Dry as hell and flat as a pool table, China's capital sits near the foothills of a desert. The air has an artificial stillness to it - the result of warm desert air filtered through a haze of exhaust fumes - that intensifies your surroundings. The sound and smells of the city are amplified to be ever present. To think back, I have no memories of wind in this place - only the heat of cigarettes and exhausts, baking us in our old Volkswagen taxi as it slowly crawls through a ten lane traffic jam.
To be in Beijing is to be Inside Beijing. To feel like you are living and breathing every chaotic moment of this place. Relentlessly shaken awake by the ever quickening pulse of china's dark political heart.