Dorrit Moussaieff, wife of Iceland’s President Olafur Ragnar Grimsson, taunts a fallen Pole. (By Marcelo Del Pozo - Reuters).

Exactly one month ago, a wise man told me I should focus on the Icelandic men’s handball team at the Olympics. I ignored him. Whoops. Per Mostly Modern Media:

What we thought before this game is just to do what our forefathers did. They at most endured, like, two or three days at home in peace, and then they had to destroy something. They had to go and fight war somewhere. They went with their boats and stuff like that, and we were just on our boats, destroying something. That’s how we went to the game, just to enjoy those 60 minutes like our (unintelligible) in life. That’s what you do. That’s what you live for.

That was after a quarterfinal win over Poland. The Christian Science Monitor came up with this incredible stat: Iceland has won more per-capita Summer Olympic medals all-time than the U.S. Oh, and Iceland has won three Summer Olympics medals all-time. Now, the Icelanders will, at worst, equal their best-ever Olympic handball result here, and could still get their country’s first gold.

Plus the goalie is taking cracks at Bjork. And a colleague who vacationed in Iceland has great stories of gnomes, thermal energy stones knit into sweaters, and fermented seal alcohol. Sigh. As Visir put it, “Þar sannast hið forkveðna - íslensk lið standa sig best þegar fæstir eiga von á því.”

Meanwhile, I’m sitting here with a ridiculous mustache on my face, and the Croatian water polo team is no more after yesterday’s stunning quarterfinal loss to Montenegro.

Several Croatian players refused to comment after the loss. Their expectations were so high they even decided to grow their mustaches out as a sign of team unity and as an ode to their mustachioed coach. [Driver Maro] Jokovic said he expected many of them to shave soon — maybe even before playing Spain for fifth place.

For this I gave up war-mongering Icelanders?

Great mustache, bad loss. (By Laszlo Balogh - Reuters)

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Argentine footballers sing and bang the windows on their team bus.

Bearing in mind that I didn’t attend the Opening Ceremonies or any of the Phelps Phest or any of the gymnastics or the 100-meter final….And apologies for repeating myself from the disastrous live blog, but this is for newspaper purposes.

One way you know you’re at a top-notch Olympic media event is when you see the three-man Japanese television crew holding two stuffed creatures with gold and silver medals around their chests and a sign in Spanish, asking the victorious Argentine footballers which they’d prefer.

Another way is when, for the first time since you’ve arrived in China, you’re threatened with arrest. In this case, the threat was for attempting to enter the media seating section of an Olympic semifinal between Argentina and Brazil with your official media credential.

“If you don’t leave here I’ll have to call security!” the press official said as angry media folks from around the world gathered in a stairwell, attempting to proceed to a media seating area that was reportedly out of seats. This was Messi vs. Ronaldinho, and so the threat didn’t work, and the mob pushed through to the next stairwell, a babel of free-press-loving, sweat-spewing outrage.

“Anyone who goes past me will be arrested and ejected, it’s very simple!” the press official said this time, as the mob continued to surge.

NTV reporter with medal-clad Zoomin, or possibly Zoom-in!, for Messi.

“What the [expletive] are they talking about?” asked a late-arriving journalist, which pretty much summed up the mood. The mob surged again, a woman screamed, and some younger volunteers came to form a human wall against the media horde. I was ready for the photo-op of these Games, sports writers in a brave push towards the freedom to watch sports. And then, suddenly, the officials decided to let us upstairs, where the media seating was rather full but would get fuller.

The reason for the excitement wasn’t just that this was Argentina-Brazil. Unlike Phelps Phest or the Opening Ceremonies, this wasn’t a ticketed event, meaning anyone with a media credential could enter, and just about everyone on that list did so. And so there were media members sitting on concrete ledges, and watching from tunnels, and standing on top of chairs, and, of course, cheering for one side or the other, with hugs, on occasion.

The mob formed again after the match, when officials decided the post-game interview area was too full and must be closed down. They formed another human wall of volunteers to keep out the dozens of late arrivals, and constructed a second mixed zone outside with temporary barriers. Human rights in Tibet are one thing, but keeping the media from getting canned sound bites from footballers is an affront that shall not stand.

“This is full,” said an official, gesturing to the room.

“But this is Brazil-Argentina, it’s a semifinal game,” an Italian journalist complained. “This is Olympic Games. Everyone is here. What is full?”

“This is not fair. This is not Olympic spirit,” seconded Han Xiao Peng, a translator for Japan’s Fuji TV.

The Italian eventually made it inside, meaning he missed the crew from NTV’s “Zoom-In!” a Japanese show starring a blue creature named Zoomin. Or something. The crew had already managed to pass off a stuffed Zoomin to Usain Bolt and was hoping to do the same with an Argentine footballer, but they didn’t speak Spanish. Hence, the sign (in what I thought they said was Spanish, but which is apparently Portuguese): “Quella Medailla Usteo Tiene Preferencia? Ouru o Plata.” Suddenly, it was Super Bowl Media Day at Workers Stadium.

“We fail to pass,” said Ryutarou Sasa, one of the staffers, as the players ignored their plush offering. “Go near bus: final fight.”

Ah yes, the bus. As the Argentines waited for their teammates inside their coach, they began singing and clapping and dancing and pounding on the windows and singing and dancing some more. If you’ve ever seen a high school softball team celebrate an 8-0 no-hitter, you pretty much know what the inside of this bus looked like. Since everyone within 100 meters immediately swiveled and turned on their camera phones, expect grainy YouTube footage shortly.

Among their song choices was apparently “Un Minuto de Silencio Para Brasil que Esta Muerto,” according to an Argentine journalist. “A moment of silence for Brazil, which is dead,” more or less.

As they finally drove off, a Hungarian radio broadcaster clapped. I asked him why.

“They play very well,” he said.

Media members vs. the volunteer wall.

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And there’s your rout. Kobe Bryant three-pointer. Carmelo Anthony three-pointer. LeBron James diving save of a loose ball. Kobe Bryant free throw. Jason Kidd layup. Kobe reverse layup. Kobe three-pointer. Going back to the end of the first half, that made 19 consecutive points, 11 coming from Kobe.

Oh, and mix in Aussie missed shot, Aussie missed shot, Aussie air ball, Aussie missed shot, Aussie missed free throw, Aussie missed free throw, etc., and you know why the journalists are heading for the beer line. Literally Or why the U.S. fans are already starting a “Car-los Boo-zer, Car-los Boo-zer” chant, calling for the closest thing this team has to a walk-on.

Wonder what Coach K said at halftime? Maybe he told his guys to stop paying attention to the inflatable robotic Fuwas? Or to ignore the third-quarter entertainment? (Chinese men who spin around on the ground while dribbling basketballs, and then dance with their basketballs while passing them occasionally.)

Dwyane Wade makes a three-pointer and points at the bench. Carmelo and Kobe and LeBron stand and point back at him and laugh. Carlos Boozer unties and retires his shoes. The journalist sitting next to me just went to get a beer. I guess we’re all trying to stay interested. Like, did you know that when the PA people announce each basket, it happens in both English and Chinese? And that the Chinese version of “Tayshaun Prince” sounds nothing like “Tayshaun Prince?”

I’m sprinting out of here in a likely vain attempt to make it to the Bird’s Nest in time to see Usain Bolt do something silly and talk about yams. This makes six U.S. games, six wins, and six fourth quarters worth avoiding to see track, judo, or competitive paint drying. Michael Lee will provide a final report over here.

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Fredonia wins its medal. (By Ruben Sprich - Reuters)

A few days ago, I wrote about, Jenn Stuczynski, like me a native of tiny Fredonia, N.Y. and America’s best female pole vaulter. And then I never followed up. Well, as if you didn’t know, Monday night Beijing time, Jenn became Fredonia’s first Olympic silver medalist, and 10,000 people plus at least one blogger rejoiced.

“I think this is probably one of the most exciting things to happen to Fredonia in 40-some years, if not THE most,” Fredonia Mayor Michael Sullivan–a fifth-generation Fredonian and lifelong resident–told me yesterday. “We had the Bills camp here, but that was every year. It became a routine. It got old.

“This, you’ve got someone from your town who’s made the national stage, is at the biggest event in the world, and finishes second? The publicity it’s brought to this village and the interest that it’s instilled in people in sports, boy I tell you, in 48 years I can’t remember anything that would have this big an impact.”

And a village rejoices. (By Stu Forster - Getty)

Sullivan, whose mayorship is a part-time gig, was working at the county courthouse when the medals were decided; his cell phone started blowing up with texts. Sullivan told me the village plans to erect a flag pole and plaque in Jenn’s honor in West Barker Commons, the downtown park. (The other half of the park already has a flag pole, in honor of local veterans.) The pole would be visible when you come to Main Street into downtown, and would be marked with the heights of Jenn’s various vaulting accomplishments.

The local Olympics Celebration Committee met Tuesday night to discuss how to honor with Jenn, with options including hanging a banner across one of the main drags and hosting a dinner and fireworks display, according to the local paper. Sullivan told me they’re still waiting to hear from her agent about when she can come home for a victory parade. And a local columnist wrote a piece defending Jenn against an AP columnist, who criticized her for trash talking.

As for Jenn, how did she spend the night after her triumph?

“Afterwards? What did I do?” she asked herself Tuesday, following a meeting with the press. “We went to see my parents at a hotel, then I caught a cab back to the [Athletes] village and then I went into the cafeteria, got some food and went to bed.”

So, um, she won a silver medal at her first Olympics, and then celebrated with a meal in the Athletes village cafeteria?

“Yeah, by myself,” she said with a laugh. “Ziti noodle pasta. You know, it’s hard to celebrate here, because my family’s not here right now. They’re all back [in Western New York], all my friends are back. So the celebration…we’re taking it easy right now and when we go home we’re gonna be pretty excited and glad it’s over. I understand why it’s every four years now. It just takes a lot out of you.”

After all of this craziness, she’s not yet sure if she’ll compete any more this season, despite the fact that several European meets remain. But her career is far from over; the 26-year old said she plans to compete “as long as my body will hold up,” but that “once I start to break down, I’m done. I don’t want to hurt.”

Also, she sounds like everyone I went to high school with; the accent is strong with this one. To keep the propaganda machine going, I asked her to help explain why so many of us have such great feelings for our hometown.

“It’s comfortable,” she said, which is about as apt a two-word explanation as I could imagine. “We go back and we just find it relaxing.”

Speaking of relaxing, the look on Jenn’s face Tuesday–pure relief–was considerably different than on Saturday, when she looked about as relaxed as an Olympic security guard. She said the tension had been building since the U.S. trials.

“You start to think, ‘Oh, I could win this and go to the Olympics,’ and then all of the sudden there’s a lot more pressure,” she told me. “And it’s not what you [imagine], where you’d go and be excited. You’re excited, but there’s a lot of pressure and responsibility that comes with it, too. You know, that’s stuff I didn’t ever even think about it.

“It’s definitely a relief. It’s definitely like, ‘all right, it’s over.’ The season’s a success. We could end it today and be happy.”

As for our hometown folks, “people are already trying to get hotel rooms for 2012 in London,” the mayor told me. “The fact that it’s silver instead of gold doesn’t make a bit of difference to anybody in this town.”

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Catching up with previously discussed fan bases before heading to the Argentina-Brazil football match….

* The Swedish women’s handball fans? They include these weirdos, who have made all manner of goggles out of tea strainers. I asked if this was a classic handball trick; “classic Swede,” they replied.

They found some tea strainers on the ground once at a music festival. They realized they could be made into goggles. This is why I like sports fans. Some people would see a nasty discarded kitchen implement. Swedish women’s handball fans saw opportunity.

“We are having these in all events,” Magnus Legnerfalt said. “We went to Athens in 2004, all the crowd had them.”

“It’s been written about in the newspapers in Sweden,” Rickard Alfredsson continued.

“They’re famous,” Legnerfalt said.

“These are the insect models,” Alfredsson said, showing me a camera in which they were wearing a five-tea-strainer model colored and shaped into the Olympic rings. Monumental.

* The inflatable kangaroo-toting Aussie women’s basketball fans who dress like lifeguards and Steve Irwin and Australian Rules Football players? They were featured on Aussie television program Today Tonight. Many people in the piece surmised that the Chinese had never seen anything like these 6-foot-10 white men in short shorts carrying blow-up animals. I think you could say the same thing about Americans. Or humans.

And their offer is still on the table: one inflatable kangaroo for 300 Yuan.

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I mentioned this over the weekend when discussing judo’s Mark Mangino but it bears repeating. There are plenty of emotive athletes here, who cut loose on their courts or in their pools or on top of their horses or whatever. But some of the more compelling viewing options at Olympic venues comes just off the playing surfaces, where coaches behave as if Olympic medals are awarded for spastic synchronized hugging. Makes Bruce Pearl look a prude.

Enthusiastic reunited-with-long-lost-relatives-style hugging is a virtual job requirement for many coaches in many sports, in a way that it isn’t in, say, sports journalism. I’ve worked with a lot of editors at The Washington Post, and never hugged any of them, so far as I can recall. Nor have I hugged any co-workers.

But if you’re winning a medal at the Olympics and you don’t get a freaky hug from your coach that squeezes the remaining strands of breath out of your lungs, you’re doing something wrong. Here are some of the hugs available on the photo wires, ranked in ascending order of enthusiasm, from Bruce Pearl to Richard Simmons, roughly.

Straightforward coach hug! Lisbeth Trickett of Australia hugs coach Stephan Widmer after winning the women’s 100m butterfly. Much too traditional for my tastes. (Kai Pfaffenbach - Reuters)

So-happy-I’m-sad coach hug! Zhang Juan Juan of China celebrates with her coach after winning the gold medal in the women’s individual archery final. Nice form, nice passion, not enough originality. (Ruben Sprich - Reuters)

So-happy-I’m-terrified coach hug! Feng Tainwei of Singapore hugs her coach Liu Guodong after winning their women’s team semifinal table tennis match against South Korea. I mean, I can understand losing emotional balance after the women’s team table tennis final, but the semifinals? What do you do for an encore? (Ceerwan Aziz - Reuters)

Up-in-the-air leg-wrap coach hug! Yu Yang (R) of China hugs her coach as her compatriot Du Jing celebrates after winning their women’s doubles badminton final against South Korea. I think I saw two people doing this move at Club Bud.

Artistic coach hug! Mariel Zagunis of the United States celebrates her victory for the gold medal in the sabre. This one feels particularly touching, somehow. Bad word choice, given the competition below. (Jed Jacobsohn - Getty)

Look-at-the-cute-toddler coach hug! Deng Linlin of China is congratulated by her coach after her routine in the floor exercise during the women’s team artistic gymnastics final. I mean, c’mon. Women’s? His arms are showing all the strain of lifting a box of Q-tips. She’s a woman like Mike Gundy’s a man. (Mike Blake - Reuters)

Preemptive coach hug! Nastia Liukin of the U.S. is congratulated by her coach as teammate Shawn Johnson prepares to start her routine in the floor exercise during the women’s individual all-around artistic gymnastics final. Johnson couldn’t top it, but the danger of the preemptive coach hug is that you might lose, and the winner might tattoo your hugging image on her biceps. (Dylan Martinez - Reuters)

Menage a trois coach hug! Coach Andrea Magro hugs gold medal winner Maria Valentina Vezzali and bronze medal winner Margherita Granbassi of Italy after the medal ceremony for the women’s fencing individual foil. Good thing no Italians took silver. (Alexander Hassenstein - Getty)

Chomp on this coach hug! Zhong Man of China (R) smiles as his coach Christian Bauer bites his gold medal for the men’s fencing individual sabre. Zhong has probably bitten the medal himself. Twice bitten, nonce shy. This seems like a Jeff Van Gundy move, somehow. Not technically a hug, but I love it. (By Nick Laham - Getty)

Party-people-get-up coach hug! Ok, I take it back; this leg-grabbing routine is more Van Gundy’s style. Coach Gao Jian of the Chinese women’s gymnastics team is lifted up after China won the artistic gymnastics team event. Straight from here to the Virgin Mobile Fest for Gao. (By Al Bello - Getty)

Gaze-deep-into-my-eyes coach hug! Abhinav Bindra of India is congratulated by his coach Gabriele Buhlmann after winning the gold medal in the men’s 10m Air Rifle final. Pretty intense, right? As the Times of India put it, “Gabriele Buhlmann did what every Indian wanted to do. She hugged him warmly. Bravo, Abhinav!” Indeed, bravo! Now get a room or something. (By Jeff Gross - Getty)

Too many men on the floor coach hug! Ilya Ilin of Kazakhstan is congratulated by his coach Ni Alexey after his gold medal winning lift in the men’s 94kg weightlifting event. The tight pants, the splayed legs, the refusal to leave the center of the stage, the Kazakhstani connection all make it clear. Thus far, this is your top Olympic coach hug. (Photo Jeff Gross - Getty)

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Before I get nasty comments from Borf lovers, sure, a few scattered bits of magic marker do not graffiti genius make, but still, the first thing you notice when you arrive outside the hotel Team USA is staying in (well, besides the security) is the Kobe Bryant graffiti love.

Look, there’s his name on an official Olympic sign! And on a fence post! And another! What fun!

As everyone knows, the USA Basketball operation has set up camp at a luxury hotel far from the Olympic village, but they still have the same Olympic security operation. So when I tried to go into the hotel, just to see if anything was cooking, I was told that I needed either a reservation or a visiting appointment made at least 24 hours in advance.

That being the case, you’d think no one would bother standing outside the metal detectors, the check-in table, the armed guards and the large perimeter fence, but you’d be wrong. When I arrived, 19-year-old Wang Yi and 25-year old Sun Yang (in UNC basketball shirt) were waiting underneath the security guard’s umbrella, just kind of hanging out.

“I’m here to see if there’s any chance to see the American basketball team pass by on the bus,” Sun said through a translator. “I heard some other fans have been here every day and stay here all day.”

We didn’t see members of that all-day brigade, but a few minutes later two teenaged girls arrived. Sun and Wang had seen the Team USA bus depart earlier in the day, and they claimed to have gotten a look at Kobe through the window. They told the new arrival this storys. The new arrivals put their hands on their mouths and squealed. I asked the girls how they know which hotel to come to.

“News reports,” 19-year old Mika Chen said in English. “All knows, all knows they live here.”

What exactly does one do outside the Team USA hotel? Wait, mostly. I saw an agent for some of the players a few blocks away; he said whenever he leaves the hotel, kids ask him for autographs. I saw some Jamaican fans who were staying there, and asked whether the security perimeter affected their stay.

“I should say so,” one woman said. “It’s mad.”

I saw another guest of the hotel, who described the hotel as “like a high-security jail or something.” But he wasn’t put off by the security, and none of the Americans I talked to minded a bit. Steve Churm and his family came from Orange County for an Olympic vacation; his 17-year old son Logan worked out next to Candace Parker in the exercise room and rode in an elevator with Coach K a few hours before the U.S. opener.

“You gonna put on a show tonight?” Logan asked the coach.

“We don’t put on a show, we play as a team,” Coach K said, proving that coachspeak lives even in private elevator conversations with 17-year old teenagers.

What’s Team USA’s neighborhood’s like? There’s a mall a few blocks away with a Louis Vuitton store, a Gucci store and a Salvatore Ferragamo store. And there’s another luxury hotel a block away that features a lobby bar called “Plush” where you can get a can of coke for about $5.75, which is more than I’ve spent on any meal in the past week.

I wanted to wait with the Kobe fans and see what would happen if the bus came back, but it was oppressively hot and there was nothing to do and we ran out of NBA players’ names to say to each other. “This is my job for today,” Sun said of his wait, but I didn’t have eight hours of that in me, so I left.

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Sweden’s two leading scorers from Sunday’s dramatic win–Matilda Boson and Johanna Ahlm–pose for their parents.

His daughter, Johanna, was being mobbed by fans on the concourse when Jonas Ahlm realized the downside of athletic triumph.

“This is getting very expensive for me,” he pointed out. “After the last game I bought my wife a camera and I told Johanna, ‘If you win the next game, I will buy YOU a camera.’ So now we have to go into the city and buy a camera.’ “

He grinned as he said this. It was a few minutes after the Swedish women’s handball team had stormed into their first Olympic quarterfinals with a 25-22 comeback win over Brazil. After I met the Ahlms on the first morning of handball pool play, they’d plunged into an Olympic flume ride with their daughter Johanna and her friends: three straight losses to open their first Games, a dramatic one-goal decision over favored Germany, and now this narrow victory over the Brazilians with both teams needing a win to advance.

Jonas had cracked his first beer before 10 am to calm his nerves; “I have to do something,” he said, pointing toward his heart. Wife Marie was still flushed well after the game was complete; “not good for the heart,” she joked.”

Swedish star Matilda Boson hugs dad Tony. Note beer in hand.

King Carl XVI Gustaf had attended the match with his wife; “Wave, King, Wave,” the Swedish fans chanted during the action. Tennis silver medalist Thomas Johansson came too; “I don’t think they played their best game today, but the most important thing is to win and go through your group,” he told me before he left. “Now the tournament starts.”

Except now the tournament ends for the Ahlms and the Bosons, the two couples I met while they tried desperately to scalp their way into the opening session. The Swedes weren’t favored to survive group play, and the four parents all had tickets to return home on Monday, the day before the quarterfinals. For them, the Olympics will conclude with their daughters storming the court after their victory, rolling around on the floor together, screaming into the rafters.

“The end of the story, and it’s a good story,” said Tony Boson, father of “Waltzing” Matilda Boson. “We have a little whiskey we must drink up before we go home.”

“I think that’s possible,” Jonas agreed.

But first, the celebration in the arena continued. The Bosons and Ahlms took photos with Swedish fans. They took photos with Brazilian fans. They took photos with me. Then their daughters–the team’s two leading scorers today–emerged on the concourse, still in uniform. They hugged all four parents. They signed autographs for little girls. They posed for photos with virtually everyone in sight, including scores of volunteers and opposing fans.

Swedish star Johanna Ahlm hugs mom Marie.

“You are the problem!” one Brazilian man kept saying to Johanna, “you are the problem!”

The day before the decisive games, the two mothers met the two daughters near the Olympic village and had a picnic. They didn’t talk about handball much, even though Marie is a former player herself.

Jonas also used to play, making a single appearance with the Swedish national team in a friendly in 1981. “I wasn’t too good,” he admitted, although his fingers are still bent like tropical drink straws from his handball days. Their younger daughter Pernilla also plays the game, and Jonas has thought about the possibility of her one day representing the national team with her sister.

Jonas told me that our scalping experience was well-received in the handball community, joking that “the Washington Post is now very famous in Sweden.” When I left the Ahlms and the Bosons, they were contemplating finding a nice lunch and maybe some Champagne before they packed up to leave Beijing and the Olympics. We hugged and shook hands and said goodbye.

“See you in London in four years!” Jonas shouted out as I left.

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Ni hao, Internet. Lindsay Applebaum here, with some top-notch Olympic linkage.

- Chad Johnson knows “a couple” people who could beat Michael Phelps. . .and Ocho Cinco happens to be one of them. (Fourth-Place Medal)

- The L.A. Times’ Bill Plaschke takes on China in ping-pong. (Ticket to Beijing)

- Swedish wrestler throws a temper tantrum after winning bronze. (Seattle Times)

- Michael Phelps is doped up. . . on iTunes. (Fanhouse)

- If you’re going to dope, go hard or go home. (The Sporting Blog)

- And finally, the broken English portion of this post:

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Random Irish man eats silkworms for American blogger.

Foreign media doing scorpions-on-sticks pieces is just about the lamest form of journalism imaginable. It’s hackneyed, cliched, predictable and useless. It relies entirely on the gross-out factor, and is basically Fear Factor on location. It creates an image of life in Beijing that is demonstrably fake, no different than if every visiting journalist in the U.S. sent home pieces on American food, based entirely on FedEx Field concessions or the Texas State Fair. And, on top of all that, it’s just lazy.

So here’s my version.

Ha! No, seriously, the wonderful Beijing Boyce blog has been chronicling the visiting media’s obsessions with scorpions on sticks, and it’s a fair complaint. (Thanks to the Rocky Mountain News Summer Olympics Blog for pointing me to that post.) I was intending never to visit this Wangfujing Night Market, just to avoid falling into the I’ve-read-this-all-before trap that is scorpions-on-sticks coverage. I didn’t want to join the pack.

But I wound up there today in pursuit of something else, and dang if I didn’t start asking random foreigners to eat random gross things on sticks while narrating their thoughts on video. It’s just irresistible. No media member with an actual pulse could get within 100 yards of cooked scorpions on sticks and not break out his media devices, especially when chunks of snake and sticks of sheep penis are also available.

I mean, call it a cliche, call it lazy, call it stale. Call it the sloppiest form of copycat coverage, if you must, but I’m taking that picture anyhow. (I actually bought the scorpions for the guy above. Fifty Yuan. That’s the most I’ve ever paid for scorpions.)

Also, it smelled pretty sour in the market. Also also, plenty of Chinese people gathered around the foreigners eating bugs and made “holy cow that’s nasty” faces at the wacky foreigners. Also, I tried to wash the smell of silkworm out of my life by drinking a Corona. It didn’t work, but the lack of open container laws is a special thing.

Random American man eats bugs for American blogger.

Random German man eats starfish for American blogger.

Uneaten sheep penis.

And the classic: Uneaten scorpions on sticks.

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