Beijing’s young graffiti artists use derelict buildings as the canvas to share their take on the world.

Armed with spray paint, the graffiti team known as “Beijing Penzi” enthusiastically sets to work, giving a derelict building a new lease on life.

Graffiti is not encouraged in the Chinese capital, but the street art is beginning to creep onto the capital’s streets. Debate rages over whether it’s eye-catching or just an eyesore.

Beijing has its own graffiti custodian, known as LLYS. His blog gives regularly updated photographs of new graffiti appearing on the city’s streets. Or try Beijing Penzi member 0528’s blog.

To watch the full Reuters Report click here.

Pampered grapes and expensive price tags in China’s growing wine market.

The specially imported grapes at Bodega-Langes winery in Heibei province enjoy a constant concert of classical music from the vineyard right through to the cellars.

Just in case they suffer culture shock.    

China’s increasingly affluent society is testing its palette on grape wines, both premium and budget, and the potential market of 1.3 billion customers has enticed both foreign and local investors.

Click here to see the Reuters Report.

For more on China's wine scene, try the Grape Wall of China blog.

Bird’s singing, horses galloping, trains trundling along and even planes taking off are no challenge for Chinese professional mimic Cheng Jiaqiang.

He can imitate more than 100 noises, a skill he learned from his father, who in turn, learned it from his father.

Cheng and his menagerie can be found performing around Beijing.

If you’d like to see more of Cheng, watch the full Reuters Reports story here

As mayor of Beijing for most of the period running up to the 2008 Olympics and now Vice Premier of China with responsibility for financial and economic affairs, Wang Qishan has been a very busy man over the last few years.

He has, however, made time to indulge his passion for tennis and been highly influential in the growth of the China Open tournament, now one of the top events in women’s tennis with ambitions of becoming an Asian major.

Wang also likes to take to the court, and who can blame him when he is offered the chance to trade forehands with some of the best women in the professional game?

“I know for a fact he’s played many of our (women) players behind closed doors, as have many members of the standing committee,” Beijing-based WTA President David Shoemaker revealed during an interview with Reuters this week.

“It’s often been boasted that that’s one of the rare opportunities outside of one of the standing committee meetings, where you get three or four of the members together.

“But when you get Maria Sharapova, Elena Dementieva and Serena Williams eager to have a hit with you, it can mobilise forces pretty quickly.”

Even as Vice Premier, Wang is not senior enough to take a place in the nine-strong Politburo Standing Committee, the highest decision-making body in China.  

PHOTO: Maria Sharapova in Beijing in 2005 by Jason Lee.

Hardly a day goes by now without some Chinese firm striking a deal to buy assets overseas, but the country's best prospects for growth may be right in its own backyard. Vivi Lin in Beijing reports on how the world's workshop is fast becoming one of the world's top consumers.

By Zhou Xin

As the world watches how Beijing’s $585 billion stimulus package can create opportunities for investors, they might be overlooking another mini-stimulus that is coming in a matter of weeks: the lavish celebration the government will be staging to mark the 60th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China on Oct. 1.

On top of what is expected to be a huge military parade through central Beijing, massive firework displays are expected to light up the capital and other big cities around the country.

Although overall spending figures are secret, speculation about the windfall profits that the country’s only listed fireworks firm could reap from the event have caused its share price to, well, explode over the last month or so.

Panda Fireworks shares have more than doubled in value over the past month, even amid a more than 14 percent fall in the benchmark Shanghai Composite Index over the same period. (See the chart plotting their values and relative performance.)

The company, which had revenue last year of about 173 million yuan ($25 million) and profits of 13.6 million yuan, announced on Monday that it was “engaged in some bidding” that would add 5-10 million yuan to its profits this year.

Online chat rooms for retail investors went wild, with some participants saying they thought the share price could go as high as 45 yuan, even 95 yuan — compared with about 11.50 yuan a month ago and just over 23 now.

“It feels really good when your stock is surging while most others are falling,” said Shaq Wang, a Beijing investor who purchased the company’s shares in late July. “The only thing I regret now is that I did not invest more money into it.”

But analysts did not share his exuberance.

Zou Jianjun, an analyst with Fortune Securities in Hunan who visited Panda Fireworks in July, said a reasonable price for the company’s shares would be around 14-15 yuan, factoring in winning a big contract for the National Day fireworks.

“Yes, it supplied fireworks for the 2008 Beijing Olympics, and it is likely to win a big contract for the National Day celebrations,” she said. “But any price above 20 is certainly not a true reflection of the company’s value, according to my analysis.”

Photo credit: Residents watch fireworks to celebrate the Lantern Festival on a street in Wuhan, Hubei province February 9, 2009. REUTERS/Stringer

If you want to gauge the current state of China's construction boom, look no further than Hong Kong's dynamic neighbour, Shenzhen.  Defying the searing heat of the Chinese summer, construction workers are busily building a state-of-the-art stadium for the 2011 World University Games.

I was there last week on a five-day tour organized by Guangdong Province, and the stadium was the first stop, indicating how intensely proud officials are about the "Lotus Flower" stadium.

The 60,000-seat venue looks strikingly similar to the Bird's Nest national stadium, the world's largest steel structure and the centerpiece at the 2008 Beijing Olympics. Now, local media boast that the Shenzhen stadium, designed by a German architectural firm, aims to outshine the Bird's Nest because the engineering is said to be even more challenging. 

The whole games village project is a powerful symbol of municipal pride. It is set to cost a whopping 4.1 billion yuan ($600 million), all of which will be financed by the city government of Shenzhen.

It's true that Shenzhen, one of China's richest cities with a municipal budget of 902 billion yuan ($132 billion), should have no problem finding the cash. And you can argue that all this construction isn't a bad thing to have going on during an economic downturn. But looked at another way, it still seems a waste.

China is no better than other countries in finding uses for prestige sporting venues. It is just a year since the Beijing Olympics, but the Bird's Nest already looks deserted. When I visited it last month, paying 40 yuan ($5.82) to enter, it seemed folorn. There were few visitors. Two giant TV screens showing the opening ceremony from the Olympics did their best to remind people of its glory days. If that is what has happened to the iconic Bird's Nest, how promising could the long-term plans be for Shenzhen's "Lotus Flower"?

China has seen those sporting events as the best opportunity to showcase its economic muscle to the world, but China is still a very poor country and this money could be put to other, perhaps better, uses. In Shenzhen  itself, tens of thousands of migrant workers have recently lost their jobs and are in need of retraining. Even though the market seems to have come back, many migrant workers have struggled to find new jobs because they do not have the right skills.  

What else can you do with 4.1 billion yuan?  Well, you could establish as many as 10,000 schools to train migrant workers and their children. That might be a better "trophy" for Shenzhen than another deserted mega stadium showing its past glories on a video loop.

Photo caption: The National Stadium in Beijing, also known as the Bird's Nest stadium, shown here on July 3, 2009, nearly a year after it was the centerpiece of the 2008 Beijing Olympics. REUTERS/David Gray

I first visited China in June 1997.  It was eight years after the Tiananmen crackdown, weeks before the Hong Kong Handover back to China marking the end of British rule, and over a decade before the 2008 Summer Olympics. It was a family trip — my parents were looking forward to a college reunion with classmates they hadn’t seen in decades and I had just finished my second year of university. I was looking forward to finally seeing the place I’d heard so much about.

Born and raised in Canada, I grew up listening to stories of the past — lessons in history, humanity, tragedy and survival. And like many children of immigrant families, there is a constant search for a balance and a place between the different worlds that shape our identity.

(Caption: Neon lights from skyscraper and 1997 Handover signs cast a glow over Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour and the extension of the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre (R, foreground) in this long exposure zoom photograph.  Picture taken June 21, 1997. REUTERS/Dylan Martinez)

Over the years I’ve witnessed a dramatic change in my parents’ attitude toward China. For them, the changes in China since they left — over 45 years ago for my father and 35 years ago for my mother — have been beyond anything they could have imagined in their lifetime.

Born just before Japan invaded China in 1937, my parents were children during the Sino-Japanese War and teenagers when Mao Zedong founded the People’s Republic of China in 1949.

Over the next 25 years, the dramatic upheavals, failures and deaths from the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution spared no one.

In the spring of 1952, my grandfather was falsely accused of corruption and was executed about a month later. He was posthumously cleared and declared a victim of the anti-corruption movement at the time.

The years passed, my parents married and had a daughter.

My father, who went abroad to study in 1962, was one of the last to leave before China closed its doors to the outside world. My mother stayed behind but was isolated and persecuted in revolutionary meetings and posters that denounced her “foreign” connections. My grandmother — already nearly 60 years old — was sent to a labour camp for several years. The education system in China came to a halt for roughly a decade and many of my parents’ younger cousins were part of that “lost generation”. Their stories are by no means unique, merely an example of experiences shared by an entire generation of Chinese. They were among the lucky ones. Others suffered much harsher persecution and many lost their lives.

Twelve years passed before my parents reunited again in Canada. When my mother finally left in 1974, she was among the early handful to leave after China’s doors cracked open again. My sister joined my family four years later.

China was changing fast, but not fast enough in 1989.

When the Tiananmen protests erupted in April of that year, my cousin (who prefers to remain anonymous) was a student at Tsinghua University in Beijing. Nearly everyone attended the protests at one point or another, he said, and during its relatively peaceful early days, the students found it “fun” to be part of the gathering crowds.

(Caption: Crowds of jubilant students surge through a police cordon before pouring into Tiananmen Square on June 4, 1989 during a pro-democracy demonstration. REUTERS/Stringer)

The students leading the demonstrations weren’t always particularly well liked, he recalled, “but they were supported because no one else had the interest to stand up, because we never thought students would be able to win.”

Unlike Beijing’s media crackdown around sensitive events and anniversaries today, what was unfolding in the capital at the time was no secret. “The [domestic] media covered everything and was on the students’ side. People were unhappy about their lives, so they were happy to see the students fight with the government,” my cousin, who now lives in Canada, said.

After more than a month of demonstrations, many of the university students had lost interest and were more worried with having to go back to class.

(Caption: A captured tank driver is helped to safety by students as the crowd beats him June 4, 1989. REUTERS/File)

“Most of the people I know didn’t go onto the street any more since late May,” he said. The dark turn in Tiananmen Square took him and others by surprise.

Thousands of miles away in Canada, my parents were rivetted to the television as networks continuously broadcasted the events unfolding in their homeland. I had just turned 13, and was more disturbed by my parents unusual display of emotion than what was happening on TV in a place I’d never been and over issues I didn’t really understand.

(Caption: Student protesters arriving at Tiananmen Square to join other pro-democracy demonstrators, ride pass the portrait of late chairman Mao Zedong. Picture taken May 1989. REUTERS/File)

Ask anyone in China today and they will tell you things have completely changed in the last 20 years — almost exponentially so in some cases — for better and for worse, depending on who you ask.

Construction abounds everywhere and skyscrapers are built with unimaginable speed.

For the tens of millions of Chinese living in cities, the quality of life has transformed dramatically: First came household appliances like televisions. Now everyone wants a car. The new-found affluence means being able to go on vacation or even having a different cell phone for every day of the week. The chasm between the middle class — let alone the super wealthy — and the poor is mind-boggling.

(Caption: Fireworks explode during the closing ceremony in the National Stadium at the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games August 24, 2008. The stadium is also known as the Bird’s Nest. REUTERS/Wolfgang Rattay)

The first generation of the one child policy — infamously nicknamed “Little Emperors” — are now adults, and for many, politics holds little interest.

“People do not really care too much about [Tiananmen] anymore, especially the younger generations,” my cousin said. There are bigger problems facing the country now than June 4 (as the Tiananmen crackdown is known in Chinese).

There are local bursts of labor unrest, concerns about food and product safety and corruption is rampant in nearly all spheres and levels of life — something that was almost non-existent in the 1980s.

(Caption: A bride poses as pigeons fly during a pre-wedding photo shoot at a park in Beijing July 25, 2008. REUTERS/Claro Cortes IV)

“If June 4 didn’t end in that way, China might have had a better chance to become a nicer country than what it is nowadays. It closed the door of political reformation but opened the door to all kinds of corruption as a compensation,” my cousin said. He left in the mid 1990s, but still maintains close ties to China.

“People in China are not very happy with what is happening in the country. Although they don’t care about June 4 anymore, it could become a trigger. That’s why the government is still very nervous.”

For a government that believes stability — social, economic, political — is paramount above all else, tightening security, clamping down on the Internet (even if it isn’t always that hard to circumvent) and television access from Hong Kong during sensitive events have become routine.

But my parents are pragmatic. Their experiences have shown how revolutions can create chaos and extremes. They want calm and peace and see the most effective change coming through natural, rather than forced progress. My father openly admits that now “we only see the good side” and that “the past has been forgiven.” He calls the changes in China a miracle.

Fed on a regular diet of CCTV (the official Central China Television), some may say my parents are being influenced by the powerful propaganda machine of the Chinese government. That may be true, but for them, there is also a sense of pride and optimism that a country that has seen so much suffering has come so far in such a short period of time. They go back annually now and witness the changes from year to year. They are not blind to the concern my cousin and others like him express, but it doesn’t dampen their hope.

(Caption: A young girl waves a Chinese flag as she and other school children wait for the arrival of Chinese President Hu Jintao at the Macau airport December 19, 2004. REUTERS/Anat Givon/Pool)

Security on Beijing’s Tiananmen Square is always tight.
 
But I knew that today it was going to be particularly so when, upon emerging from the subway station, I was faced with three police vans and literally hundreds of security personnel, all on guard against any kind of disturbance ahead of the 20th anniversary of 1989’s bloody crackdown on pro-democracy demonstrators in Beijing.
 
Nervously I made my way to one of the square’s entrances, wondering if I would even be allowed to enter.
 
I put my bag on the X-ray machine, was briefly frisked by police with metal detectors, and cleared to go on my way.
 
The square was full of tourists, as usual. What was different was the hordes of uniformed police, military police and plainclothes security every few metres.
 
The plainclothes officers were painfully obvious, shuffling awkwardly in T-shirts and tracksuit bottoms, their crew cut hairstyles and poorly hidden walkie-talkies distinguishing them from ordinary visitors. They were also all carrying the same brand of bottled water.
 
Everytime I tried talking to someone, a police officer or one of the guards began hovering behind me. Finally I was able to chat with a trinket seller, who, talking in a low voice, complained
that the security was ruining her business.
 
“June 4 is tomorrow,” she said simply.
 
At that point one of the crew-cut men marched over and told the lady to stop talking to me.
 
By this stage. I had had enough and began heading back towards the subway station, passing on my way a foreign television crew. A policeman was telling them in no uncertain terms that they could not film in the square.
 
I felt lucky that nobody had stopped me. I’m sure the police knew I was there though, and why I had gone.

Photo caption: Chinese security personnel try to stop pictures from being taken as they check the documents of the photographer at Beijing’s Tiananmen Square on June 3, 2009. Chinese security forces blanketed Tiananmen Square on Wednesday ahead of the 20th anniversary of the June 4 crackdown on pro-democracy protesters. REUTERS/Reinhard Krause

Has the fat lady sung in China?

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.