To finish this Beijing 2008 series, I’d like to give you a few tips for your next trip to China’s capital.

I was introduced to massage by my former boss in Hong Kong, Ning. Now don’t imagine inappropriate work incentives: Ning may have paid me a ridiculous wage and asked me to work on weekends too often, but he wasn’t this kind of man.

A collection of “Chinglish” signs spotted in Beijing… wait — don’t you speak Chinglish?

Waiting two more minutes doesn’t sound so bad. We have been standing in the small — yet overcrowded — room for about two hours, browsing brochures about the latest Shenzhen fair trade and exchanging exasperated glances with our unfortunate lineup mates. I went out twice for a smoke, drank about two liters of water and read all the notes taped on the wall.

Something has been bothering me for a while now. Maybe it’s the one-sided view of the problem. Maybe it’s because I feel we’re witch-hunting. Maybe it’s because I can’t take hypocrisy very well. or maybe I’ve just been brainwashed my the Chinese as my friends like to joke.