From China to America, monumental forces are driving global demand for food, feed and renewable fuel. Faced with a worldwide credit crunch, demand will probably take a breather, but the long-term trends are still strong.

For China, the 2008 Summer Olympics were a smashing success. For me they were a pain in the butt.

In the late spring of this year, The Progressive Farmer and DTN decided to send me to China to report on Chinese demand for U.S. farm products. Our thesis was that improved standards of living, brought on by good paying jobs, had caused a shift in diet for millions of Chinese. That shift has created a burgeoning demand for meat, and meat production depends on feed grains, something U.S. farmers grow in abundance. But will Chinese demand remain high? And will the Chinese be able to meet that demand internally, or will they have to buy feed grains on the world market, which would be good news for American farmers?

Originally, we had a two-pronged game plan. We would interview Chinese business and government leaders about the issues. Secondly, we would put a human face on the new demand by interviewing families whose income had risen significantly in recent years. We would work in Beijing and nearby Hebei province to get both an urban and a rural perspective.

Lin Tan, who is DTN's Beijing correspondent, was to be my "fixer" for the trip, which we planned for the last week in July and first week in August. Lin would set up interviews, make travel arrangements and be my interpreter. The idea was to get in and get out of China before the Olympics began. In June and the first part of July, Lin did a great job of lining things up. Then the Olympics effect kicked in.

For the Chinese government, the Olympics were to be a coming out party. They were to showcase for the world Beijing's astounding new buildings, its ultra modern infrastructure and the country's hot economy. The Olympics were as big a deal as China had seen since the days of the last emperor. And the central government was taking no chances that anything or anyone would ruin its perfectly scripted games. Everyone who arrived in China in July 2008 was suspect.

That had consequences for our plan. First, most of the interviews we had set up in advance were cancelled. In early July, private companies, universities and government bureaus received letters from the central government that said, in effect, "In this time before the Olympics, please do not accept foreign visitors, especially journalists."

Second, I was unable to get a journalist visa, which meant I traveled on a tourist visa. That would have been okay most times. But during the Olympics, the heightened Chinese security gave me a sense of insecurity. Would some government zealot question my real purpose in visiting? Would I be held for interrogation? Unlikely. But I had the jitters.

With interviews cancelled, Lin had to scramble to keep our project afloat. Since official interviews would be scarce, we shifted our emphasis to individual families. Lin found two families in Beijing who seemed perfect for our purposes. One was a young couple who had moved to Beijing recently from a rural province and were trying to work their way into the middle class. The second family had moved to the city from the provinces years before and had made it firmly into the middle class. We would talk to each about how rising incomes had affected their diets and lifestyles. Lin also found farm families in Hebei province who would talk with us and provide us a contrast between urban and rural lifestyles. They could also give us some insight into Chinese agriculture.

To salvage the "official" component of our trip, Lin was able to line up interviews with university agricultural economists who he knew from his university days in Beijing. They had not received government letters and were willing to talk to us. We also were to meet in Beijing with officials of China's largest animal feed supplement company. Through the connections of Jim Philips, a retired colleague from The Progressive Farmer, we landed an interview with a trade official at the U.S. embassy and a senior official at a U.S. agribusiness with offices in Beijing. In the countryside, we would meet with farmers, local businessmen and staff at an agricultural experiment station.

The trip was saved. But the Olympic hassles continued.

Security was everywhere in Beijing. Army, police, civilian. You almost literally could not turn your head without seeing some part of the security system. As we drove from the airport, for instance, Lin pointed out small groups of people congregated around folding tables on the sidewalks. "Security," he said. "Every 300 yards in Beijing, there is a security station."

The Olympics changed the everyday life of the city. The central government instituted traffic reduction measures to cut air pollution prior to the Olympics, so only cars with even numbered license plates were allowed to drive on even numbered days. The government also shut down factories in an effort to clean the air, and assigned thousands of workers to decorate for the big Olympic party. Even crazier, the government restricted travel to Beijing to prevent an overflow of humanity. Lin told me that in rural areas, government officials confiscated individual ID cards. Since in China you cannot travel without ID cards, nobody could leave their villages without special permission. Imagine: hundreds of millions of Chinese were in effect confined to their villages because of the games in Beijing.

Lin arranged for a car and driver for us in Beijing, a set up which worked very well. He obtained a special license plate (I never asked how he did this; in China things seem to happen outside the system all the time.), which let us travel everyday of the week and allowed us to park in secure areas. Our interviews and photos went well.

We took a train to Hebei province for the second leg of the journey. Once again, Lin had arranged for a car. But the driver turned out to be a member of the Communist Party who seemed interested in both my politics and my mission. As we drove, the driver and a friend of Lin's, who worked at the agricultural experiment station we visited, received several cell phones. Lin translated for me that the calls were from government officials who wanted to know where I was and what I was doing. "Don't worry," Lin said. "We told them that you are an American agricultural scientist here to study Chinese farming and that you are 65 years old."

Why 65 years old?

"You just sound safer that way."

One call really made me nervous. Lin told me it was the Secretary General for the province's Communist Party, asking about me. Why would someone in so high a position be interested in me? "Don't worry," Lin said.

But worry I did.

After several days, we took a bullet train back to Beijing, and the next day I went to the city's brand new airport for the flight home. This is a glorious airport, as modern as any in the world, more so than most in America. Among the conveniences was a wi-fi network to connect the Internet. As I waited for my flight, I decided to check email. When I logged on, I noticed a Chinese symbol in the "Sharing with" box on my computer screen. Sharing with? Who was I sharing my computer with and why?

It was probably something very innocent. Maybe the Chinese symbol was just the name of the wi-fi network. But after more than a week of the jitters, I quickly shut off my computer's connection and waiting anxiously for my flight to be called. I was glad to leave China.