Beijing exists in a void that is out of touch with the charms of China I sought to experience. It's a city full of materialistic dreams and crane cluttered horizons. Watching the western businessmen run to and fro in their 3 piece suits I'm reminded of ancient vikings crashing upon the shores of distant lands seeking to rape and pillage. Cheap labor and profits seem to be all that is cared for. They reach with outstretched hands and eager faces seeking to lay their paws on anything of value. I can't help but feel a distance between people like me and invaders like them.

It's not just the foreigners who cling to dreams of financial prosperity. The Chinese also care about little more than the size of their salary. Wondering if this year they can secure a trip abroad or if they'll children are kept in constant supply of the latest fashions. A materialistic disease has infected the metropolitan Chinese cities.

I came to China to envelop myself in the mystery of the Orient. Such precious little was known before I left. All I had were pre-concieved notions and myths about chopsticks and Confucious. I wished to trade in my ignorance and I wanted to understand. The farthest thing from my mind was the corporate ugliness that has rooted itself here. The need for western commodities have sunk into the pshyces of the people to such a depth that it's beyond the point of no return.

My initial experiences of China were of the countryside. I was surrounded by a general poverty that became normal. The poverty I witnessed was at first striking but I then began to notice that the peasants knew nothing else. They weren't discontent to live in that way. Chinese life is still very real and exposed in those settings. Unlike Beijing.

Beijing has done it's best to cover up any signs of poverty. It's covered up more than it realizes though. It's covered up a certain essence that helps to define what China is. Beijing has cowered to a certain image they wish to project and in the process of modernizing has also destroyed. Not only historic buildings are being torn down but the mental barriers once erected to keep out western influence are all but gone. This fact is what is bringing about so much change and such a loss of identity. I wonder where the balance is and if it'll ever be found.

A hot and sticky night it was that produced beads and little streams of sweat on my face as I headed to Worker's Stadium in the heart of Beijing to witness a little football magic mixed in with some incredible scenes of humanity. Throngs of Chinese fans crowded the streets with their banners proclaiming such expressions as, "God bless China", choking the surrounding neighborhoods around the stadium and reducing the paved areas to nothing more than a crush of human bodies. There was a buzz in the air that seemed to be growing as we neared the stadium. Frequent hollers and shouts of indiscernable words could be heard alongside the provoking sound of plastic noisemakers. Street vendors sold large Chinese national flags attatched to bamboo poles and little children were carried on the shoulders of the their fathers.

Getting to our seat that was fairly close to the field, and nestled in with the rest of the 60,000 people, the human spectacle continued. The fans were absolutely mad. The stadium's foundations seemed to be vibrating with every stomp of one's foot and every nerve rattling shout that escaped from the throats of those present.

The Iranian team stepped onto the field for this semi-final match of the 2004 Asian cup and the crowd was briefly subdued as their national anthem poured from the loud speakers. Scornful shouts could be heard while a few Iranian flags bravely popped up. The Chinese team then stepped onto the field. Hello team, goodbye eardrums. Temporary deafness follwed bellowing utterances of the patriotic nature. Chants and the banging of drums let the Chinese football players know they were among those who loved them.

The Chinese team scored a goal and out came the red flags of China. Then Iran scored a goal and out came the boos. Regulation time ended with a deadlocked 1-1 match. So did overtime. It was down to the penalty kicks.

China missed a penalty kick and various things ranging from plastic water bottles to paper fans that were distributed at the gates of the stadium began to reign down on the field demonstrating the extreme dissatisfaction of the Chinese fans at having watched a missed oppurtunity. Then the Iranians missed a penalty kick. Then they missed another. China had won.

Hugs were distributed freely and the friction of never ending high-fives were giving people blisters. It was a full 10 minutes before anyone made for a stadium exit and throats were left froggy after all the shouting. Artificial thunder was being created and the seams of the levy were close to bursting. Pandemonium was slowly escalating into blind confusion and it suddenly became known that it was a good time to get out of the stadium. Amidst all of the happiness and joy however there was one pocket of despair. The team that had just been handed a loss slowly made it's way off the field. Iran had been knocked out of the tournament.

The streets outside the stadium offered an atmosphere that was much the same as inside the stadium. Revelry was being sought as strangers embraced in a football induced loss of inhibition. Being there felt like a courageous act and leaving was difficult. Forging a path through the deadlocked humanity was an excercise in persistence.

Upon breaching the barrier of people and reaching the outer limits of the celebration finding a taxi was also labourious. Patience was key and the work eventually paid off. Arriving home I was given reprieve of the sweltering night outside thanks to the wonder of air conditioning.

The Chinese had conquered on the field and in three days they face old rivals Japan in the finals of what should be a city jarring match.