I'm leaving for America today. Beijing has been very busy, and I regret not posting more often. Regardless, my blog will take a bit of a hiatus until I go abroad again or decide to write something. Thanks for reading!

798 - part 1

798 was originally the name of a secret military weapons complex, but in recent years cheap real estate has attracted hundreds of young Chinese artists, who live, paint, and set up shop in and among the mostly-abandoned warehouses and machinery.
The complex covers many city blocks that would take days to cover thoroughly. I am very impressed at how, in the face of serious consequences, passionate Chinese artists have managed to penetrate every crevice of this complex, like determined ants descending on a hollow insect carcass. Every artist represents himself in a different way - some own track-lit galleries, others rent dingy studios in converted second story factory worker dormitories, some are content to paint aerosol murals on factory walls.

photos from the temple of heaven

Singing on a Saturday afternoon in a park.

8808

The Olympics opening ceremony starts in two hours. The city is super-saturated with anticipation; it seems impossible for any expectations to be met. The streets were eerily quiet today - thousands and thousands of cars and highways have been blocked from use. My usual Friday test was postponed until Monday. Get ready for the country's coming out party.

birthday recovery

After surviving my 21st birthday, I set out with some friends to wander among the Beijing hutong, the traditional courtyard houses martial arts movies have familiarized you with. Like many medieval European cities, hutong developments have narrow, winding streets and high walls. The only unobstructed views are down alleys. Many of the hutongs have been renovated to attract tourists, their insides stuffed with Italian espresso, Indian curry, and Belgian beer instead of Beijing families of less money and more tradition. Still, given Beijing's track record, the revamping has been remarkably unobtrusive and tasteful.

After a 2pm breakfast of ricotta ravioli, Chimay, and surprisingly good espresso, I felt inclined to a massage. My more experienced friends suggested a medicinal massage clinic a stone's through away, and I paid the equivalent of $7 for a thirty minute foot massage - what seemed like the safest way to test the waters. My therapist was quite friendly, and we gossiped about Beijing in Chinese while he scraped the dead skin off of my feet with a chisel. Most of the massage was below my pain threshold, but about twenty minutes in the guy's fingers hit the mother of all nerves on my right sole. My therapist immediately looked up and, through a mixture of infant Chinese and impromptu sign language explained that my unnaturally sore sole was a result of tension in my shoulders. He suggested cupping to ease the tension. He was insistent. My comfort zone was in need of stretching, so I decided to try it out. Two minutes later, I was face down on a table with flaming glass bowls sucking on to my skin. I'm sure this is old hat for lots of you, but I had to try hard not to whimper. Fortunately, though, the glass parasites were removed in a few minutes and I limped home in one piece. My shoulder should be pretty loose now.