The word is often used disparagingly, but it doesn't have to be a bad thing. A person reflecting back on their childhood, saying that time was luan, might be bringing up painful memories of the anarchy of the Cultural Revolution; or they might be thinking fondly of street vendors yelling out their wares as they walk - their voices vibrating through the smells of fresh-cooked food.

Luan might be most often used to describe society and, as here, the behaviour of the people on the street.

"The one year pre-Olympics celebration is tonight. You have to go," A Sheng's text message read. "It starts at 8 in Tian'anmen Square. Meet us at the subway at 7:30."

A Sheng called me at 7:40. It was still rush hour. "We're stuck in traffic!" he yelled. I rolled my eyes, leaned against a post, and watched the August sun slink away leaving the dirty, yellow sky like sheets it had soiled.

The subway wasn't stopping at either of the two Tian'anmen stations. The conductor didn't give any reason why.

"What kind of performances are going to be at the celebration?" I asked A Sheng.

"There are going to be lots of celebrities," he said. "You know Yao Ming?"

"Yeah."

"He's going to be there."

I looked over at A Sheng's friend, Chen Can, he shrugged.

We got off at Wangfujing, one stop east of Tian'anmen. Outside people zig-zagged, crossing this way and that. The asphalt sparkled with trash, bits of paper and water bottles everywhere, little white bits picking up the glow of the street lamps and speckling the dark roads.

We walked up to Chang'an Street, the largest street in Beijing which runs east-west through the city, skirting the northern edge of Tian'anmen. There the crowd became more determined. It moved in an artery and vein combination, contracting and surging, half the people walking slowly in one direction, the other half skipping their way in the opposite direction.

Chang'an Street was blocked off from cars and completely empty.

I kept hearing people around me, short girls looking up at their boyfriends, skinny young men with glasses tapping their friends leading the way, asking the same thing, "Is it over?"

"All these people look like they're leaving," I said. "Maybe it's already ended. What are we going to see anyway?"

"I don't know," A Sheng turned his head back again, "We have to get to Tian'anmen to find out."

"Oh."

I shut up and quickened my pace, turning my body sideways to slice between groups of people strolling towards me. They seemed like people out for the fresh air, moving slowly swinging their feet out in front of them, not chattering like they had just come from a big event.

Fences lined the streets to keep the eight-lane Chang'an Street totally empty. Police were stationed here and there. A police car was parked at the head of a small side street. A cop stood outside with a bullhorn. He was shouting something that I couldn't quite make out. "Please head back east..." I thought he was saying.

But then there was a bang in the air far ahead of us. It was followed by the crackle and shiny green spray of fireworks. More explosions went off and the people moving with us started to run. The fireworks came from Tian'anmen. They were at least half a kilometer away, but we galloped like they were just around the next bend. The bangs, the giggles and sighs of people around us washed away the policeman's bullhorn.

The fireworks lasted less than a minute. I had passed A Sheng. I slowed and turned around to find him. "I think the cop said that we can't get through this way."

"I don't know," he said, "I didn't hear him."

Suddenly the crowd got much thicker. Yellow police tape blocked off the sidewalk. Cops stood on the other side, arms crossed, not looking particularly mean, just patient, perhaps somewhat bored. This was where the flow reversed, where eager bodies jammed against the tape, eventually lost steam, and turned into strollers that meandered back the way they came.

We squirmed our way to the front. There was nothing ahead of us, just broad expanses of empty sidewalk and dim lights in the distance.

A Sheng pointed, "That's Tian'anmen."

We stared forward for a few moments, like visitors at the zoo waiting for the tiger to come out of its cage. The lights ahead of us maintained their dim glow. Policemen shifted their shoulders. People behind us gave up and turned around.

"What are we looking for?" I asked.

"I don't know," A Sheng replied.

"Why did all these people come?"

"Maybe they thought they could see the celebration."

We stood for a while longer. The soft and hard curves of bodies jostled us. I felt the light, flexible police tape, stretching it with my hands.

"I don't think there's any way to keep going."

"Yeah."

We stood longer. The glow of the street lamps dyed everything brick red and black, a small, rippling pond of dark shoulders pushed against the edge of the sidewalk.

"Let's go."

We pulled ourselves out from the crowd. Across from us a short, round police officer leaned against a low wall.

"Hey. Why are all these people here? What did they come to see?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe they think they'll see someone famous, like Hu Jintao." He smiled. "It's not going to happen."

"Let's get the subway at Qianmen," A Sheng said.

Little packets of people wandered steadily south like debris from a wrecked dam getting swept down river. Cops stood at side streets heading west, towards Tian'anmen.

"Nothing to see here!" the cops yelled, "Keep on moving!"

We hit Qianmen East Street and suddenly all the bits of debris clotted together. The area around Qianmen, at the south end of Tian'anmen Square, was blocked off. The subway station was closed also. Masses of people, having drifted from Chang'an Street in the north were again pressed up against tape, unsure where to go.

People formed mountains at the bus stops, spilling into the road and taking up two of the three lanes. Cops rode through on motorcycles yelling at people to get back. A bus pulled up and people surged forward. One or two got on, but the bus was packed when it showed up. Another and another pulled up and the same scene repeated itself.

Men yelled out to their companions following them, signaling them in different directions. People climbed over the meter and a half metal barrier in the middle of the street to get to busses going the other direction. A girl got halfway across, her skirt draping over one side, and then toppled. The oncoming traffic stopped to let her get up. Cops shouted, young men yelled, girls squealed and took pictures.

A Sheng, Chen Can, and I walked in the middle of the street around the police tape and crossed in front of Qianmen. Black government Audis and police cars were parked all around. We made sure the subway station was really closed, then kept going, searching for the next stop.

Old people along the the side of the road sat with their shirts rolled up, exposing their flesh to the August night. A man sold bottles of water with his son, yelling and laughing when the kid went to the bathroom without checking that anyone was watching the water: "Somebody will come along and take it all!"

A Sheng kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. "How do you say 'regret' in English?" he asked.

I told him, and smiled and let the Beijing luan flicker across my eyes.