BEIJING, China - When she was just 4 years of age, AKFC Massage Center owner and manager Dr. Han fell sick with a high fever. The illness left her sight badly damaged, and by 12, she was completely blind.

In a country that at best has meager resources for the disabled, the prospects for Dr. Han - that is how she identified herself - were grim.

"The government would send blind children for work experience to industrial factories. But I was so scared of the loud noises. It really terrified me," she recalls.

Thankfully for Dr. Han, there was another avenue available – Chinese traditional massage for the blind.

I meet Dr. Han, now 46, in her Chaoyang massage center, lights dimmed and quiet. Her eight staff, all blind, sit in another darkened room, speaking in hushed tones, hands on laps.

Her business was initially set up in a small room in 1994 after she gained her medical qualifications, majoring in massage. The business then grew into its current size, which has more than 15 massage beds.

The center is spotless; crisp white sheets cover the beds, adorned with red silk sashes.

"When I lost my sight at 12, I went to a blind school, which incorporated high school and medical school. I learnt subjects such as brail and science, and at 17 started my degree, which included subjects like pharmacy, traditional Chinese medicine and western medicine," she explains.

"I had to pay for my own schooling. The government didn't help. But it was very cheap, just 200 RMB ($29) per year. These days, it costs about 5,000 RMB ($730) a year."

Dr. Han pays herself a monthly salary of 2,000 RMB ($290), while her staff receive half that.

One of her workers, 24-year-old Wu Yanxia, came from Inner Mongolia to start her career.

Wu, who has been blind since birth, grew up in a very poor rural area where, she says, education was non-existent.

But in 1999 a German charity set up project for disabled kids and provided them with basic education. It was through them that Wu was given the chance to come to Dr Han's center to learn massage in 2001.

"I learned massage for two years when I arrived," she explains. "I was so lucky to get this chance, I really love this profession. I want to learn more and more if possible," Wu says.

Interviews over, I jump on a table and receive an hour's massage. Every tense spot is expertly kneaded and all my troubles float away.

It costs just 80 RMB ($12), but if you choose Dr. Han's expertise, the price doubles.

As I depart, Dr. Han reflects on her good fortune.

"The factories for the blind aren't doing well now because they're more automated these days, compared to what it was like when I was young," she says.

"So I may well have been out of work if I hadn't chosen massage. I really feel lucky with my life."

Watch my video report

BEIJING, China - You've got your walking shoes on, your backpack is filled with adequate water to counter the fluid-sapping Beijing heat, and you're on schedule to see your first live Olympics event at the Bird's Nest stadium.

But in this sprawling capital, you've quickly become lost, and you have no idea which way to turn.

Thank goodness then for Beijing's Olympic volunteer guides, who have spent years learning English to deal with just this situation.

One popular learning center is the Golden Years English Salon, which started in 2004.

I'm welcomed into the classroom like a long-lost cousin and quickly introduced by 70-year-old Summer, one of the founders of the institution.

"David, where are you from!? Tell everyone about yourself!" he enthusiastically requests.

The class, with an average size of about 60 people, is free to attend, and the teachers, usually one Westerner and one Chinese, are unpaid volunteers.

The group sessions are held every Saturday morning and afternoon, and are attended by people from all over the city.

They're rowdy, friendly and keen, and their enthusiasm is infectious.

"Some people here want to learn English to become Olympics volunteers, others for a hobby. I wanted both," Summer says.

"When I was young, I realized English is the international language, and wanted to serve the people from all over the world during the Beijing 2008 Games."

I leave the class and visit another Golden Years English Salon founder, 75-year-old Jason Yang, who works in an Olympics information booth in the Sanlitun area for four to six hours per day, six days a week.

A former mechanical engineer, Yang says his English improved dramatically once he began attending classes, and cites the Olympics and his grandson as the main catalysts for learning English.

"After Beijing won its Olympics bid in 2001, I knew many would come and need help in 2008. So I thought ‘maybe I can help them and show them the way'," he explains.

"Also in 2001, my grandson was 5 and coming home from school and trying to speak English words. So if I learned English, I could also speak to him in this language."

During mid-interview, Jason is sidetracked by a Westerner asking for help, and quickly becomes animated in his instructions.

Deed successfully done, his grin betrays his satisfaction.

"It's great, but it won't end here," he says. "After the Games, I will help in schools, hospitals, and other communities. So many Chinese people want to learn English, and I'll help them."

Watch my video report

BEIJING, China – Beijing has its fair share of expatriates, many of whom are Western school teachers dropping by for a few months or, at most, a year.

Not so for 27-year-old Elyse Ribbons, a Detroit local who's managed to avoid any itch after hitting her 7-year mark as a Beijinger.

She arrived on the eve of Beijing's successful Olympics bid, fell in love with the city, and has since become proficient in Mandarin.

"I was in Beijing when the Games were announced. It was such an exciting time, and one of the things that endeared the city to me," she remembers.

"Seeing locals clean the city up, and watching everyone unite was amazing. In London (where she has also spent time) there's been no real spirit of the Olympics. But in Beijing, a switch was turned on way back in 2001 and everyone's worked together ever since."

Ribbons combined her love affair with Beijing and her background in the arts by setting up the company Cheeky Monkey Productions, which produces documentaries, short videos and plays.

Consequently, she's had numerous plays performed in the city, the most recent of which was banned.

"Lethal English," about a female English language teacher who gets involved in a murder mystery involving corporate espionage and police corruption in Beijing, didn't go down too well with the authorities.

"As a result, we were forced to run it in an underground punk club," she explains.

"But it was tough as you can't inform the press and so you lose most of your potential audience straight off. The police found out about it eventually anyway, and it was shut down."

The ban made her ponder one of the negative aspects of living in China - censorship - and she now spends more effort dealing with sensitive issues when writing her plays.

"I now subtly introduce contentious aspects by using metaphors for things, and leave it up to the audience to figure it out," she says.

"There are other negatives about living here. Personally, one of the things I do worry about long-term is my health. When I was home last, I had a medical check-up and the doctor asked if I was a smoker, which I'm not."

But ultimately, this expat says the city has a lot more positives than negatives.

"I really love this city, and hope to stay here. The food alone is worth it - it's absolutely superb," she says.

She's also excited about her ongoing Beijing-themed work, which includes a documentary on a behind-the-scenes look at how the city's restaurants work, due out in autumn.

And in winter, the public can expect her new play (as yet untitled) which takes Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew" and sets it in modern day Beijing.

Watch Elyse Ribbons talking to David Challenger

BEIJING, China - It is 9 a.m. in a park in the Beijing district of Xicheng. Despite the early hour, the temperature has already passed 30 degrees Celsius (86 degrees Fahrenheit) and I'm breaking into a sweat by simply blinking.

It's relatively quiet, at least for Beijing standards - tonight the city ushers in the 2008 Olympic Games and it's as if everyone is resting indoors in anticipation of the momentous event.

Suddenly, the stillness is broken by rhythmic chanting – at once familiar but also entirely intriguing.

I turn the corner to see 10 elderly women in synchronized motion dancing to their own chants and wordplay.

No, not tai chi or some form of ancient martial art - this is hip-hop, Chinese style, performed by none other than the affectionately named Hip-Hop Grannies.

Wu Ying (Grandma Wu), the leader of the group, may be 70 but she could easily pass as 55. And it runs in the genes. Her daughter is 47 and I kid you not, looks 30. The group first began in 2004 after Grandma Wu saw the annual national hip-hop dance competition on TV.

"It was so youth dominated," she recalls, perspiration dripping from her face. "How come there were no older people dancing?"

So she began asking about to see if there was anyone interested in forming a hip-hop group, but initial efforts were grim.

"My own daughter threatened to disown me. She said ‘I will lose face, so I will sever our relationship.' You must remember that at the time, hip-hop was considered something poor people or street people would perform," she says.

"People would say ‘you go home and wake up.' Now it's a different story, now they admire me."

Including her daughter, who actually joined the group in 2006 after she saw her mum's health improve and how popular she'd become.

Grandma Wu choreographs the moves of the group, in which the average age is 59.

"I don't plan anything too strenuous. I don't carry any injuries, but I'm too old to break dance ... I know my limits," she says.

"As long as I can keep dancing until I can't move, I'll be happy."

Watch a video clip of the Hip Hop Grannies

BEIJING, China - The trip up to Beijing from Hong Kong couldn't have started any worse. The typhoon 8 signal - one of the strongest ratings Hong Kong gives storms - was in effect, which made getting a taxi a very wet proposition. 

Thankfully, things improved quickly after successfully hailing one (though the obligatory typhoon surcharge was enforced), and despite a hairy ride dodging fallen trees along Hong Kong's highways, I was relieved to find my flight was still scheduled to fly.

We sat on the tarmac for an hour waiting for a brief respite from the howling wind, and the first 10 minutes of ascent was of the white-knuckled variety. But the three-hour flight passed quickly and I was soon getting my first view of Beijing Airport's new Terminal 3.

Designed by British architect Norman Foster and built at a cost of $3 billion, it's the largest of its kind in the world - a soaring steel and glass structure that took just under four years to complete.

It's big, bright, airy and very user-friendly. The huge roof is made up of a bronze and earthy red grid-like pattern that gives the whole place a futuristic atmosphere – and it just stretches on ... and on.

I was struck by the amount of staff in attendance, as if there was one worker per passenger. I know it's the eve of the Olympics, and staff have probably been drilled in the art of welcome relentlessly, but all were incredibly polite and helpful.

Media people pushed their oversized cameras around, toned athletes slinked about like graceful jungle cats and Olympics officials checked off lists - all with goodwill and a sense of camaraderie.

Immigration was a breeze - a courteous nod and yet more staff waiting beyond to guide weary travelers to the baggage claim area (a state of the art system capable of processing almost 20,000 bags per hour).

I arrived at baggage claim to find suitcases being spat out on to the conveyor belts at a rate of knots. Indeed, my bag was already doing a loop, a first for an international flight, from memory.

The atmosphere of calm and control quickly diminished after clearing customs - hoards of security staff, journalists, and sports fans jostled for front position as arriving passengers (no doubt some famous) pushed luggage trolleys toward the exit signs.

Then it was time to test the much discussed Beijing taxi drivers who, from many reports, have spent the past year busily attending English classes.

No such luck this time, but it wasn't a problem - a taxi regulator was at hand giving succinct instructions to my driver as to my destination. And he did make up for his limited English skills with perfect driving and a very nifty uniform.

All in all, a perfect introduction to this Olympics city. Now all they need to do is control the weather and that odd, gray murky stuff in the air.