to allow Rebecca and I to wash the Olympics out of our hair and get back to daily life in Beijing, as we prepare for our final few months in China before decamping for the U.S.
Being in the middle of the Olympics was the most intense extended event of my life. For 17 days, the Games were a swirl of commitments and story ideas pulling me in different directions. My compulsion to attend events lightened after a few days, however, and I spent more time out and about in the city, reporting on Chinese peoples' reaction to the Olympics. I found myself serving as something of a bridge between Olympics Land and Beijing. I made restaurant and tourist recommendations to some of the tens of thousands of out-of-town journalists, helping those who could squeeze in a day off to find tour guides and drivers. I also cleared up some misconceptions -- 'No, people don't really eat scorpions on a stick.'
The residents of Beijing also had questions, often wanting to know how events were playing in America and elsewhere. Yes, I told them, journalists were impressed with the city and, yes, everyone agreed that China was doing great, winning all those medals. I paid a couple of visits to a famous ping pong shop to check in with its two genial managers -- a relaxed middle aged man and woman who have the wry humor of those who have seen it all. I visited some of the old, hutong alleyway neighborhoods in South Beijing to see how the Games were being perceived there, even watching the Chinese basketball team's medal round-game against Lithuania in a small restaurant with a couple of staff members who were rabid basketball fans. They couldn't get over my decision to be there when I could have been at the Game -- they regarded me with mystification and almost pity -- but I was happy to be there.
I found most Chinese people to be very proud and somewhat relieved that things were going well. They seemed a bit astonished at their gold medal count but weren't gloating or bragging -- often quickly pointing out how great Michael Phelps is, and how strong the USA basketball team looked.
In addition to being a sporting event the Olympics are a giant party, with many clubs and bars packed, and several new venues set up temporarily just for the Games. There were also a host of private corporate events and my band Woodie Alan played several. Fitting these gigs in amidst my other obligations required both Herculean juggling and good luck, but I didn't want to miss out on this action, or deny my band members the opportunities.
We usually perform in Beijing clubs, dressed in jeans and T-shirts. But two corporate gigs required us to 'dress smartly,' in the words of the British hosts. Two of our Chinese members had never owned a suit before. They visited the tailors on the top floor of the Yashow Market, a huge place popular with tourists, looking to have suits made, but were treated rudely.
'Why are you guys coming here?' the tailors asked my Chinese friends. 'We are making too much money off the foreigners because of the Olympics. Unless you want to pay foreigners' prices, come back in three weeks.'
They went to a store and bought suits off the rack. A few days later, we played a gig for a British real-estate developer. The guest of honor was Sir Steve Redgrave, a quintuple gold medal-winning British rower. The next night, we performed at a gala affair for the British Olympic Association, which featured seven Olympians from this year's team, including several medal-winning swimmers and rowers. We wore our suits with pride and performed on a velvet-lined stage.
Bassist Zhang Yang told me the gig brought him the most money he had made in one night in 20 years as musician. My expat status made us a more valuable commodity, a fact that made me feel simultaneously dirty and happy to have a hand in the guys making the money.
As humorous as it was to see everyone in black suits, it felt even more out of context to sit in a baseball stadium together, which we did last Saturday for the bronze medal match between the USA and Japan.
Dave Loevinger, our other American member, had scored a bunch of tickets, so the whole band went along with Dave and his sons Corey and Andrew. Of the three Chinese members, two -- Lu Wei and Zhang Yong -- were particularly excited because they had been closely following the Games on TV. The third member, Woodie Wu, was happy to take it in, but he had no real interest in sports. Of the three, only Zhang had ever attended any sporting event in person before -- a soccer game in Nanjing, many years ago. This is not atypical in China; there is not a big commercial sporting culture here.
I felt like a cultural ambassador and explainer, which was a total role reversal -- this is exactly what Woodie, our band's de facto interpreter, often does for me. Hanging out with the band members has given me great insight into day-to-day Chinese life and culture and I was happy to return the favor, as best I could.
'Do you understand what's going on?' I asked in the second inning.
'I think so because I've played baseball on Wii before,' Woodie said.
'About half,' said Lu Wei. There was no way to know which half he thought he was grasping, but he was grinning ear to ear, sipping Coke in the sun and soaking in the scene.
I tried to explain the game, both in its simplest form -- 'for a hit to count, it has to land in between those two lines ' -- and its more sublime intricacies 'a pitcher needs to change his speed and location.' Woodie translated for the other two. Everyone nodded but I don't know what they really understood.
When the stands rose en masse during the seventh-inning stretch, Woodie jumped up and asked with some alarm, 'What's going on?'
I explained the tradition as 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game' played and the Americans around us sang loudly along.
'American music,' Lu Wei said in Chinese, still smiling. 'I like it!'
The next day, the whole thing ended with the longest, most elaborate display of fireworks I have ever seen. I watched the sky from the middle of a closed street with at least 100 locals. A man next to me offered me the puppy in his hands and I took him and stroked his soft fur as he relaxed in my arms, oblivious to the explosions and smoke filling the air, a mile or more away from the source. As the show came to an end and cars retook the road, I handed the dog back and he joined the crowd melting back into the neighborhood.
'That was fun,' I thought. 'Thank God it's over.'
I was ready to get on with life in Post-Olympics Beijing. My time here is short and I feel like I don't have a minute to waste.
Alan Paul
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