Part circus act, part rhythmic gymnastics, the display features dancing girls, goose-stepping soldiers and a massive flip-card section animated by ranks of performers, which this time included one-off Chinese messages added for Wen.

But in the time honoured tradition of opaque Communist regimes, the slogans were likely meant as more than just a simple part of celebrations, and certainly suggested that the isolated regime keeps a very close eye on political developments in the northern neighbour that is one of its few allies.

In almost flawless Chinese they spelt out a giant welcome message that acknowledged their visitor's populist reputation in China: "Grandpa Wen, so happy to see you!" -- which may have been as heartfelt as it was enormous, given there is hardly a steady stream of top international leaders beating a path to the door of North Korean leader Kim Jong-il. 

This was matched with a string of more formal tributes to President Hu Jintao, whose official place in the pantheon of China's top communist leaders (along with national icons Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping) was cemented at massive national day celebrations in Beijing on Oct 1.

"Build a harmonious socialist society," might not sound like a rousing paean, but in fact it is one of Hu's key slogans, part of a campaign to make the country's growth more equal after decades of frenzied development. There was also a stodgy but politically impeccable homage to Hu's role as general secretary of the Communist Party of China, and a nod to one of his other key rallying calls, for a "people-centred concept of scientific development."

When he touched down in Pyongyang earlier this week, Wen became the first Chinese premier to visit North Korea since 1991, according to Beijing, and he arrived at a time when the secretive regime, shunned internationally for its nuclear weapons programme, is struggling economically in the face of a recent round of tighter sanctions.

China is vital as a key supplier of aid, a conduit for dialogue with less friendly nations, and in the past a defence against Western calls for tighter punishment of Pyongyang for its nuclear ambitions -- though Beijing did sign up to tougher UN controls, after North Korea's second nuclear test in May.

The North Korean government signalled during Wen's visit that it could return to nuclear disarmament talks it had declared dead six months ago, but a report that it was near restoring its atomic plant underlined the secretive state would keep stakes high.

With so much in play, and China's role key to the eventual outcome, the North Koreans must be hoping Wen's team took plenty of snaps of their giant tribute to show off back in Beijing.

[Photographs of Wen Jiabao and Kim Jong-il and the Arirang mass games]

The web is awash with the sites of state secrets bureaux, I discovered after a colleague dug up a report posted on one of them about the commercially and diplomatically sensitive detention of executives from mining giant Rio Tinto.

It was on www.baomi.org (which roughly translates as www.protectsecrets.org), the succinctly named Website of the apparently not-as secretive-as-its-name-suggests National Administration for the Protection of State Secrets.

Someone in the Administration may be more old-fashioned than the technophiles who set up the site, as it stopped working soon after Reuters report was followed by dozens of other media outlets and spread around the world.

But it is now back online, although with several articles removed. And lower-level protectors of the nation's many, many secrets (which in the past have been deemed to include newspaper clippings sent abroad in the conventional mail) are also offering up a flurry of non-classified information.

Vast modern cities like Guangzhou, Shanghai and Tianjin are teeming business and political hubs that might well have important government and commercial information to worry about.

But Puyang city? I had to do a quick map check to pin down where it is (northern Henan province, if you were curious). There are secrets to protect everywhere, it seems, and you can read about the efforts in Puyang at www.pybm.cn

Highlights include "Products that can protect secrets", "The hidden danger of blogs and measures to counteract them" and "Build a firm line of defence to protect military secrets".

Shanghai has taken a more light-hearted approach, featuring a series of cartoons about the lurking risks to national security.

In one, a cluster of giant eyes peer over the shoulder of an unwitting man, typing at a computer labelled "secret".

And in another -- my favourite by dint of my profession -- dozens of people are avidly reading newspapers, under the warning caption, "When the media leaks secrets, the consequences are hard to predict".

See the dangers for yourself here.

Karaoke is much maligned in most of the West and much loved in most of China.

After years in Beijing, I've become perhaps too fond of all-night singing sessions in the city's karaoke palaces, where you can rent a room for two or 20 friends to croon along to tens of thousands of Chinese numbers and an eclectic English selection that ranges from old hymns to Amy Winehouse.

For as long as I've lived here, singing on a Saturday night meant reserving a room, arriving on time (more than 10 minutes late and you lose your room) and then waiting around for at least half an hour for the previous group to tear themselves away from the mics and for the cleaners to do a quick mop-up.

But on a recent weekend, we decided to stop by my favourite karaoke lounge after dinner just in case they could squeeze us in.

We almost lost our voices when the manager ushered us straight to a room -- no queue, no fuss, no waiting for clean up. Several rooms nearby also looked empty.

Beijing's middle class has seemed fairly immune to the financial crisis that has put a greater strain on manufacturers, new graduates and poor, migrant labourers.

Of course, karoke isn't an official bellwether of economic health, but if Chinese people are pinched or worried enough to give up their beloved Saturday night sing-a-longs, I can't help wondering what might be next.

The Water Cube was almost silent as a slight blonde man who two years earlier was not even diving leapt off the ten metre platform, twisted and somersaulted through the air and slid into the water with just the slightest of splashes.

Matthew Mitcham resurfaced to an explosion of applause and as the judges' scores came up his smile of delight dissolved into tears of disbelief.

He had snatched a medal gold from the Chinese favourites with just one, perfect dive.

For the next hour the Australian looked how I always imagined Olympic gold medalists should -- overwhelmed with disbelief and delight.

In some ways it was incredible Mitcham was even in Beijing, much less topping the podium. He had battled depression and burnout, retired and come back before he turned twenty. And shortly before he came to Beijing he went public about his sexuality, the only openly gay male athlete at the Olympics.

I felt sorry for the Chinese diver who came second. But after watching his team mates take the other seven medals, some apparently more relieved to have done their duty than excited about the result, it was an unforgettable upset.

Kevin Fylan adds: This is the fourth in our series of snapshots from the Beijing Games, where Reuters reporters give their thoughts on what it was like to be there at the key moments of the Olympics.

Read Snapshot Beijing, 1: Matt Emmons, by Erik Kirschbaum here.

Read Snapshot Beijing, 2: Matthias Steiner, by Sophie Hardach here.

Read Snapshot Beijing, 3: Usain Bolt, by Paul Majendie here.

More to follow over the course of the day.

PHOTO: Matthew Mitcham of Australia competes in the men's 10m platform diving final at the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games, August 23, 2008. REUTERS/Phil Noble

When I told my editors I wanted to cover synchronised swimming at the Olympics they laughed. When I said it again they looked slightly embarrassed, like I was pushing a bad joke too far.

I had to ask several more times but I finally convinced them and two weeks later, I was watching two sequin-strewn contenders splash around in perfect union to an orchestral version of the Rolling Stones' Paint It Black.

I have been fascinated by what is probably the Olympics' most mocked and maligned sport since I first stumbled across it when channel flipping during a lazy summer day in the eighties.

Even in the decade that taste forgot it seemed bizarre but anyone who doubts the athleticism involved should try holding their breath upside down, underwater, while doing leg kicks and manoeuvring across the pool. Then come up with a smile on your face.

The swimmers train up to 10 hours a day, six days a week, in gymnastics, weights, dance, and of course swimming. They also have to learn how to paint gelatine on to their hair to stop it slipping out of place, perfect the art of applying waterproof makeup and learn to smile, smile, smile even when in lung-busting agony.

Then there is the baffling question of where it came from. Other esoteric Olympic events -- rhythmic gymnastics, trampolining, BMX -- have obvious sporting roots. You can imagine the elite athletes as kids who liked cartwheels and ribbons, jumping up and down or biking like crazy.

But coordinated leg kicks in the pool? According to the U.S. synchro Web site it all began as 'water ballet', performed in a glass tank at the New York Hippodrome.

The Olympics hardly seems a logical next step.

Having finally watched the swimmers' almost miraculous coordination live and interviewed several of the athletes, none of it makes any more sense to me than it did two decades ago.

I'm as in awe of their abilities as I am baffled by the sport they have chosen to dedicate their lives to. But if I'm allowed back to another Olympics, I wouldn't miss it for the world.

I wondered briefly if DIY chili chicken and peanut sandwiches were a new fad in Chinese restaurants, but when I asked her how I was supposed to eat mine, she looked at me as if I was mad.     

Silently she fished a sliver of our fish from its oily sauce and showed me what would perhaps have been obvious to someone not brought up on a diet of toast for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, more toast for tea and sometimes bread and soup for dinner.  

The bread was just a sponge, for draining the oil from carp cooked in a traditional and much-loved way that left it a little too greasy for some modern eaters. No one in the "Spicey Seduction" restaurant would dream of eating it.

Which is not to say that there isn't a lot of bread consumed in China, where bakeries dot most towns and an advisor to parliament admonished athletes last year that they needed to follow Westerners in consuming more milk and beef if they wanted sporting success.      

But two weeks enjoying what I think is one of the world's great culinary traditions may bring a few surprises for Olympic tourists who have not been to China before.      

I don't mean the strange translations which this blog has explored before, or the more exotic animals and birds favoured by some Chinese diners, just small differences in eating and cooking habits that can be a little disconcerting for first timers.      

Soup is served at the end of the meal, as are rice, noodles and other staples (beware of filling up because you think that an order for sour and spicy soup has been forgotten).      

Then there is vegetarian meat, which looks like meat and when done well tastes pretty like meat -- but is made out of tofu.      

The squeamish may prefer not to be shown the fish they are about to eat flapping around in a net as proof of its freshness,  or have chickens and ducks served with their heads and claws still attached.      

And I learnt years ago not to expect too many sandwiches outside of Western restaurants.      

In one of the first Chinese textbooks that I studied a mother warned her children not to be naughty. Otherwise, she threatened,
they would face .... sandwiches for lunch.

Picture of Chinese breads by China Daily. Beijing restaurant by David Gray  

One friend is desperately hunting for a new apartment after her landlord said her rent would jump nine times if she wanted to renew her contract this summer.

Others are also on the market after slightly less avaricious, but still illegal and crippling increases to their monthly housing bill.      

Beijing is worried greedy businesses could ruin the image of the Games and so hotels and restaurants have mostly promised to cap rates at high but just about reasonable levels.      

But private landlords are bound by no such promises -- and many are determined to get rid of the tenants currently blocking them from claiming the Olympic jackpot.      

The only possible consolation for those squeezed out by greedy landlords is that their former homes may end up like the hotel rooms in Athens which sat empty during the last Olympics
because of sky-high prices.

The increase in rents is not bad for all Beijingers though -- and some of those who own their properties or have more reasonable landlords are getting in on the moneymaking themselves.      

Property pages are scattered with ads for Olympic rentals.      

And one friend has managed to hawk out his two bedroom apartment -- usual rent about $1,000 a month -- for $2,000 a night. More than enough to keep him and the landlord happy,
though he might not be offering to share.

Picture by Reuters/stringer

A glistening neon re-creation of an ancient Greek temple now bursts out of the winter darkness on the banks of its frozen Songhua river like a hallucination brought on by temperatures plunging below 15 degrees Celsius.

But it's as real as the translucent, multi-coloured Westminster abbey, electric yellow stretch of the Great Wall of China and blue-green Stonehenge standing nearby.

The kitsch but mesmerizing statues are part of an “ice-lantern” festival that has converted an old trick for luring fish to the hooks of night-fishermen into a more lucrative tool for luring tourists and their cash away from warmer parts of the country.

Each year there is a different theme to the festival, which features dozens of vast scultpures, and this year it was -- of course -- the Summer Games.

Beside the ice Acropolis – a tribute to original Olympics creator and 2004 host Greece – there is a strange “Olympic tower” soaring in multicoloured splendour tens of metres into the night sky and sculptures of athletes striving for success scattered between plastic trees with neon blossoms.

British monuments get a place because London will hold the next Summer Olympics.

And the sculptures, carved from ice hacked out of the frozen river, aren’t just for staring at.

For as long as you can stand the sub-zero temperatures, you can climb the near life-size Great Wall, speed down a vast ice-slide at the end, take photos with what are touted as arctic foxes, clamber up to the steps of the Parthenon, walk through the bright-pink re-creation of Beijing’s Gate of Heavenly Peace or get closer to the icy Stonehenge than you can to the original.

It's so popular and, for locals, pricey – tickets go for 150 yuan or around $21 – that there are Russian guards from nearby Siberia at the doors.

“The managers don’t trust Chinese guards. They fear they will let all their family and friends in for free,” said a Chinese tour guide cheerfully.

Emma Graham-Harrison is an Energy Correspondent in the Beijing bureau