Susan Jackson

In all my childhood Olympic gymnastic fantasies, there were never any 71-cent beers, a feature that made my Olympic gymnastics reality all the more special. Don’t worry, when I attended the women’s gymnastic qualifier round the other night, I did not abuse the bargain at the concession stand and try to lead a chant about the balance beam being approximately the width of your television remote control (did they mention that figure on NBC this year? They have for every other summer Olympics). I did, however, feel very lucky to watch the competition. I never thought I would attend an Olympic event in my life, though the Games deeply inspire me every two years. Despite seats near the top of the venue, we had a great view and watched the athletes dazzle us with their spangles and tumbles. Our fav was a tiny (aren’t they all?) girl with dreads from Greece, blowing my belief that 342 hair clips and one white scrunchy per athlete was a uniform requirement.

When we arrived last month, the Olympic excitement was palpable. China is so incredibly proud to host the Games and when the first firework exploded over the opening ceremony on Friday night, the country collectively let out a pent-up jubilation seven years in the making.

A friend and I braved the crowds to celebrate with the reported 90,000 people gathered outside National Stadium. We weren’t able to get too close, but from where we stood we could see the fireworks shooting out of the top of the Bird’s Nest, and more importantly, the reactions of the thousands of Chinese packed in around us. Because of the distance, smog, and line of sight, it was virtually impossible to capture photos of anything recognizable as the ceremony, but throngs of people spilled into the street anyway, cameras held high and snapping away. Slick with sweat because the thick crowd blocked what little breeze there was on the humid night, my friend and I cheered and laughed with the locals around us, marveling that despite the heat and pushing everyone was in the highest of spirits.

After swimming in the sea of humanity for a while, we left to meet up with friends watching the ceremony on the roof deck of a popular expatriate bar. Initially, a bar was the last place I wanted to watch the opening, but when I got a friend on the phone for directions, it was instantly clear that my fear of a crowded, rowdy bar with no one paying attention to the ceremony was uncalled for. My friend spoke in a whisper and it was so quiet in the background that I thought he had stayed at the dorm to watch from his room.

We arrived and tiptoed through people jammed onto the roof deck, sitting two to a chair or on the floor and intently watching a projection screen. Under low lights and the bow of a beautiful tree that grew over the deck, we watched the parade of nations begin. Expats and travelers from all over the world stood up and cheered when their countries emerged from the tunnel to circle the track. The rest of the bar joined in the celebration for each and for a few seconds, everyone got to feel like they were home.

When the citywide fireworks display started popping, we turned our chairs to watch the action over nearby Hou Hai lake, an trendy area full of bars and restaurants. It was like a New Year’s celebration wrapped into something bigger and more meaningful because the whole world was watching. Years of preparation for China and months of preparation for us at Emerson boiled down to this one night. It was a thrilling evening to be a part of.

Ready or not China, it’s time to show the world what you’ve got.

My obsession with ice cream dates back rather far—like, to the womb. When this bun was in the oven, my mother made so many trips to Steve’s Ice Cream for vanilla frappes that the employees gave her matching Steve’s t-shirts for us to sport once the stork finally dropped me off—all 9+ pounds of me. (Must have been before frozen yogurt hit the scene.) So naturally, one of my favorite things to do is scout out ice cream, and fortunately, Beijingers love it. In a city where summer temps can push into the 90s, there is no shortage of places to grab a bottle of cold tea and an ice cream pop.

If you’ve dined in a Chinese restaurant in America, you might think the Chinese sweets department is limited to pineapple chunks and fortune cookies. While it’s true that cakes, cookies, and pastries are not very prevalent, ice cream pops abound here and satisfy my periodic dessert cravings.

On a hot day, one of my favorite sights is the photo of a girl in a bright yellow “Abercrombif & and Titch” t-shirt smiling at me from the side of one of the city’s ubiquitous ice cream freezers. I’ve worked my way through most of the flavor options and have a recommendation if there are any U.S.-based ice cream novelty makers reading this—more hidden treats! My favorite pop to date, the cookie surprise (as I’ll call it since I can’t read Chinese characters), presents itself in an unassuming way. Covered in a standard crunchy chocolate shell, it looks similar to a Nestle Crunch ice cream bar. Inside though, the thing is a non-stop party of layered goodness. The fun starts with a large chocolate chunk on top and continues right on down to swaths of cookie, something gooey, and something yellow (which doesn’t sound appetizing, but is. Just go with me on this.)

While cookie surprise is a champ ready for export, the strongest contender for most unusual, hands down, is the corn pop. The pale yellow ice cream surrounded by a thin, rigged wafer legitimately looks like an ear of corn on a stick, and tastes like just like the butter that would drip down your arms from a piece at a summer barbecue. It is decent for the first few bites, but pretty intense to finish. Don’t forget to floss afterwards.

What corn ice cream mention would be complete without a bean ice cream mention? (They’re great together in chili after all.) Next up on the tasting list is something that looks remotely like a cousin of Pizza the Hut from the Mel Brooks classic, Spaceballs. A volcanic eruption of shaved ice topped with beans, fruit, and/or something gelatinous, it should be interesting. I’ll keep you posted.

Now, to gather all the people I know who like a scoop of bean-corn vanilla next to their chocolate chip cookie dough…

UPDATE: While this little beauty on the right may resemble a pile of cat vomit, it actually tasted awesome. Who knew that when red beans cheated on rice with ice, an equally delicious food would emerge. We could identify the red beans and shaved ice, as well as two kinds of tapioca balls and that flan-ish top hat, but the other ingredients are a mystery. A delicious mystery.

At the conclusion of the somewhat violent, yet satisfying, experience that was my first Chinese massage, I had a choice to make. My masseur brought a yellow plastic box into the room as the other masseur jabbed a final few fingers into Crysty’s back. Both started pointing to the box, and it didn’t take me long to say, “Yeah!” after one slid the lid off to reveal two dozen small, globe-shaped glass jars. We were about to be cupped.

Now, at this point, I wasn’t sure about the exact health benefits of cupping, but did know that fire, suction, and round purple bruises were in my future. Illogically enough, I popped my thumbs up, smiled, and rolled over to have the bad juju sucked out of me. My post-suck research uncovered that cupping is a form of acupressure used to improve circulation, and treat a host of ailments.

Pre-suck, the masseur fired-up the insides of each globe, creating low-pressure areas that would latch onto and pull our skin upwards into the glass. Minutes later, Crysty and I were outfitted to play a pair of dinosaurs on The Jetsons. After we snapped a few awkward photos and giggled a bit, the masseurs removed each cup with a thwunk sound and we skedaddled to discuss whether or not we felt any different than when we arrived.

It is honestly difficult to say whether or not the mild soreness I’m now experiencing in my back is from the intense massage, the cupping bruises, or both, but I’m not unhappy about it. The practice is thousands of years old and wouldn’t still be around if it…sucked.

A converted industrial area, Beijing’s 798 district houses more contemporary art galleries, book stores, and cafes than anyone could visit in one day, but we still tried. For me, casually wandering from gallery to gallery stirred up many questions about contemporary China, freedom, and expression. I don’t know much about art, but there was no end to my fascination with most of what I saw in 798. Though subversive, it was first time I encountered something in China that could be considered contrary to the status quo. It was refreshing to see a scratch in the veneer of perfect contentment, however small.

The Fifth Element Gallery housed the pieces that struck me the most. Artist Xiao Se’s paintings featured a common theme of distorted, anime faces, stark landscapes, subtle jabs at technology, and broken or stitched-up apples—an element I don’t quite understand.

While it was (strangely) acceptable to photograph the art in a number of galleries, I mainly stuck to snapping shots of the graffiti peppered throughout the area. You can see more in my photo gallery.