An eerie feeling to these Olympics
BEIJING
These are the eeriest Games ever, as if a neutron bomb had exploded, killing all the people but leaving the buildings perfectly intact.
Gorgeous Olympic facilities, architectural wonders really, clustered into a 1,130-hectare site north of the capital, but only distantly glimpsed by most Chinese, meaning those without an event ticket, ergo no entrée to the hub of the Games.
Yesterday, as every day so far, it was a poignant sight – thousands of people, many with youngsters in tow, standing on the wrong side of the fencing that rings the main Olympic compound, home to the Bird's Nest Stadium and Water Cube, fencing hall, hockey stadium, archery field and tennis centre.
Kids with Olympic rings painted on their faces are hoisted high on their parents' shoulder and yet can see almost nothing of this wondrous spectacle hosted by their own country, can't hear the roaring of the crowd, can't even enjoy an ice cream on the lovely forest-edged Green, a beautifully created space just aching for a perambulating crowd.
Only a ticket or a credential will get you through the security gates. And this is such a shame.
For as long as I can remember – and these are my 10th Games – there has always been a plaza, a square, a cheek-by-jowl pulsating public area at the heart of the Olympic complex where everybody could mingle, feel as if they're actually participating in a memorable extravaganza. In both Turin and Salt Lake City – Winter Games – the medal ceremonies were actually held every night in a central plaza, close to venues, and it was one of the most pleasurable experiences for the citizenry. Even those with ducats came back for the fun and the partying and the national anthems.
In Beijing, the Olympic Green is a very pretty gulag surrounded by spooky empty streets, populated mostly by journalists from around the globe, humping from one competition to another or hitching rides on golf carts.
Volunteers do careen about on mopeds and bicycles but, otherwise, very little stirs, at least until the big facilities – the athletics stadium and the pool – let out at the end of the day. Even then, sports fans herded towards the new subway station are swallowed up in the cavernous space so that creating any sense of shared occasion and Olympic buzz is nearly impossible.
This keep-out approach to the Games was allegedly undertaken for reasons of security – terrorism always a threat – but more likely to thwart protesters from embarrassing China's one-party government over a variety of political issues, demonstrations limited (by permit) to a handful of far-flung parks. And dissidents who actually live in this country would be crazy to show their faces there, with police video recording events and no doubt hell to pay later.
In lieu of the real thing, there is the remote TV thing: 24 huge, high definition television screens set up around the city for the "common people'' – in a purportedly classless communist society, remember – to watch the competitions unfold. The most fabulous of these "Olympic Live Sites'' is at a place known as, uh, "The Place,'' where a long overhead LED screen – the largest in Asia – covers the entire street, stretching between two new five-storey, high-end retail centres. A great location to watch aquatics, with the screen replicating a swimming lane, the viewer feeling as if underwater, looking up at the competitors. Nearby are 102 Terracotta Warriors (not the real thing), the whole scene lit up at night by pink neon columns.
Still, it's only a digitally cloned Olympic experience.
And then you have the bars, of course, nightclubs and saloons with names like Suzy Wong's, Baby Face, China Doll and (our favourite) Propaganda. Drink prices are stiff and few patrons actually watch the sports on TV, but great spots for rubbing up against a stranger on the crowded dance floor. Oh, hello, ni hao, yee-hah.
Finally, though, on the weekend, we found the people: A crushing, celebratory throng of Chinese and foreign visitors, maddened souvenir shoppers and sports fans, gathered around another mammoth TV screen on the Wanfujing pedestrian mall downtown. Sat down at a patio bar to watch yet another Chinese athlete win gold – female weightlifter, rah-rah – and left my shopping bag under the table.
Really, I was going to bring you back something.
Rosie DiManno usually appears Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.
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