Behind the Wall: Reporting from China brutal, but rewarding

1News Reporter Jordan Oppert survived 50 days in wintry China, reporting on the Olympics and Paralympics under the state's watchful eye.

Covering the Winter Olympics and Paralympics in China for six weeks, you have to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

There's nothing like leaving a muggy, 25C Auckland and arriving in Beijing's Zhangjiakou mountains at a frosty -17C. Little did we know that would soon feel tropical.

Standing at the bottom of the freeski halfpipe, waiting for Nico and Miguel Porteous to drop in for the final runs it was -36C with wind chill. I had five layers on my top half and three on the bottom and still I was numb. My hair, eyebrows and eyelashes had formed icicles.

In temperatures like that it's hard to function, let alone think - which makes what our snow sport athletes do even more admirable. Add in the altitude and I don't think I made much sense that morning.

That afternoon, we arrived back at our accommodation - I took my gloves off to see that my fingernails had gone a deep blue/purple near my cuticles - the beginning of frostbite. Not ideal, especially when you've got a 10-minute time limit on your showers!

But while the climate is one thing, China's Covid and security protocols were another.

On arrival we were 'welcomed' by swarms of volunteers who had come together from right across the country to help roll out an effective, efficient and safe Games. I say 'welcomed' because while the people were friendly, it was far from welcoming.

The volunteers were kitted out in full PPE from head to toe - all you saw was their eyes through thick plastic goggles. We were ushered through the Beijing Capital Airport, completing the 10-step health declaration as we went - including a nasal swab PCR test.

Given China is a communist country, we were prepared for the regimented procedures that would come with it. What we weren't prepared for was a massive reality check within the first 30 minutes of landing.

Camera operator Nayte Mataia-Davidson needed to get his gear signed off. Usually this should take no more than five minutes, but 20 minutes later he was still stuck. Fortunately, an Australian camera operator came to his rescue - taking one look at his paperwork and pointing to 'Taiwan'. The officers gave Nayte a pen and watched him cross it out.

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From the moment we stepped foot in China we got the feeling we were being watched - confirmed when we struggled to find a live cross location that didn't have multiple surveillance cameras staring at us. In some cases, like at the hotel, they would follow our movements. That's on top of police officers guarding all entry and exit points, marching the perimeters of the hotels.

Being inside what China called a 'closed loop' meant we could only use provided transport - Games buses and taxis, and the special 'Winter Express' bullet train. You could not walk anywhere, despite some venues/facilities literally being just a kilometre apart. The Zhangjiakou Press Centre, where we were most days, was only 600m from our hotel.

The closed loop also meant we never came into contact with the general public, nor could we see much of China. Big fences and walls lined the transport corridors and we struggled to see over them.

Even in the dining hall/restaurants we were separated from everyone else - including those in our own bubble - through thick plastic Perspex shields.

And there's something to be said for the amount of hand sanitiser that had to be used. There was gallons of it, and it was potent - strong enough to clear your nostrils and dry your hands out to the point they started peeling. I can smell the sanitiser right now just thinking about it!

The irony is I survived 50 days of tight Covid restrictions and daily swabs only to test positive within a week of being back on home soil.

Everywhere we went, our Olympic/Paralympic identification lanyard had to be visible. It also paid to have our passports handy in case we needed to prove our identity. If we chose to take an official Games taxi we'd often be stopped at checkpoints, escorted by police inside to be verified through a facial recognition system, before getting back into our car.

Other times our driver would be forced to pull over while we all put our accreditation up to the window to be checked over by police. Depending on our daily schedule, we'd be doing this three or four times a day - in addition to scanning in and out of each venue and the hotel.

Step outside the closed loop? Twenty-one days in isolation. Seen without a mask? Twenty-one days in isolation. Miss a daily test or health monitoring? Twenty-one days in isolation. The only excuses were when you were in private, eating, drinking or sleeping.

You know when you're driving along going the correct speed, seatbelt on, and a police car follows behind you? And you know you're doing absolutely nothing wrong, but you still panic? That's how it felt covering the Games in China.

And the authorities were not afraid to pull people up. We saw firsthand journalists get locked out of their rooms, one can only assume due to their coverage.

The Olympic and Paralympic Games are political at the best of times, but these Games were unprecedented. At the opening ceremony a Chinese Uighur Muslim was a torchbearer, while President Xi Jinping watched on, perched up beside Russian President Vladimir Putin.

Three weeks later Russia invaded Ukraine and the International Paralympic Committee banned Russian and Belarussian athletes, just 24 hours after announcing they'd be able to compete neutrally. It came after major backlash from world leaders and other athletes - many who'd threatened a boycott.

As unsettling as this was, it also showed the power of sport. The Ukranian contingent made it safely to China, dominated the medal charts and used their platforms to make their voices heard. Athletes from all around echoed their sentiments - standing on daises and publicly saying 'no' to war. It was moving to be on the finish line of the biathlon course and watch the Ukrainian para-athletes ski their way to victory day in, day out - despite the worsening situation back home.

As a journalist, it felt like a vulnerable time to be in China. Geographically, we were very close to Russia. But I also felt close to the situation.

Between the two Games I became friends with a lovely Polish journalist. Each time I saw her, whether it was for a coffee or just passing through the lobby, I could sense she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and unsettled with the situation unfolding in Ukraine. She feared what could happen to Poland, which was accepting millions of refugees, or if her husband, brothers and father could soon be joining the war - but also that China might intervene once the Games were over.

Then there was a Norwegian journalist who we got to know quite well on our daily five-hour return bus to Yanqing. By the end of the campaign, she too was worried given Norway had publicly come out saying they'd support Ukraine 'till the end'. It felt as though we were in a bubble that could pop at any time.

For me, it was important to remember though, this is China. They do restrictions, they do rules, and they go all-out - and it worked. Very few Covid cases slipped through, most caught at the airport on arrival.

And they managed to put on a Winter Games in a place that might be cold but produces very little natural snow - the bulk of it was artificial. No pennies were spared on the ceremonies or the venues.

The Chinese people were hospitable, and you cannot fault the volunteers - many of them who stood there for 12 hours a day in freezing conditions to help us get from A to B, all with a smile on their face. It's for that reason I've forgiven those who wrongly pointed out the Great Wall to us on multiple occasions, just so it made us feel like we'd experienced part of their homeland! (I have since found out they were told to lie to us).

The truth is this gig was tough, brutally tough, but equally rewarding. It was my first time covering the Olympics or Paralympics and I got to cover history both on the slopes and off it - from restrictions to results, as cliché as this is, it was a Games like no other.

I will never forget Zoi Sadowski-Synnott claiming New Zealand's first Olympic gold in the snowboard slopestyle; Finn Bilous' reaction to finding out he'll be a flagbearer for the first time; both Porteous brothers making the halfpipe final and Miguel being there waiting for Nico at the bottom of the slope when he knew his little bro had won gold; Adam Hall, fresh off his own run standing at the bottom of the downhill course, cheering Corey Peters to Paralympic gold; or seeing a number of our athletes make their debuts on the world's biggest stage after years of hard graft.

I believe each and every one of our Kiwi snow sports athletes embody everything the Olympics and Paralympics are about - inspiration, integrity, passion, purpose, resilience, respect and courage, as well as pure, unwavering talent.

And at the end of the day, all the challenges aside, those are the memories I'll remember and cherish forever.