I recently spent a couple days in Beijing on business. With the run-up to the Olympics I had to admit I was a little curious to see how the Powers That Be were making out with sticking points such as pollution, lack of water, tightened security measures, traffic, weather patterns, the implications of a more restrictive visa policy and other persnickety issues. I had been able to escape the trip “up north” to the capital for nearly a year and a half, but finally had to bite the bullet and show up to a meeting in the Central Business District.

One of the first things that surprised me about the trip came even before we arrived at Shanghai’s Hongqiao Airport for the flight: the Hotel at which we were going to be staying in Beijing – the Nikko – in the Central Business District, was remarkably inexpensive: only about 900 rmb per night. That told me if the Central Government had not been able to suspend the laws of supply and demand and that indeed hotels were hurting for business, just as I had been reading in the international newspapers. Visa restrictions, the Powers’ more restrictive security enforcement and bad press had put occupancy rates at 40 – 50% less what had been expected, from what I had read. That my hotel room rate a mere month from what has in other countries amounted to one of the biggest parties they’ve ever hosted indicated to me international attendance was not going to reach the levels the Powers had in their dreams prophesied.

Of course, traffic was miserable in the city; but it really wasn’t so bad until we reached the third ring road, driving in from the airport. Actually, the only thing exceptional about the traffic was that it was indeed as bad as friends, colleagues and the newspapers had said it had become. It was difficult to make out more than the faint outline of buildings a mere 200 meters away, and the fumes from the exhaust of frustrated cars and bullying buses made me dizzy. A drive that late in the evening to the Hotel took thirty seconds for the taxi to navigate had at rush hour taken our driver 20 minutes.

I do have to admit to taking at least ten of those minutes in the fidgeting traffic to marvel at one of the most extraordinary buildings I have ever seen in my life: the new CCTV tower. The Escher-like structure is imposing, and the way it twists and turns in mid-air seemingly defying the laws of physics was jaw dropping. I commented to my colleague in the car that the building struck me as the perfect structure in which to house an institution that contorts in mid-air and changes direction at its pleasure with the effect of bending even the space around it: the power of Chinese media.

An oddity and perhaps a one-off experience, though I am still unsure, involved dinner with an old friend the evening I arrived at the airport. We ate at The Tree, a popular expat pizza parlour that serves a wide variety of beers, just off Sanlituan . My friend wanted to eat a salad. Salads were unavailable, the bartender informed us (no tables were available at the busy establishment, so we sat at the bar). Why is that? we enquired. He said they had received a government circular that no salads were to be prepared in restaurants until further notice. He was serious. Of course, we asked why the government would want to control salad making. He said he didn’t know much more than that. Still, I don’t know if the circular really existed; or, if it did exist, it just affected the restaurants and cafes in the Sanlituan area. I didn’t know, as well, if it was an effort to save water (as salads typically require extensive washing before serving), or if it was a public health campaign (sometimes salad fixings are not washed enough before serving). Either way, it seemed like a dumb thing to control.

My colleague and I met the next day with a group that had its offices near our hotel. The walk was easy, though noisy and noxious. Visibility was down to 100 meters, so it was difficult to make out buildings that were no more than a block away. It started to drizzle; or rather, the mist that enshrouded us seemed to squeeze out small drops of moisture. I quipped to my colleague, “I think when we get back to Suzhou there’ll be small holes burned into out shirts from the acid rain.” He chuckled I just might be right.

At the end of the meeting our host, a soft-spoken Chinese gentleman in his mid-forties, asked me if I planned to return to Beijing for the Olympics. “No,” I answered definitively, “I intend to go south, as far away from the Olympics as I can.”

“So do I,” the Director said with a smile. He saw the question mark on my face, added, “I’m from Jiaxing [an hour's drive south of Shanghai]; I’m going to go there in a couple weeks. Next week the Beijing government is only allowing cars with odd and even license plates to come into the city on alternating days. It will be miserable getting around.”

The afternoon flight back to Shanghai was easy enough, though we were stowed on the airplane an hour just after the staff had battened the hatches. The plane hadn’t even disengaged from the umbilical ramp. During the wait I vowed not to board an airplane during the Olympics: security was tighter, lines were longer. Even at the subways, I had heard that now passengers had to queue to pass through metal detectors to board their trains. Of course, this being China and all, the tightened vigil at the subways had meant nabbing would-be passengers with everything from tanks of gasoline through Bowie knives. So, though the cramped Beijing trains were safer, they were certainly less interesting to ride.

It was good getting back to Shanghai. For one, there was sunshine. Bright, blinding, with a great blue backdrop as canvas for a sweltering homecoming. I resisted the urge to drop to the pavement outside the Hongqiao terminal to kiss the ground. Still, I was happy to return. At least, in this part of China, though making money was of paramount importance, at least the laws of physics were still observed.