Olympics transform life in Beijing

Vancouverites who complain about the inconveniences brought about by the 2010 Winter Olympics would blanch at what the summer version is costing Beijingers.

For years, authorities have worked on transforming the organized sprawl of China’s capital into the largest Potemkin village in history, with cutting-edge architecture, new subway lines, and a massive cleanup effort. And the city at least looks ready for the Games.

More and more “Blue Sky” days are declared, which lack the haze that sometimes envelops the metropolis. But an unpolluted Olympics is still a murky prospect to those in the city, as smoggy days remain the norm.

The smog cleanup has affected those who depend on heavy industries for their livelihood. The factories in the city and the surrounding provinces have shut down, either partially or completely. According to state media, about 40 factories in Tianjin and nearly 300 factories in Tangshan (a city farther from Beijing than Whistler is from Vancouver) have been ordered to stop production.

Meanwhile, the new pollution-fighting traffic restrictions, which keep half the cars off the streets on alternate days, have alleviated some of the congestion, arguably Beijing’s most persistent problem. The gridlock remains to an extent, particularly in areas not serviced by the recently expanded subway lines. The new Olympic lanes, reserved for vehicles travelling from the Olympic Village to other venues, make the problem worse, not better.

Fortunately, the seemingly interminable road-construction work—for months a nuisance to pedestrians, drivers, and residents throughout the city—is finally complete. The streets have a modernist look to them. These shiny new boulevards are decorated with some 40 million tropical-looking potted ferns and flowers bred for the Games. And though their overreaching branches obstruct cyclists at times, Beijing is looking much greener these days.

The colossal Olympic Forest Park, an urban forest two-thirds larger than Stanley Park, has been planted around the aquatic venues to help combat pollution during the Games. With all the construction leading up to the Olympics done, however, the migrant workers who built the venues have had to pick up and leave. They are joined by beggars, fortunetellers, and other undesirables. The Geneva-based Centre on Housing Rights and Evictions reports that 1.5 million Beijingers have been displaced as a result of the Olympics.

Not included in that number are the expats and foreign students who have been tossed out because of visa clampdowns. Many language schools have had to close their doors due to the volume of departing students. And with fewer expats, especially the younger ones, Beijing’s nightlife has been hit hard.

The Club Obiwan lounge, which sits next to Xihai, an artificial lake northwest of the Forbidden City, now closes down its upper-deck patio at 11 p.m., in accordance with the new restrictions. “We try to keep a low profile during the Olympics,” says Katja, Obiwan’s owner. “Many of our events are billed as private parties now, which are somewhat exempt from the rules.”

To make things worse, bars now have to turn patrons out at 2 a.m., to comply with a hitherto-unenforced regulation that might discourage those planning to take part in late-night Olympic festivities. In the last few months, police have forced the closure of many clubs in the Sanlitun district, an expat-driven strip that hosts much of the city’s nightlife. These establishments were easy targets, according to local proprietors, as many of them did not have the full set of licences to begin with. Those situated around Beijing Workers’ Stadium have had to close too, regardless of whether they had the right paperwork.

Nights might be a little less colourful now. The once-plentiful vendors and the famous Beijing street-food sellers have been shooed away. Although tourists can still find them in government-approved tourist spots such as the Wangfujing snack street, the night stalls that used to cram the roads with small edibles such as candied hawthorn are now gone.

The streets are empty at 2 a.m., save for a now-common sight: a lone police vehicle, blinkers on and engine running, parked at the side of the road. And the People’s Armed Police are out in force every night. They are a reassuring sight for locals, who have been increasingly jittery since the July 21 bus explosions in Kunming, in the south of the country.

Security issues have also caused the postponement of the annual Midi Modern Music Festival and the cancellation of the Beijing Pop Festival. This is a marked departure from what has happened in other Olympic cities like Vancouver, which usually gear up for the Games with a host of cultural events.

D-22, a punk-oriented club and a bastion of independent rock in the Wudaokou area, also had to close its doors temporarily, due to regulations that even the local police did not fully grasp until recently. “We had to go to this and that government department to fill out the appropriate paperwork just to get the place up again,” says co-owner Charles Saliba. “We’re not so much affected by the 2 a.m. rule though, since our gigs usually end before then, but we’ve definitely been warned about them.”

Not all of the new restrictions will be unwelcome to foreigners. Certain traditions such as spitting are subject to fines. And of course, the illegal venues have disappeared, among them the once-ubiquitous DVD stores. Some, however, managed to pull the stocks of pirated western films and TV shows from their shelves on time. Store clerks who are pressed as to whether they really don’t have any Hollywood films invariably respond with: “Wait until after the Olympics.” For Beijingers, this has become a rather common refrain.