BEIJING -- Ever since I arrived in China, the Olympic buzz has always culminated around "ba-ba-ba." That's the word for the lucky number eight in China. The opening ceremonies were to kick off at 8 p.m. on the eighth day of the eighth month in the eighth year of the new millennium.

Last Friday night's opening ceremonies kicked off the Olympic party. The typically relaxed Hou Hai area of Beijing was practically bursting last week with Olympic visitors from around the world. Shiny black cars with tinted windows lined the streets. People in power suits were entering roped-off red-carpeted areas, and rather fit-looking individuals were wandering around in flashy track suits.

The most serious fashion faux pas committed that evening was by a Western reporter in his live television broadcast. Dressed in the rice paddy hat of a peasant and the traditional silk jacket of a nobleman, his choice in attire represented the typical flattening of a diverse culture into a single, inaccurate stereotype frozen in time.

One friend shook her head at the sight as she noted that China was concerned about portraying a new, perfect image of its country to the rest of the world.

After we failed to crash the apparently VIP "Russian Bosco party" (whatever that is; all I know is there were Russian Olympians in the tent), we wove through the crowded, narrow streets to a Spanish bar where French was spoken, to bask in the pre-Olympic glow (where I actually met someone from Machias, Maine!).

At one point I found myself standing next to a man who, I swear, was almost twice as tall as me. Instead of asking him if his extraordinary height and official Olympic garb was any indication of his athletic status, I giggled with a friend as we speculated as to his Olympic affiliation.

Completely taken with the Olympic excitement, I spent almost four hours last Friday afternoon literally zigzagging across Beijing to find the perfect setting for watching the historic opening-night ceremony.

Roadblocks and police officers prevented access anywhere near the "Bird's Nest," the stadium where the ceremony was held. So we hung out for a bit in a small park below the giant screens built into the sides of the torch tower.

The park was one of the many around the city filled with locals decked out in red-and-white and toting flags in celebration of China's "coming out" party.

Three hours, four locations and multiple telephone calls later, I landed in a sports bar in the Sanlitun bar district. With only 15 minutes until show time, there were a few outcries when the bar had serious difficulty changing the station from ESPN to the Chinese broadcast on CCTV.

Apparently, the bar's satellite dish could pick up a myriad of international sports channels but did not have access to anything within China.

One angry patron declared this oversight as typical in a country so focused on "bigger and better" that the small details are often overlooked.

As the flag was raised before our eyes live on Filipino television, many in the bar began singing the words to the Chinese national anthem. The cheers of the crowd quickly turned into an amazed silence as images of the 2,008 drummers -- a highlight of the ceremony -- filled the big screens.

I watched the second half of the ceremony on a rooftop terrace with views over the Forbidden City, Beihai Park, and three of the 32 fireworks stations around Beijing that night. On my way across the city, I noticed that, with the exception of the scattered throngs gathered around various outdoor screens, the streets were practically empty of people and traffic.

The whole city, it seemed, was somewhere else watching the ceremony.

The terrace, on the other hand, was filled with fans from all corners of the globe. People whooped and hollered as their teams entered the stadium. Occasionally, someone would run to the television screen to point out a friend or relative.

When China's team finally entered the stadium, everyone went berserk for the host country. Amid the outpouring of pride and excitement, a woman stormed the terrace with a gigantic flag of China, to which the crowd began chanting "Zhong Guo, jia you!" -- literally meaning, "China, give gas!"

After the final firework faded into the still hazily polluted sky and people in the crowd dispersed to their next destinations, a faint breeze filled the sweltering air.

Credit meticulous planning by the Chinese. Credit heavy restrictions. Credit the lucky number eight. Those holding their breath in anticipation of the Beijing Summer Games were finally able to breathe a bit easier, finally able to exhale.

The games had begun.

Kira Leinonen is a 2002 graduate of Cony High School. Her mother, Mary Swindells, lives in Smithfield. Her father, Carl Leinonen, lives in Scarborough.