How Long Does it Take to Lose a Blackberry in Beijing?

The height of early-August Beijing style.

The answer to the question above? In my case, considerably less than 24 hours.

This was a happy development, because when I went to the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin, it took a good two weeks before I managed to leave my cell phone on a bus and then spend an entire Saturday taking obscure train routes up into the Alps to some remote bus depot to recover the precious mobile device.

In Beijing, figured I'd get that adventure out of the way right quick, leaving my brain cancer device in the back seat of the first cab I took. Brilliant. My sympathetic co-workers concentrated on taking photos of me as I dropped to the pavement and assumed a sort of deranged fetal position. Somehow, through the mercy of our Washington Post translator, we called the cabbie and he met us back where he had dropped us off within 45 minutes. I probably didn't give him a big enough tip.

Other highlights from a day of pre-Olympic sightseeing:

* Half-shirted men. This is big. In several ways. And occasionally tough to stomach. To cool down, the stylish trick for fun-loving men who want to look hip and modern is to sort of scrunch their shirts somewhere north of belly button but south of breast, allowing perhaps eight-to-ten inches of bare torso to luxuriate in the open. The amount of skin can increase for the particularly fashion-forward, as pictured above.

Men really ought to adopt that look back home. Ray King, especially.

My favorite military unit, besides SnortNavy and SmokeMarines.

* Chinese tourists wearing t-shirts with inscrutable English captions. "Can you ride a wheel?" Not completely sure. "Fashion girl you will always have a special place in heart." Great to hear. "Do your best even though whatever." Couldn't have put that one any better. "GameTeam" Sure, as long as we GoTime? "Mouth Love You." Sexy. And my personal favorite, "Curly Sue How Many Flappermove?" Um, seven?

* American chain restaurants. Pizza Hut, KFC, T.G.I Friday's, Starbucks, and McDonald's, all in one morning.

* Tom Boswell. Bright white shoes with bright white socks. Live it, love it. But more fanny pack, please.

* Some cab drivers who seem unfamiliar with the fact that many acres of gleaming new Olympic fake villages have been dropped in their midst. Like, our cab ride to the Forbidden City? Twenty-five minutes, zero frenzied gesticulations with folded maps, and 28 Yuan. Our cab ride back to the media center, which is located in the middle of newly built and super shiny OlympicLand? About an hour of driving, several mid-highway windows-down conversations with other cabs, a phone call from the cab driver to his English-speaking friend, all manner of folded-map gymnastics, an unscheduled mid-highway pit stop to discuss (pictured below) and seventy-one Yuan.

Our cabbies, discussing what to do. In the middle of the highway.