Beijing, beautiful one day, polluted the next, and the next, and the next...

I guess I filed the story about Beijing's blue skies a little too soon. 

It is true the city has had a record run of blue sky days. It is true the pollution levels had been coming down... But since that story went to air, the old grey haze is back. Sods law.

In fact the US embassy air monitoring station which tracks the smallest and most hazardous pollution says the air on Thursday was "very unhealthy" and at times "hazardous". To be fair it's just one station, and not indicative of the entire city, but at least it gives you an idea.

This could be just a bump on the road, or maybe its an unwelcome sign China's economy is picking up steam.

Some brokers will tell you the color of China's sky is a better economic indicator than the share market or the governemt's statistics.

I was told recently that some of the smaller steel works have now fired up again because prices have steadily risen.

If this is true, then maybe unhealthy air is a good measure of the health of the economy, and sadly it seems they're inversely related.

HONG KONG, China – There are two things that are sure to happen when the economy tanks.

One is the unraveling of financial scams, a la Bernie Madoff and the alleged wrongdoings of Texas billionaire Robert Allen Stanford. Ponzie schemes depend on a steady flow of cash - and new victims - to create the illusion of steady returns. When the economy turns down, the faucet runs dry and shenanigans come to light.

More worrying is the rise of crimes akin to this weekend’s headline in Hong Kong’s South China Morning Post newspaper: “Conmen target HK’s richest in gold scam.” The story details how suspicious brokers are offering “enormous quantities of gold sourced from the Thai royalty” but first demanding access to bank accounts.

In a downturn, everyone - even the very wealthy - grow more susceptible to schemes that dangle gold and other quick riches. In this scheme, dubious brokers are using fake Web sites and emails that mimic reputable dealers to dupe victims.

Cyber crime is one industry that has skyrocketed since the economy has collapsed. As I wrote in a recent story, incidents of malicious software and Internet scams are fed by people’s need to believe schemes that seem too good to be true.

So we believe that Thai royalty is unloading cheap gold. We hand over bank details based on plaintive emails from Nigerian businessmen and the promise of big cash for a small upfront fee. We click through sites touting “earn thousands from home,” but the only thing we “earn” is spyware that we have unwittingly downloaded into our computer.

Criminals are betting on our suspension of disbelief. And they are banking on it, too.

What gives Taro's history away is not a look in his eye or the shuffle in his walk. It's the slashes across his wrist, wounds that one year after his suicide attempt appear to still be healing. He pulled up his sleeve to show me, saying he still thinks about killing himself as the job offers never come.

Aokigahara Forest near the base of Mount Fuji.

"I'd lost my identity," 46-year-old Taro said, explaining how he'd been fired from his job as a driver for an iron manufacturing company.In Japan, where your job is your identity, that made him worthless in his own eyes. Taro had heard about Aokigahara Forest, known in Japan as the suicide forest. He decided to go there and disappear into the sea of trees.

He wandered for days, waiting for death to come. But the cuts into his wrist weren't deep enough and the weather not quite harsh enough. He eventually stumbled into some bushes, dehydrated, starved and suffering from frostbite on his toes. He would eventually lose some of the toes because of that frostbite. He would have died, had a hiker not stumbled across his nearly dead body. The hiker called paramedics and the police.

The hospitals didn't want to take him, Taro explained. Since he had no job and was homeless, he kept getting rejected. The police finally connected Taro with a credit counseling organization that found him a hospital that would treat his injuries.

For four months, Taro stayed in the hospital. When he was well enough to leave, the same credit counseling agency found him a shelter where he could live and try to look for work. So far, he hasn't found a job - a challenge in Japan's deepening recession.

There's not a lot of help for people like us, Taro says. By us, he means the unemployed and the bankrupt. Taro believes as Japan's corporations cut tens of thousands of workers, most of them temporary workers who already are considered the working poor, the suicide problem will escalate.

National statistics show that's indeed the case; January 2009 saw a 15 percent increase in successful suicides from January 2008.

Japan also has a cultural history that embraces suicide. Seppuku is a form of Japanese ritual suicide originally reserved only for samurai. Seppuku was part of the samurai honor code, where warriors killed themselves rather than fall into the hands of their enemies or for reasons that shamed them. It's a notion that still persists in a culture that doesn't adhere to a religious notion of spending an eternity in hell if you commit suicide.

Taro says he still thinks about suicide but that the will to live is stronger, for now. What would erase those thoughts, he says, is a job.

TOKYO, Japan - As a reporter, I often meet someone whose story stays with me long after the interview is over and I've filed my story. Such was the case of my interview with Hidefumi Ito, a 54-year-old unemployed man whom I met six months ago.

Hidefumi Ito sits in his net room, a cheap and efficient option for Japan's growing unemployed.

Ito had agreed to do an interview from his "net room," a rental room the size of a closet. The room costs the equivalent of US $20 for 24 hours and has two essential job seeking items: a computer and internet hook-up.

The space was so small that Ito and I sat cross-legged in the room, taking up the whole area. My cameraman had to open the door and shoot into the room. What struck me at first is that all of Ito's possessions - just a few items of clothing – filled the room. Then he began to share his story.

Often talking through choked tears, Ito spoke candidly and at length, describing how his upper-class life had slipped away so quickly. He was an art gallery director, selling high-priced items to the richest people in the world. The economic recession quickly killed the business and his job. Ito lived in a five-bedroom house and owned two cars, an incredible level of financial wealth in space-starved Japan. He lost his home in months to bankruptcy. Disgraced, his wife divorced him and now his three children won't speak to him, Ito says.

Ito took what he had left and stayed with friends as long as he could, before turning to the net rooms. These rooms, he told me, were a cheap and efficient option for someone like him.

There are a lot of people like Ito in Tokyo. Tsukasa, the company that created these net rooms, says it's running at 100 percent occupancy at all of its buildings. Tsukasa's general manager, Koji Kawamata, says the company is currently building more of the rooms but struggling to keep up with demand. Because of the number of people who need these rooms in Japan's recession, it led to a job for Ito.

Tsukasa, impressed with Ito's ability to communicate with us and his determination to find work, hired him as a custodian. The job is not glamorous. For eight hours a day, he scrubs toilets and makes beds for a monthly salary of US $1600. Tsukasa is giving him a deal on a small apartment so his take-home salary ends up being closer to US $1400 a month.

But having any sort of job has meant a significant turnaround for Ito's life. Talking to him again six months after our first meeting, he did say he continues to grieve for what he once had. But now he can think about life beyond unemployment. He hopes to start his own business someday utilizing his managing skills. Ito considers himself lucky because he never had to live for weeks at a time on the streets, as do the growing number of unemployed filling Tokyo's parks.

Just having any sort of step towards tomorrow, says Ito, gives enough hope to keep moving forward in this global economic slowdown.

Watch my followup on Ito after he had to resort to a net room home.

BEIJING,  China - Hillary Clinton's name carries celebrity status in China. She came to Beijing first as U.S. President Bill Clinton's first lady, now as President Barack Obama's Secretary of State. But the Chinese just call her "Hillary."

U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton chats with a Chinese church official after a Sunday mass in Beijing on February 22.

On the eve of her greatly-anticipated visit to China's capital this past weekend, Beijingers were thoughtful.

"I think she is indeed a very powerful woman," said a businesswoman. "She has a very strong personality. I even bought her autobiography."

"I'm very keen about Hillary's visit," said another man, a banker. "Actually, I really wish I could have a dinner with her, so I can hear more about her opinions on Sino-U.S. relations."

Unfortunately, Mrs. Clinton did not have time for dinner with him but did meet with China's top brass, President Hu Jintao, Foreign Minister Yang Jiechi and Premier Wen Jiabao. It was the first time a U.S. Secretary of State chose to take a maiden voyage to Asia in almost 50 years.

"I think she chose to visit China because China means a lot to the U.S.," said one woman, a psychologist. "She wants to have a more thorough discussion with China."

It's no secret the discussion was dominated by the global financial crisis, still a source of bitterness among some Chinese who believe the U.S. is to blame for the downturn.

"Since China didn't suffer as much as the United States in the financial crisis, Hillary's looking for cooperation and help," said the businesswoman.

"I think China and the U.S. should combat the financial crisis hand in hand," the banker said. "If the U.S. only cares about its own economy, other countries will be left behind."

As first lady, Mrs. Clinton once pressed the Chinese on human rights but said the issue would not sideline other priorities on this trip.

"Well, if we compare the current human rights condition with that during the Cultural Revolution, then there have been a lot of improvements," one woman said. "But China still has a long way to go."

"I think the Chinese government should allow more freedom on news," said a student from the Communication University of China. "Chinese citizens need to know more about negative opinions of our country."

Perhaps there is hope in more visits from diplomats like Mrs. Clinton. "I think she is very talented," said the banker. "I still don't know why she dropped out of the presidential campaign."

In China, it seems, she still has a lot of fans.

BEIJING, China - We do so many stories about migrant workers, jobless migrant workers, the poorest of the poor. While these are the most impacted and downtrodden faces of the economic crisis, they're not the only ones.

Wang Hao is a 25-year-old web editor at a local real estate firm, with a standard 9-5:30 (or so) job. When we met, I thought, this is an average, middle-class guy, trying to make ends meet as China's economy slows. Like the majority of Chinese, he just wants to create a life and a future for himself.

He bought his first apartment in Beijing, just before the Olympics. Just a studio, but very well-kept, I thought. A house he could call his own. Unfortunately, that was when the prices were the highest. Bad timing.

Soon after that, the bubble burst, the financial meltdown started and Wang Hao was saddled with a big debt.

He thought the best way to pay it off would be to spend only 100 yuan (about $15) per week. Well, Monday through Friday. Weekends could be more fun.

At first, he failed miserably. He was used to eating out, taking taxis instead of the subway, and buying the latest electronic gadgets. Over time, however, he mastered self-discipline. He got into the habit of cooking and taking the subway. Now he spends even less than that some weeks, by my calculations.

And the most extraordinary thing is he's inspired 100,000 other young people in China to do the same thing. They are all part of the aptly named "100 yuan-per-week club" Wang Hao started on his company's website. They communicate with each other online, sharing secrets about how to save, lamenting about the challenges.

Wang Hao's latest idea will help him buy his first car. For every yuan someone pledges to this cause, he will match their contribution. He thinks he'll have enough for the car by the end of this year.

BEIJING, China - Early morning in Beijing, with the temperatures barely above freezing, thousands crammed the National Agricultural Exhibition Center. It was shoulder-to-shoulder as they pushed their way to the front of the booths with resume in hand.

Competition is stiffer these days for vacancies at job fairs in China.

This was the first jobs fair in the capital this year as the unemployment rate among graduates, known as the "Bird's Nest Generation," and the less-than-charitable "Pampered Generation," slowly edges up – proof that the economic crisis is cutting a painful path across all sectors of society. This year more than 6 million graduates will be looking for work across China.

"There's so much pressure with all this competition, it's just how it is right now in China," said one man who recently graduated with a degree in media and public relations.

He added: "Because of the financial crisis it will be difficult to find a job."

Others were significantly lowering their expectations - two nursing graduates said they were willing to look for jobs in other areas, oddly enough they said they would even consider a job in finance, while at the same time lamenting their plight as job seekers in an economy that has taken a downturn.

"Last year was much better than this year to look for work," said one of the nurses.

There was once a time when these university-educated graduates were guaranteed a good salary and lots of perks, but not now. A recent survey has also shown, for the first time, that average wages for newly employed graduates is falling between 10 percent and 12 percent, depending on the city.

For the companies that are still hiring it means they can have their pick of the best and the brightest. One real estate company recruiter said his company would demand only the very best salesmen.

Perhaps it was the optimism of the young, perhaps because it's still early days in this financial meltdown, perhaps because they've never been through this before, but most expected to eventually get a job. Maybe not their first choice, but a job.

One woman refused to even consider a job in a factory, or other menial labor, "I'll just wait" she said.

The question is how long will she be able to sit this crisis out?

BEIJING, China — It's meant to be China’s biggest party of the year, when everyone forgets their hardships (and there are plenty even when the economy is going gang busters) and celebrates. So as I was walking around the famous Drum and Bell Tower and the swanky bars of Houhai in Beijing, I couldn't help but feel it was all a little flat. In fact at times, it seemed as if there were more western tourists who were out and about letting off firecrackers than locals were seeing in the Lunar New Year.

A worker installs lanterns to celebrate the Chinese New Year in front of the Bird's Nest on January 24 in Beijing.

There's an old Chinese superstition, the way you spend the Lunar New Year will portend the rest of the year – if that’s the case then China looks to be in for a very quiet, almost miserable year. The bars were not full, the crowds just didn't appear, and the fireworks lasted barely 20 minutes. Compared to last year, it was a bit of a dud. Even on the first day of the Lunar New Year, barely any fireworks (the last two years the fireworks barely let up even during daylight hours, certainly the fire crackers could be heard from early morning to late, late at night and on it went for two weeks). Watch why the Year of the Ox is looking more bearish than bullish

The men selling the fireworks on the street corners also seem to be hit by the economic downturn . . . not surprising when you realize a box of decent crackers can cost 800 RMB ($117.00). That's a lot especially when you might have just lost your job, or as is more likely to be the case, had a wage cut or overtime slashed. Chinese typically don’t like talking about tough times ahead, the concept of face means it's incredibly important for them to keep up appearances. This isn’t the U.S., where almost everyone is willing to open up and tell you practically everything about their financial pain, where there is a collective catharsis about sharing stories of hardship.

It’s also tricky getting a read on China's economy by using government supplied statistics, but perhaps the lack of enthusiasm, people and fireworks, might be yet another anecdotal piece of the jig saw puzzle which confirms China is feeling the pinch much more than last quarter’s 6.8% GDP numbers would suggest.

Tradition has it that the loud bangs on Lunar New Year are meant to scare away the evil spirits – this year, with fewer being able to afford the fireworks and crackers, perhaps the evil spirits might be staying around.

GUANGDONG PROVINCE, China - For decades migrant workers have been the faceless engine of China's economic growth. And in recent months, they have been seriously affected by the current global economic slowdown.

A mother carries her child last week at a railway station in Chongqing, China, during the Spring Festival season.

That's why we headed to China's industrial Guangdong province, so called "factory of the world," leading up to the Chinese New Year. Sometimes called the Spring Festival or Lunar New Year, the Chinese New Year is one of the most important traditional holidays for Chinese, with millions making the trek by plane, train, bus or automobile to see their families.

From the provincial capital Guangzhou we drove south toward the city of Dongguan, one of the economic powerhouses in southern China. Both sides of the expressway were dotted by countless factories and worker's dormitories. Most of the companies in the province produce goods for export.

I have traveled here before and soon noticed that something was different. Even from the car window one can see that many of the dormitories, where up to 12 workers often share a room, are empty. Some of them carry big signs "For rent."

Our driver says the car company he works for was making its living primarily from foreign businessmen and investors who came to inspect the factories in the region. "In October, November of the last year, they just stopped coming," he said. "We have no clients now. I do not know how much longer we can stay in business like this."

Some parts of Dongguan resemble a ghost town. Closed factories, empty workers' dormitories, deserted streets, shuttered restaurants, shops and massage parlors.

Shoe factory Wei Xu is in a township of Chang'an, and closed on October 31 after its U.S. clients stopped buying shoes.

Many small businesses surrounding the factory went bankrupt, and their owners returned to their villages. Some are still open, and we soon learn why.

A married couple, Mr. Gong Xinfei and Ms. Hu Shanling, came here with their two young children from Jiangxi province less then four months ago. They borrowed money from relatives and friends and rented their shop for a year. Mr. Gong had to pay almost $1,000 as deposit money. He spent an additional $8,000 to equip and stock the shop. The factory closed one week after the store opened. Gong says he has no money left and if he leaves now, he will lose the deposit, too.

"We don't have money. What can we do? Back at home we are not registered as farmers and have no land. Where can I make money?"

Gong continues: "We are people without jobs and have to depend on ourselves. Even if we go home, we have to make money. There is nothing to do there. That is why we borrowed money to do business here and see if we could make some money. Now we lost everything.

"If we really cannot survive, we have to go. I don't know where to go though. I have no idea," Gong adds, laughing nervously.

A few hundred meters away, Ma Shenglu leans against a doorframe of her empty restaurant. The 27-year-old Muslim says she came to Dongguan a few years ago from Qinghai province: "I don't have other ways to make living. I don't have money," Ma says. "What can I do? Nothing. My kids go to school here. The store lease cannot not be transferred and I would lose the deposit money so I cannot go back home."

Those with the means have left. As we drive through Dongguan we see flocks of migrant workers walking, carrying their belongings in huge bags made of blankets or plastic wraps. Some women carry children on their backs.

Some factories are surviving, such as the Weijia plastic production plant in Ma Yong Township. But even those still running receive fewer orders from foreign buyers, and have had to limit production. That means workers have less work to do and earn less money.

Migrants usually earn most of their money working overtime. Toiling 14 hours a day with only two days off a month used to be normal here. Workers could earn between $200-$250 a month this way. Now, with regular working hours and free weekends they are earning barely half of that. For many it's not worth it. "I will stay home after spring festival. I cannot continue working like this," says Yang Jiajing. "It is not even enough to pay for my food. I will do farm work or will try something else."

One of the factories we visited did not feel the crunch. Its example speaks volumes about the whole crises in Guangdong. The printing company Tai Da in Ma Yong Township produces exclusively for the Chinese market and is not reliant on exports. The workers are as busy as always, says the security guard at the company gate. The managers of the factory declined to talk a foreign journalist.

The Chinese government is trying to re-orient production for domestic markets. This, however, is a long-term project. Thousands of factories have simply run out of time.