beijing air

It took me at least 72 hours to get the smell of Beijing out of my nostrils. I went for 8 days and it took me about half that time again to "unsmell" all I had smelt.

I was grateful to return the the purer New Zealand air, the type that doesn't leave black bits in your tissue when you blow your nose.  

So what does it smell of?

I remember Nasa astronaut, Jerry Lineger describing the smell of space "sort of a burned out, after-the-fire, the next-morning-in-your-fireplace sort of smell". Beijing isnt far from this – it stinks of coal. Not charcoal, but those black, dense, sooty chunks that I used to have to carry in from the bleak english winter at 6am as part of my boyhood chores.

As soon as the airport's automatic doors swished open it was like being in a foundry of some sort. A burning smell, of coal and of steel: the odour of industry with notes of vehicle exhaust and rubble.

We hoped that the aircon in the hotel room would free us from our "coke habit" but actually it seemed to pump more of the invisible stink into us while we slept.

The next morning after a night of choked coughs and sniffling, breakfast was served. I was impressed with the array at the Beijng Grand View Garden hotel. Silver terrines with burners underneath held ham, boiled eggs, baked beans, pancakes, frankfurters. It all looked really good – until I sat down and tasted it. All of it was stone cold. 

Each morning we entered the breakfast room at different times between 6am and 9am in the hope that at one sitting we'd hit the jackpot, or rather the hotpot. But it was no use. Even when it came out of the kitchen it was cold. And so I came to learn that the Chinese have a deep fear of burning their mouths as not a single meal, fast food, restaurant or hotel was any hotter than lukewarm.

Once we plucked up enough courage to leave the hotel, we took a cab to the Lama Temple north of the city centre. During the short cab ride we must have witnessed more than 50 incredibly near misses: car and cars, cars and pedestrians, pedestrians and bikes, bikes and cars. Stepping out of the cab I noticed my stomach was knotted tightly and my knuckles were white. The driving is insane and the cabs have no seatbelts. 

The Lama temple is an island of peace in a sea of traffic intersections and street vendors. As if the coal smell wasnt enough everyone who came to worship the bhuddas did so by burning bundles of 30 incense sticks at a time. The air was acrid and eye watering.

The day was bright but we never saw the sun. It was hazy and warm - but mostly hazy - like a fog curtain always hanging 100m from your location at any one time. Some days were cooler, a few warmer but all were like the aftermath of a nearby controlled demolition.

In 5 months Beijing will host the 2008 Olympics, things kick off on 8/8/08. 8 is a Chinese lucky number. However, luck or no luck, I think this is fucked. 

Thousands of athletes running, jumping, swimming and generally hyperventilating as they exert themselves to the max isn't going to make for good viewing as the 100m hurdlers take pitstops for blasts on the oxygen cannister, the marathon runners wheel around their iron lungs and the clay pigeon shooters require night sights to locate their targets.

Thats if the TV cameras can pick up any of them through the haze.