On Saturday, an evening of volleyball converted me to the Olympics – I hadn't realised sports could be so much fun. I resolved to try to get tickets to more events. The women in black and white are cheerleaders, by the way, not players. And the characters in the inflatable plastic suits are the fuwa mascots, not players either.
On Sunday the girls and I sat under umbrellas and swathed in plastic capes in a rainstorm waiting for a hockey game. After an hour waiting, watching the teams warm up in pouring rain, every swipe at the ball sending up gallons of water from the pitch, and soaked to the skin, our good spirits flagged. Shortly after the game started with thunder roaring overhead, we gave up. How the teams played on, I have no idea. We went to the information kiosk (below) for directions home. About a dozen friendly volunteers scratched their heads and consulted maps and frowned and took photos of the girls. I gave up and headed for a bus…. any bus. But to give them credit, one of the volunteers raced after us and followed us onto the bus. Panting, he told us he'd worked out a route for us. It took us two hours to get home by crowded, steaming, bus, then underground, then taxi. but it was a good route, and home we got.
Today I tried booking us tickets for performances advertised in the official Olympics publications – how great, I thought, that we can live in Beijing and see modern dance from New York, and megastar violinists from Italy, and Hairspray in the Great Hall of the People, and Cuban ballet…. But of course we can't. Every performance I wanted to see had been cancelled. I assume it's the Bjork effect – she shouted out 'Free Tibet' after a concert in Shanghai last year. Now it seems the authorities have decided they can't trust foreign performers on their stages.