This teeming, ancient, chaotic country is home to one-fifth of all humanity.

The capital Beijing contains just a few million people short of Australia's entire population.

The People's Liberation Army numbers some two million. Small wonder you see uniformed soldiers all over Beijing during the Games.

Five people are often doing the job of one at the Games.

For example, when I get home to the Olympic media village it often takes five people to greet me at the door of my apartment complex.

One wearing a splendid red sash with the gold lettering "welcome" is ready to open the door with a flourish and a smile, while another four are waiting in the foyer inside to say hello.

Well-meaning shines from the eyes of every one, and I am without fail charmed.

China has the bodies to kill people with kindness.

Armed soldiers with green tunics, red epaulettes and white gloves are everywhere.

They seem to do nothing but stand stiffly to attention all day, and I wonder how on earth they manage to keep it up.

I see one at his designated spot every morning, facing the wall of an apartment building.

How can you go for so long without flinching?

At the village security screening point, there are so many staff that they actually do check everything.

I am always asked to sip water from any bottle I am carrying in my bag.

At first I politely declined, saying I was not thirsty, until the friendly attendant said: "We require this."

"You require me to drink?"

"Yes."

When I asked why, he summoned someone with a more intricate grasp of English who explained that it was not for the sake of my hydration but to make sure it was water.

I happily complied, wondering as I did so about two apparent shortcomings in this strategy:

1. What terrorist who is about to blow himself up is going to quibble about taking a last swig of nitroglycerine?