As the crowds converge through the heat of a sickly dusk, their expectation turns into a collective gasp - a moment of awe - as a red glow appears from within the stadium known universally as the 'Bird's Nest'.
The incandescence seems to throb like the building's heartbeat, such is the effect of this central showpiece of Beijing's Olympics - and thereby of modern China. Entwining momentum with sturdiness, chaos with order, its vortex of steel latticework is a marvel of imagination and engineering, and scene of tonight's inaugural athletics event, the Chinese Athletics Open, which is itself a rehearsal for the real thing.
We are now 76 days from the opening ceremony, but China has been preparing a decade for this, and building frantically ever since Beijing won the Games in 2001. August's showpiece will be as controversial as it is momentous. The concern about human rights in China has sharpened as abuses have increased in the run-up; the journey of the Olympic torch (a ritual introduced by Josef Goebbels in 1936, without precedent) through London, Paris and San Francisco was disrupted by protests against China's occupation of Tibet. And by way of a tragic overture to China's supposed opening to the world in August, a terrible earthquake struck Sichuan province. It will unavoidably remain a macabre backdrop to the Games.
I have come to see the city's final preparations for myself and to find out how the Games are viewed outside the Olympic village. The wondrous Bird's Nest is ready, and inside, on this Friday night, the Athletics Open - a 'test event' to make sure things are running seamlessly - proceeds, bathed in white light. Among the most important rehearsals are the medal presentations and, with the majority awarded to Chinese competitors, the hoisting of three red flags gets plenty of practice.
Four decades ago, a Chinese athlete who was overly successful could be accused of jinbiao zhuyi, or 'trophy mania', which meant pitching their individual achievement above the state's goal of mass athleticism. But since China came second to the United States in the medal tally at the Athens Olympics, the old Cold War jostle between America and the Soviet Union has become one between the US and this year's hosts. And while the Chinese team are favourites to top the table this time, their track-and-field athletes - America's strongest suit - are largely untried. So the outcome of China's great Olympic experiment will be decided here in the Bird's Nest, where the speaker system is belting out not only the Chinese national anthem but also Celine Dion's 'The Power of Love' and some sort of sub-Chariots of Fire tune.
Wandering beneath the 42,000 tonnes of steel latticework, I ascertain that a 355ml can of official Olympic Yanjing beer costs five yueng (40p), and that the lavatories are done very smartly: black walls, which then become deep socialist red inside the private cubicles. I also glimpse the VIP seating area, where the world's leaders will place their backsides alongside those of the communist elite on some 1,200 red velvetine seats, which lean forward rather uncomfortably. If Germany's Chancellor Angela Merkel does boycott the opening ceremony in protest at China's human-rights record, she will miss out on the textured 'embroidery' effect of the red faux-velvet walls of the VIP lounge, as well as lavatories of a much higher standard than those for the masses. The basins are cut in black marble, shallow and square like a pond in a formal Chinese garden, and the black walls are flecked with gold.
Back out on the track, only about a tenth of the tens of thousands of lights are being used to floodlight this event. The other banks of bulbs are blackened out until the opening ceremony, which, according to tradition, has to try to outstrip all before it for spectacular trickery. And which China will succeed in doing, if these light fittings are anything to go by.
The evening in the Bird's Nest reaches its climax with the appearance of the first Chinese man to win an Olympic track gold. Hurdler Liu Xiang is the poster boy of China; he is what David Beckham was to England half a decade ago, only in a country of 1.3 billion people. Winner of the 110metres event in Athens four years ago, he is expected to repeat that feat this summer, and his presence in the Bird's Nest tonight is the reason why 60,000 of the 81,000 seats are occupied. As the event nears, his name is chanted in high-pitched female voices. The music makes way for an electronic heartbeat and a slow-motion film of Liu's imposing, compact frame fills the screen. And there he is on the track, folding his red shirt over his eight-pack as a forest of cameras flash. After one false start, and 13.47 seconds of breathtaking acceleration, Liu leaves the field behind him and breaks the tape for gold. Before he has even received his medal, at least half the crowd make to leave - this is what they came for.
Beijing's population of 15 million has for some years now been added to by incalculable millions come from the provinces to build the Olympic village (never mind the extra construction in the city itself). The Games themselves will, of course, attract further hordes, and no test event can predict whether the city can cope with the logistics of 400,000 people moving in and out of it at any given moment, not to mention the 11,000 VIPs at the opening ceremony, who need a full security despatch.
The building work has been relentless, and at express speed: one skyscraper in the village, a hotel complex with what looks like a chef's hat on top, was only three storeys high last October. Every now and then, you get a glimpse of how this part of the city must have looked only recently - little streets with pagoda-style architecture, and still a few bicycles - before it was razed to the ground and recreated as a metropolis of concrete, unapologetic ugliness, punctuated by the odd monument to modernity, usually designed by a famous foreign architect. Chairman Mao Zedong still looks down over Tiananmen Square, but all around is a more fervent reverence for icons such as Valentino and Nike, and it is easier to find a Versace suit than a toothbrush in the shops.
The immediate surroundings of the Olympic village are a visual cacophony of concrete skyscrapers, through which crawls a spaghetti-bowl of roads heaving with traffic. And you wonder: what happened to all the people who lived here? How many were moved and where are they? China's foreign ministry says 6,037 families have been displaced by preparations for the Olympics, but the Geneva-based Centre on Housing Rights and Evictions calculates that up to 1.5 million people may be moved, including by related urban development projects, by this August.
To find where they have been moved to, you have to journey into an altogether different city: past the office blocks, to where the steel and glass give way to older, residential blocks with iron grilles over the windows and balconies; past forests of electric pylons, branches of B&Q and Carrefour, into the Chang Ping suburb, where low-rise housing is fronted by welding shops, auto-part shops and bamboo stalls. Where people are out of sight and out of mind.
One of the most famous political prisoners in China (and an Amnesty International prisoner of conscience) is Ye Guozhu, sentenced to four years' imprisonment for leading the first demonstration against forced evictions related to the Olympics. Out here in Chang Ping, Sun Yongliang, who led his local campaign against the mass demolitions before he was forced to move and still tries to co-ordinate compensation suits, remains at liberty.
He himself has settled his case with the government but, despite a gagging order, is happy to talk - if we meet on a lonely street, a very long way from the community of Yung Shen where he used to live, opposite the Olympic Village. His was the very last shack to defy the bulldozers. But now he, too, has gone, having struck a compensation deal which he says he is 'very unhappy with'.
Sun's community had numbered 550 homes, most of whose families - including that of his wife, Chen Zongxia - had lived there for at least four generations. Most villagers had been peasants, tending small plots of land, but had, like Sun, adapted their family economies by renting rooms to migrant construction workers. First, bulldozers removed most homes, then the water was cut off. Finally, Sun and his family were alone.
'My family forced me to [settle],' he says. 'My mother-in-law suffered from diabetes and wanted to give up. I was ready to burn myself and the house rather than be moved. They lied to the old people, they kept pretending that the demolitions were nothing to do with the Olympics, and only in the end admitted that they were. Many people have not been compensated at all, and when the authorities did the deal with me, they told me to shut up. How can anyone win a battle against the government? There are just so many people in Beijing whose houses have been demolished. There have been cases in the Chao Yang district when they've just come in the night, covered the people in sheets, dragged them out and demolished the houses.' Sun has previously been calm, but he becomes suddenly angry. 'You wouldn't see anything about demolitions for the Olympics in the Chinese media. It spoils the Olympics for me, certainly.'
For many people, this summer's Beijing Games will stand for the entwinement of globalised trade with communist authoritarianism to create the world's fastest-growing economy, and a treaty between both creeds that there is no problem between them, so long as the money is right.
It was China itself which linked the procurement of the Olympics to the country's record on human rights. Wang Wei, secretary general of the bid committee, said he was 'confident the Games coming to China not only promotes our economy but also enhances all social conditions, including... human rights'. The International Olympic Committee have said repeatedly that they expect human rights in China to improve as a result of the Games. But Amnesty International could not be more articulate about the impact of the Olympics on human rights. In a report issued in April, Amnesty collated a wave of recent imprisonments and abuses: 'It is increasingly clear that much of the current wave of repression is occurring not in spite of the Olympics, but actually because of the Olympics. Peaceful human-rights activists, and others who have publicly criticised official government policy, have been targeted in the official pre-Olympics "clean-up", in an apparent attempt to portray a "stable" or "harmonious" image to the world by August 2008.'
In March, the leading human-rights activist Hu Jia became the latest in a long line of those convicted and imprisoned for 'inciting subversion'. One of Hu's causes was that of up to 800,000 workers, sacked by two Chinese petroleum giants, whose demands for compensation are led by activist Xiao Yishan. Xiao is a haunted, frightened woman of middle age, who makes a long journey from her suburb to meet on a street in the locality of foreign embassies, because she says it is safer that way. She is smartly dressed in a silk trouser suit, but clearly exhausted by fear and a recent operation for cancer. She talks about her own cause, about how its local leaders in the provinces have been 'harassed and imprisoned', and are unable to hold any kind of demonstration in Beijing because of the Olympics.
'That is the last thing the government wants people to see,' she says. 'This country is very patriotic and we are all proud Chinese. Our cause is not that of Tibet, but they are using Tibet and the Olympics to make things harder. I am in touch with Hu Jia through his wife, and the one thing he wants to make clear is that he is not an enemy of China, he is simply a friend of democracy.'
On my first evening in Beijing, needing to get away from the cults of Mao and consumerism that dominate the city centre, I head for the student quarter of Chao Wang. A group of young students and workers are gathered on the edge of a lake, where candle flames burn in the shape of a heart, to mourn the dead of the Sichuan earthquake, to pray and hear speeches. The earthquake is an unavoidable backdrop to the stadium's inauguration: the pity of the tens of thousands of lives it claimed, the heroic rescue work, and the anger of the bereaved - especially the families of dead children - at the corruption that caused shoddy building and high casualties.
In one way, the horror opened China to examination it has never faced from outside; in another, it gave the Olympic host nation a human face. This event at Chao Wang adds something else: the degree to which the earthquake and the Olympics are related in the minds of the young. I see here that the Games consolidate a third force, other than loyalty to Chinese communism or the march of Nike and Microsoft. That they are the focus for a fiercely reinvigorated Chinese nationalism.
The crowd mourning the dead chants the Mandarin equivalent of ' Forza !' or 'Here we go!' - it is ' Jaio !', literally 'Add oil!', as per 'pour on petrol'. 'The Chinese people have never been so united,' the speaker says. 'Unity is power!'
One construction worker from the provinces tells me: 'We are sad because we are mourning the people, but we are happy because we are so united as a nation. With the Olympic Games, we will show the world how united we are, and that we are the greatest people in the world.'
'Out of our suffering and unity over the earthquake will come victory at the Olympics,' says his friend.
The same night, the Champions League final between Manchester United and Chelsea is taking place. Kick-off is at an unfriendly 2.45am Beijing time, but at Yu Huai Ying's bar in town, which hosts the Beijing branch of the Manchester United Supporters Club, all three storeys are full of young Chinese, girls and boys, pouring back beer, eating chips with ketchup and wearing United shirts. There is a signed photograph of the young David Beckham on the wall, and some others of golden oldies such as Ray Wilkins.
The bar's owner, Yu Huai Ying, is a fan of United and of English football since the Seventies, owner of restaurants in Shanghai and Beijing, and poised to cash in on massive interest in European football in China and for the Olympics. 'The Olympics will be very big in here,' he says. 'The same crowd will come, it'll be packed in here. But only because it is happening in China, and because there is the chance that China can win.'
Wu, an engineering student drinking in the bar, says he will be watching the Games here. 'We certainly can't afford tickets for the stadium,' he says, 'but I'm curious and want to see Liu Xiang win again for our country.'
On my final day in Beijing, I go in search of the Bird's Nest's creative origins, which entails a journey beyond the depressing Lego-brick city to a very intriguing quarter. 'Arts Zone 798' and the series of studios beyond it constitute a rather lovely corner of Beijing, where old streets and buildings have been spared the bulldozer and turned into a kind of trendy theme park in which the authorities seem not only to permit but encourage cultural activity.
This is where the male ponytails and John Lennon glasses are, the sidewalk cafes with smoked-salmon salads, art galleries and boutiques that sell Mao-chic clothing - wonderful silk dressing gowns printed with pictures of the Red Guard. And a little way beyond here is the studio of the most remarkable artist in China, Ai Weiwei. On the wall looking on to the street are neon letters reading simply 'FUCK'.
The Bird's Nest was designed by the Swiss company Herzog & de Meuron; but the ideas were Ai's. He is a gentle, thoughtful but bear-like man, wearing a T-shirt and beard. The architects called him the project's 'creative consultant', but Ai says characteristically of his role: 'I don't need a title - I would prefer "The Untitled".'
Ai grew up in the Xinjiang hard-labour camp, his father Ai Qing having been imprisoned during the Cultural Revolution as China's leading poet and a foremost dissident. 'I know what I know,' Ai says, 'because, as a child, I have seen the opposite of freedom. I have seen many people killed, the results of stupidity and cruelty and the results of courage. I have learned that to turn humankind into a creative force is a terrible problem.'
Ai studied at Beijing Film Academy, before founding an avant-garde circle called the Stars and emigrating to New York, where he lived for 12 years. In 1993, when his father fell ill, he returned to China, establishing a studio called East Village, then his current studio, called Fake - a thinly veiled play on the name of an exhibition he staged in Shanghai called 'Fuck Off' - and staging such installations as painting a Coca-Cola label on to an ancient Han vase and then smashing it.
It was a fine stroke by Herzog & de Meuron to turn the rascal of the Chinese alternative into the muse for China's second most recognisable monument after the Great Wall. It means he can do what most Chinese cannot: speak his mind about the regime.
Ai worked on what he calls the 'aesthetic and philosophical aspects' of the stadium's design: 'on the shape, and how the shape would relate to the city and to the present situation in China'. We talk about the impression of swirling sturdiness upon seeing the stadium the first time: 'control, and losing control and the same time', as Ai puts it. 'The shape of the stadium is intended to reflect yearning for the rule of reason, but not without passion and dynamism - wanting to show that the head and the heart can coexist.'
One of the most striking things about the Bird's Nest is the way the latticework makes the arena open to the exterior. Many have observed that this is a way of keeping the smog from settling, by admitting a breeze. But there is another reason too, Ai says. 'It is intended to be a statement about the need for a more open society, open discussion, greater transparency. I wanted it to have that kind of image, that kind of energy. I don't believe you can relate architecture to political statements, but architecture will always relate to ideology. And I do not see ideology as a matter of left and right, or East and West, any more. I see the tension in ideology as being between a more interesting state of mind, and a more dreadful state of mind; these are the things that divide mankind. The artist should be for the interesting against the dreadful.'
Surprisingly, however, Ai has not yet visited the iconic building he inspired. 'I have never been in a stadium in my life,' Ai says, 'and I never will. I doubt I will ever go into the Bird's Nest, because I am leaving the city for the Olympics, and not as a boycott - as some have said. Yes, I feel outraged at the Chinese government, and I am disgusted by the way power is abused in this country. But I have been misunderstood - I think the Olympics is a good opportunity for greater transparency in China.
'I am leaving town simply because I don't want to have to talk about it all the time, and I don't want to offend people by saying so,' he continues. 'I am much more interested in what is going to happen to it after the Games. I would like it to become a place where people like to go, bring their children or can come for mass weddings, or maybe mass divorces - or, best of all, to have big barbecues together.'
And what will be Ai's next project? 'I'm not sure. I'm very busy these days. Maybe to have some lunch, then a nap, or maybe to stroke my cats. I haven't made up my mind.'
China's olympic hopes
There are an awful lot of hearts to break in the world's most populous nation, so you have to feel for 110m hurdling superstar Liu Xiang, who carries the hopes and expectations of 1.3 billion compatriots and a government that initially set its team a target of 119 medals. Liu will not be alone in the Beijing pressure cooker.
It is hoped that Cheng Fei, China's most successful female gymnast, will win gold on the floor, but nothing less than gold will do in her specialist discipline, the vault. The men's table tennis team, who dominate their sport, are expected to win a complete medal sweep: number three‑ranked Wang Liqin is seen as a potential weak link, though - he is nicknamed 'chicken heart' for his tendency to lose big matches.
Although the defending Olympic champion and the favourite in the air rifle competition, Du Li faces the unique pressure of trying to win the first medal on offer.
A poll by Xinhua News Agency revealed women's volleyball as the gold medal 'most wanted by the Chinese' after the 110m hurdles, so captain Feng Kun and her team will need to perform. In contrast, there is very little pressure on the man with the broadest shoulders: basketball player Yao Ming, a giant in stature, even in the NBA, and homeland popularity, is not expected to win anything with an under-par Chinese team.