Day 8 - China. As President Hu is in the news today, I thought I'd write a story of one of my last visits to Beijing. No, this does not relate to the Falung Gong, but to the rather pleasant practice of foot massage enjoyed by all walks of life at the end of a long day in the capital. For less than 100 RMB, a weary customer will walk out after ninety minutes of refloxology feeling refreshed and invigorated. In my case, I had the double benefit of a skillful masseuse who also knew enough English to help me practice my Chinese. She laughed and giggled to her friends as I used my broken Chinese to answer her probing questions. With little embarassment, and an unhealthy dose of orgeuil, I beamed with delight every time I was able to carry on a conversation entirely in Chinese for more than two exchanges. My colleagues grew tired of my ya ya papaya behaviour and eventually suggested that the second-half of our massage be conducted in blissful silence.