A Flash in the Night

Raw power unleashed

Track and Field still embodies the basic essence of a sporting contest with its straight forward rules and objective measurements. You have to run and cross a line first, throw an implement as far as you can or jump higher or further than anyone else. No time outs, no coaches storming out of the dugout and by and large no protective gear.

Tonight the reason most everyone came was to see the coronation of the world’s fastest man. The race is put at the end of the session because most people lose interest after the 100 meter sprint is run. Tonight the crowd anticipates the result; Usain Bolt from Jamaica should win. He has the right credentials. He looked great in the trials, but the 100 meters is well known for crippling runners with high expectations; dropping them to their knees in a split second with intense searing pain stabbing the back of their leg without warning as muscle fibers tear apart. The most experienced runners know that they have to stay loose and not force the tempo. The 100 meters is all out, all the way. A brain can’t keep up with the muscle memory at that speed and if it tries to manage the surging rhythm the result is catastrophic as the powerful quadriceps in the front of the leg literally rip asunder the weaker hamstring muscles.

Bolt is tall for a world class sprinter. At 6’ 4” his long legs should hinder his ability to accelerate in the first 30 meters. But as with most world champions he is an exception. The runners take their mark and the gun fires. He is quickly out of the blocks and unleashes an anaerobic explosion of stored-up chemical energy. He runs straight and true as his tall frame begins to rise up and soon he towers above the sea of rapidly pumping arms and legs.

The "race is over"

By 50 meters he is in full stride and in command of an overdrive not possessed by any other sprinter. In a race that is normally won by one hundredths of a second, he will leave no one wondering tonight about who the fastest man is. At 85 meters his challengers are in another race and he knows it. Bolt is by himself, exhilarated, with arms outstretched like a great bird. He thumps his chest once and glides across the line effortlessly without a grimace of strain or uncertainty. The world record is reset and the champion takes a victory lap as everyone in the stadium joins his fan club for the night. Pure speed translated in any language; pure joy.

Stepping into History

Flight of the 400: By Joey Salvo

Looking out at the intricate ice of the Artic

It was an exciting Wednesday morning, at 4:00 A.M., when we (that is to say, my parents and I) left our home in the U.S. to begin our long journey to the other side of the planet! Of course, none of us had really gotten any sleep in the previous few hours of the night, and could you blame us? So we were all exhausted as we left the house, and headed for our car. After a while we arrived at the Albany International Airport, and strode down to our gate to wait in tense silence. No, this flight would not take us to China, but it would take us to Washington, where we would transfer. It was all part of the journey.

We were going to see the Beijing Olympics, however this was not our first time to China. In a way, this fact made it all the more exiting, as we knew that some incredible experience was awaiting us, and that we would never forget this trip. We would be making capital bounces; first from Albany, the capital of New York, then to Washington D.C., the capital of the U.S., and finally to Beijing, the capital of China! We were well stocked with books, DVDs, computer games, playing cards, and lots and lots of emergency back-up candy. Luckily, all of this wasn’t as heavy as you might think, and we easily carried the “foes of boredom” with us onto each of the flights.

At last, it was time for the flight to Beijing! We were loaded onto the plane, and waited, while hundreds of other travelers took their places in a designated seat. This obviously took a very long time, and the excitement died down a little. Then the last passenger was seated, and we were ready to go. Now being that this was a 747-400, the airplane was quite large, and it was amazing to think that this thing would actually fly. For a long time I had aspired to ride on a 747-400, and now, I finally had the chance! Oh yes, I had ridden on a plain old 747-300, but those were smaller. This was the real thing!

We set out for the runway, and the excitement returned once more. Now we had arrived on the runway. I could have sworn that the pilot was gunning the engine, anticipating takeoff as much as the passengers. Then, the time came. There was a hissing sound that grew into a soft whine. We started out pretty slowly at first, but then gradually our speed increased. The airport flew past us outside. Faster, faster! I saw the wing out my window wobble a bit. Faster now! Were we coming to the end of the runway? Was this gigantic hunk of metal going to ascend into the air, or crash off the end?! Faster! Faster! The outside of the plane was a blur. And then…LIFTOFF!!!

Our plane surged upward, cutting through the wind as it went! Soon we were hundreds of feet up! Thousands now! Up and up we went, leaving the airport in our exhaust! We were continuing to climb! We were flying! The clouds rushed past, leaving us in a thin mist. We were through the clouds now, and could see a little of the large city below, now much smaller looking than it had been previously! It was true! We were flying, really flying! And yet, on the other hand, no one but me seemed to care.

Trading ideas

Trading ideas is fun!

Bending over backwards while reaching for the stars

Today we set out for the most popular Olympic venue in Beijing, the “Olympic Green”. To one side the national stadium sits proudly with Olympic torch ablaze, after its world class opening ceremony debut firmly placed it on the list of must-see architecture. The water cube, where most swimming events are held, stands opposite, but with little time to waste we make a beeline for the National indoor stadium where women’s gymnastics will start in a few minutes.

The National indoor stadium reaches for the sky

We quickly get through security and head for the seats. Once again the venue is gorgeous. Excellent lighting and colorful signs make for stunning visuals, and the public address system is crystal clear. As the gymnasts take to the floor we are impressed by their confidence and vulnerability as they spin, twist and fly through the air. Always a split second away from disaster, their intense concentration seems to blocks out everything except the burned-in neurological scripts running through their brains and bodies. These are very young athletes, children it seems to us, and we hold our breath as they risk all for a chance to be an Olympic champion. With every stumble or misstep the entire crowd yields a collective sigh of disappointment. Everyone wants these athletes to do their best regardless of where they come from. I sense the true Olympic spirit is alive and well here in China and I know our decision to make the long journey was well worth it. The chance to see the world get along so well together is priceless, even if it lasts for just a few minutes as we all cheer for the children (our future) in their pursuit of excellence.

Power and grace in motion

Spike Analysis

Olympic volleyball court

Women’s volleyball is a sport I associate with the Olympics. I know it’s played at many colleges and universities, but for me it is one of those things I just don’t watch until the Olympic torch is lit and the best international teams line up at the net. As we arrive at the venue and go through yet another security screen, I am watching to see how they will handle camera equipment. The published rules state that “no professional cameras or lens’ longer than 200mm in focal length” will be allowed. At the opening ceremony rehearsal my small pocket camera was judged unacceptable and I was turned away from the gate (thankfully only temporarily). Tonight I left the most of the cameras at home, I wasn’t taking any chances because I didn’t have anyone I could pass the equipment to if it was rejected at the security screen. First we pass through the metal detector, put our belongings on another x-ray machine conveyor, and get the usual airport style “wanding”. I have to empty my pockets and wallet, but everyone is very pleasant and polite. There are a lot of screeners so it all moves along efficiently. We finally are able to head for the stands and find our seats – great view of the action. Not many Americans present, but we are a vocal bunch.

Tonight the opposition comes from Japan so we have the hometown crowd cheering for us too. When the USA/Japan match starts, the Americans quickly take a commanding lead, but several service faults later and our confidence is a bit shaken. The two teams now appear to be evenly matched and the volleys are long and fought with great intensity. Players dive to the floor to dig out shots with seeming disregard for self-inflicted bodily harm. These players are very tall and muscular- you can hear the thud when they leap horizontally and sprawl with arms outstretched on the gymnasium floor. Most of the time the ball pops back into play as it ricochets off skillfully positioned forearms. The motion of the players is a ballet of sorts as in turn the ball is first routed to the front near the net, set in a near vertical trajectory and finally spiked with a mighty swing that makes you happy not to be on the receiving end of the blow. The Americans show lots of power at the net and finally take the first game. In the next game a series of service faults put the Americans behind again and again just as they seem ready to put the match away. Japan takes the lead one last time and we all are stunned when they teach the USA a lesson in “quality control”. As the third game starts we start to yell louder and wave our flags more furiously. “Jia iou, jia iou.” – add fuel, add fuel ) we shout the standard Chinese cheer at the top of our lungs. The Chinese spectators join in the chant and we have a fine cheering section in the making. During the timeouts we join a few stadium waves flowing around the spectator sections and watch as people jump to their feet, wave their arms, laugh and have a great time. The game is very close and the lead is exchanged seemingly every other point, but finally the Americans pull ahead and better the formidable Japanese opponent.

Victory on the court

Before we leave the stadium, we move down to the railing and chat with some of the players as they bask in the glory of an Olympic win. We collect some snapshots (Jill managed to get a small camera in) and a few autographs. As we look at our cell phones we can’t believe the time. It’s after midnight! Off to the subway we run, but to our dismay one entrance is blocked and then another. Finally, one last chance, but as we approach the lighted entryway a guard informs us “meiyou le” – closed. Back we trudge to try and catch a bus, but the sign indicates it stopped running 30 minutes prior. All of a sudden we notice the crowd is gone and we are feeling alone on the dark streets. After a few minutes that seem endless, we manage to stop a taxi, but we quickly find out the hard way that stopping a taxi doesn’t necessarily mean you get to ride it. As we gather the children together, a savvy local quickly jumps in and we stand stunned watching “our” cab drive off. We decide not to be fooled again and take control of the next taxi’s backseat immediately after it stops. 30 minutes later we are all safely back in our apartment laughing at our adventure in taxi wrangling and looking forward to a good nights sleep. But it’s hard to sleep because tomorrow we will go to the Olympic green and see womens gymnastics”!

Let's Celebrate!

Let’s go

Making new friends at every corner!

Beijing is a very large city and the Olympic venues are spread out in every direction. Even though taxis are plentiful and reasonably priced, the traffic jams can be substantial during the day, especially at peak travel times. The subways are a convenient way to get around and the air conditioning is much appreciated – for some reason taxi drivers dislike any type of air flow in their cabs, and usually keep the fan speed low and the temperature steamy.

We set out for our first event, women’s volleyball, to be held in the Capital gymnasium. After a 20 minute walk to the subway (tuan jie hu stop) we descended the stairs and were greeted by the ubiquitous friendly volunteers and a security check point that x-ray inspected all bags. Then we were off to the ticket booth for a 2 RMB (33 U.S. cents) RFID enabled pass that let us go through the electronic turnstyles. Everything in this subway was new and shiny. LCD screens showed the latest Olympic results and advertised a wide range of products and services. Thankfully, most of the signs were in pinyin, (the roman alphabet transliteration of the Chinese characters-Hanzi) so it was easy to follow directions and place names. Inside the subway cars a lighted panel showed your up-to-the-minute location and progress on a simple electronic map. All announcements were made in Chinese and English- it couldn’t be more convenient. As we quickly move along I think to myself that announcements in the NY and Boston subways are more difficult to understand due to the background noise level and the thick local accents.

The cars were full but usually not too over-packed and we get to the venue after two subway line changes and no wrong moves. As we leave the subway for a short walk to the venue, we all have a feeling of accomplishment and give each other “high fives”. Everyone agrees “that was easy” – shouldn’t be any problem getting home later….

Contextual Matters

A Rehearsal for the Opening Ceremonies in Context

The official opening ceremonies have just been completed here in Beijing and the city revels in the spectacular. Now we can understand the depth of desire in China to celebrate and promote its’ vast recorded history, rich in culture, Confucianism and commerce. There were many, many levels of complexity to enjoy and savor.

Chinese is a contextual language filled with homonyms – hence meaning must be derived from both a specific auditory analysis of the sounds and tones of individual words, in addition to a consideration of their collective relationships and temporal placement. Likewise, while seeing and hearing the rehearsal in person, I was struck by the cultural intensity of the imagery and sounds that were woven into a rich contextual story of Chinese history and dynastic majesty. The formal show began with countless rows of “drummers” all dressed in flowing gray robes, taking to the stadium floor with military precision.

Zhang Yi Mo, the genius behind this stage production, comes from Xi’ an, an ancient capital of the Middle kingdom and home of Qin Shi Huang Di, the first emperor of China, who united a powerful collection of warring factions and nationalities into a state of unparalleled size and destiny. Today in Xi’ an there still stand battle formations of the bing ma yong (兵马俑) “ terra cotta warriors”, in a vast display of ancient military might and organizational grandeur, that have silently guarded the approach to the emperor’s final resting place since 210 B.C. The site still has the power to inspire and mesmerize, just as it must have 2000 years ago. I know that standing in front of several thousand life-sized fire-hardened warriors in near identical dress, but with unique faces, summons a primitive visceral response which must in some small way reflect the mixed feelings welling up within vulnerable awestruck villagers as an all-powerful army marched into town in precise battle formation.

Zhang Yi Mo clearly calculated that even now in the age of virtual reality and high tech wizardry there is no substitute for a spectacle of thousands of individuals bound together into an organic coordinated body, flowing with rhythmic pulses and exploding with sudden salvo’s of unimaginable vocal intensity. Sitting at the top rim of the “birds nest” I truly felt like an eagle watching a storm forming in the valley below. Here I could clearly and safely appreciate the precision of the group’s movements and sample the sharp sonic pulses that would wash over the stadium from end-to-end. The instruments they played may be described as drums in the west, but they are played tonight with a subtlety that transcends the beating of a tightly stretched skin or soundboard. The instruments are a modern variation of the ancient ceremonial fou vessel; originally made out of ceramic or bronze and meant to serve up wine as well as music with ritual splendor.

A multi-purpose vessel with double walls

Tonight the thousands of performers methodically stroke and beat the instrument’s surface giving rise to a river of sounds that mimic the wind, rain and torrents of flowing water punctuated dramatically with the thunder claps of an other-worldly storm. A white-rimmed frame that is sensitive to vibration outlines the upper surface and in combination with others creates an eerie 2 K resolution picture of a strangely pixelated performance (especially when seen from a great distance in the dark). The dramatic event begins with the amplification of random human white noise, but quickly locks onto a performance signal that is white hot and multi-culturally clear. As the rhythmic chants and drumming build to a crescendo, symbolic red-lighted batons appear with a flash in the night and form a hypnotic lightning that sizzles through the sweltering darkness and lifts the intensity of the sensory overload to new heights. Then abruptly and without warning the storm is quickly over and the performers silently disperse in a manner as ethereal as the wind. But I suspect this impressive force will certainly regroup spontaneously again, at some other place, some other time and in some other form. Today, I am very happy to be a bird.

Sunrise in Beijing

White clouds, blue sky and a new sun greet us this morning

O sole mio

“O sole mio, sta ‘nfronte a te” – My own sun – it’s in your face!

To attend the Beijing Olympics a multi-step process initiated 6 months ahead of time was required. First, one must reserve a hotel room or place to stay, second, book airline tickets, third, apply for and obtain a visa, and last but not least, get some event tickets! Seems simple enough, but demand was strong and supplies limited. Capitalism is alive and well in China! Since the best hotels were fully booked by tour agencies and business clients, we settled on renting an apartment close to public transport. Airline tickets were available if your dates were flexible and the visa process went without a hitch.

But what about event tickets? Lots of sports to choose from and venues to explore. I closed the door to my study one day as the online tickets sales were rumored to begin sometime that afternoon. As usual, the web site was unclear about exactly when the excitement would begin, but after several hours of waiting the “click here to purchase tickets button” materialized, and I was off to the races. An intense timed session, of online ticketing with strict rules and limits, produced a good crop of track and field, basketball, baseball, volleyball and even boxing tickets, but no swimming, diving, ping pong or even badminton tickets were available in quantity, after the initial lotteries distributed most of the prized tickets on a random basis – lady luck was not on my side.

And what about the ultimate ticket quarry, namely, “the opening ceremony”? (Zhang Yi Mo, the famous Chinese director, had put together a show befitting Beijing’s multi-billion dollar welcome party for the world) these tickets were simply unobtainable through normal channels in any quantity. Resellers were getting several thousand dollars a piece for single tickets -one was reported to have changed hands for 210,000 RMB that’s about $35,000. I resigned myself to watching the opening ceremonies on TV – I will get a better view with professional multi-camera perspectives I rationalized, but deep down I knew the truth, I was going to miss one of the most historically memorable shows on earth. So close, so far, so unsatisfied.

Day three in Beijing started out with a beautiful sun, blue sky and puffy white clouds. I had put the ticket madness behind me months ago, and I had a neatly filled out a calendar with venues and events clearly marked with spreadsheet precision. Nothing on my schedule today I thought, except meeting some dear friends that came to see me from a city in central China. It was to be a time of eating, laughter and an informal exchange of family news. We met them at a wonderful restaurant and immediately dove into mountains of food that seemed to flow endlessly from the kitchen. There were spicy cabbages, delicate greens, duck, pork, beef and fish dishes that were as beautiful to look at as they were to eat.

We were soon introduced to a couple who were professional artists – one an opera singer, the other a well-established painter. They were old friends of our good friends and we were treated like family. They formed part of an elaborate “guan xi” network of friends and colleagues that I have heard is necessary to live a good life in China. We continued with lot’s of small talk and even more eating and then our new friends invited us to their home for a music session. The opera singer held classes each afternoon, would we like to stop over and observe, he asked? What a silly question, of course we would – clearly he didn’t quite appreciate that I had some Italian ancestors!

We all taxied over to a tall high rise building and entered their new apartment. After sipping some Pu’ er tea, the first students arrived and the warm-up session started. One student played the piano as the other methodically climbed and descended the scale with a voice that filled the room with controlled intensity. I sat next to the teacher who gently offered advice to improve the nuance of the notes being delivered with powerful vibrato and emotional phrasing. Soon another student arrived and then another. Before long I had witnessed and savored some of the best voices Beijing had to offer (I found out later that they all had appeared on CCTV from time to time). The 7^th student was from Sichuan and he had a voice from heaven. After singing several modern Chinese pieces he launched into O sole mio. Earlier I had noticed a Chinese book about Pavarotti on the table in the living room, little did I know that Western opera was a key part of their training. As I sat next to the teacher in the small room, literally thigh-to-thigh with the “lao shi” (respected teacher), I closed my eyes and lost myself in the music. Soon I began to sing along (imperceptibly quiet – so I thought) but the ear of the master picked up the telltale notes and stopped the music …Oh my goodness what have I done!

In Chinese, he quickly asked me how I liked the music, and I with racing heartbeat replied it was the music of my ancestors. He then asked me to join the student in front of the assemblage of family, friends and apprentices. I hoped for a quick and painless death. The music began and we sang together note for note as I tried to match the student who was my newfound musical guardian. After a few bars my nerves settled and the music once again cast its spell. The audience sat in rapt attention just as the song headed for the notes that signaled “beware entering tenor territory”. I could feel the adrenaline flowing and the music rising in pitch with unstoppable momentum. I reached for that A note singing from as deep down as I could reach… to everyone’s amazement, not the least my own, it came out clear and strong. The teacher shouted “he’s a tenor he’s a tenor – too bad you wasted your life being a scientist”. Everyone laughed and applauded and I was quickly surrounded by all the other students who joined in the fun by the piano. Luciano would have smiled.

A few documentary pictures later, and we were saying our goodbyes to our new found friends. As we assembled by the street and the students dispersed in all directions, my old friend was on the cell phone again. Nothing unusual, everyone is always on the cell phone in China. But this time was different. She leaned over to me and said “would you like to see the opening ceremonies tonight?” What? It was August 2^nd and the Olympics didn’t start until the 8^th I thought naively. Well it turns out that for an event the magnitude of the Olympics you need to practice, and tonight was the full dress rehearsal! Little had I known that our new opera teacher friend was one of the opening ceremony directors! I was speechless for a second, and then came to my senses. Of course I want to go – just like 1 or 2 billion other people who didn’t make it through the lottery. There might be a single ticket she intimated, but we wouldn’t know for sure until about 5 minutes before the scheduled start time. We would have to go directly to the stadium now and wait outside the gate for another call. Couldn’t I send Joey?, I asked. No it was not wise to send him by himself, they said, since only one ticket might materialize. So I said my hasty goodbyes and off to the “birds nest” I went with Italian Arias still dancing in my head.

The traffic was intense as we closed in on the stadium. We were quickly running out of time so we stopped the cab and walked the last half mile or so through a sea of people assembling to try and catch a glimpse of the anticipated fireworks display- word was spreading fast. We took up our position and waited outside the chain link fence cordoned off by successive rows of volunteers, ticket checkers, security guards and finally Chinese military men in full uniform. After a few quick “I was here” snapshots by my hosts, the cell phone rang and a very long-winded conversation ensued. Lots of discussion (that I couldn’t follow at the pace it was delivered) and then an abrupt end to the call.

Nice try I thought. It was still exciting being in the surging crowd, gazing upon the translucent blue cube (the aquatic center) in front of us, and seeing the national stadium (Birds’ Nest) lit up like an apparition from another future time and place. Then I caught the smile directed towards me from my friend and I knew I had just been granted the ultimate Olympic-sized bragging rights. In a moment and without a word “The ticket” arrived by a nondescript courier in a small brown paper envelope. I gingerly accepted the priceless gift from my friend and peered inside. It was really there – a single official ticket. Time was running out, there was no time for the extensive thank you’s I needed to deliver. I was slipped into the security line and herded along with a mass of Chinese humanity. No foreigners in these lines- this was the special show for the hometown crowd. I finally fully understood the real meaning and importance of “guan xi” – networks and relationships and “mian zi” – face in Chinese culture.

As I ascended the stadium stairs I couldn’t help singing over and over…

O Sole Mio

Che bella cosa na jurnata ‘e sole,
n’aria serena doppo na tempesta!
Pe’ ll’aria fresca pare già na festa…
Che bella cosa na jurnata ‘e sole.

Ma n’atu sole
cchiù bello, oje ne’.
O sole mio
sta ‘nfronte a te!
O sole
O sole mio
sta ‘nfronte a te!
sta ‘nfronte a te!

What a wonderful thing a sunny day
The serene air after a thunderstorm
The fresh air, and a party is already going on…
What a wonderful thing a sunny day.

But another sun,
that’s brighter still
It’s my own sun
that’s in your face!
The sun, my own sun

It’s in your face!
It’s in your face!

Morning walk

Stalking the streets of Beijing

Morning comes early- it’s “light enough” at 5:30 by my standards and I can’t wait to see Beijing in the morning. I grab my camera and cash and quietly slip out the door to mingle with the local citizens as they gear up for another day in a city of 17 million people. I decide a quick reconnaissance is in order, and head for the main avenue and make my way around the apartment grounds in a grand loop. I pass the ever present line of taxis waiting for the first clients of a new day, and then I spy my first camera quarry, first at a distance, but then at close range – I quickly notice they are all around me – where should I point the lens first. The white ones are closing in on me with four elderly women in close proximity- the brown one is alongside a very large Beijing ren (Native Beijinger) with his shirt rolled up above his belly- a common site on muggy summer days. I think I better not intrude upon their privacy so soon- I am still a little nervous out on the street by myself, jet-lagged and excited at the same time.
I settle on an easy target a little brown one coming at me at a leisurely pace. I check the shutter speed, raise the viewfinder to my eye and pop off three shots in rapid succession. He was defenseless, no minder to shoo me away or wag a finger at my intrusive behavior- his mug shot was going on my blog whether he liked it or not. I never realized how passionate the Beijing people are about them, but now I know and so do you. Can you blame them – they are so cute!