At this time of year the Chinese capital is as arid as the Gobi Desert, which is in fact just a day's drive away to the northwest. The proximity of the desert also tends to make Beijing a very dusty place, especially now when the city of 11 million is enduring its driest spell in memory, with rainfall less than 50 per cent of normal since early summer.
Where El Nino has brought lashing rain storms to western Europe, it has delivered drought to northern China. One section of the mighty Yellow River south of Beijing has remained dry for 10 months. The authorities in the city have in the past few weeks raised the cost of tap water and sewage treatment, and sent emergency grain supplies to outlying counties where seedlings have dried up.
Beijing is not very far north, about the same latitude as Madrid, but the dust and the smoke from coal fires sometimes produce a subdued Siberian light which makes the city very photogenic, with variations of black and white, illuminated in the evenings by brightly coloured neon.
In late winter and spring there are occasional dust storms, when the sky turns yellow and people have to wear a scarf or mask across the face. But even when it appears to be clear the air is full of the fine dust which settles everywhere.
One learns not to sit on a park bench or lean against a wall or railings when walking outside, especially if wearing light-coloured clothing. Before taking my bicycle out of the communal shed I have to wipe the handlebars and seat with a damp cloth - which immediately turns black - even if it was left there the day before. You can tell if a car hasn't been driven for a couple of days by the amount of dust on the windscreen.
Such conditions mean steady business for the gangs of cheerful car washers on the Beijing streets, country people who gather at corners with buckets of water, wave drivers down with their cloths, and then swarm over the car to wash away the grime, all for a few yuan. It's a thankless task these days with the wind from the Gobi cutting along the streets like a knife through bean curd.
The particles of dust are so fine that they penetrate even sealed windows, leaving a film of gritty powder on everything indoors. The dust can get into sensitive mechanisms like compact disc players and cause damage. When not using my computer I keep it covered with a sheet to prevent the minuscule grains doing harm to the hard drive.
It is in fact so dry in Beijing at present that the rare inch of powdery snow which covered the streets and parks on Tuesday had more or less evaporated within a couple of days. It certainly didn't melt, at least in the shade, because the temperature has not got up to near freezing point since it fell, but it has virtually disappeared nevertheless.
The aridity of the air causes severe itching problems for people with dry skin, and it plays havoc with ordinary household items in the apartment. Hardback books become warped on the shelves and paper turns brittle. After a day a newspaper feels as if it has been lining a drawer for years. Our Christmas and New Year cards all curled up where they were standing, and kept falling over.
These atmospheric conditions can also cause serious damage to furniture. Wood dries out and cracks. A big wooden coffee table I bought last summer has split open, leaving a fissure an eighth of an inch wide across the surface, bringing home to me once more that I should invest in new humidifiers.
These air-regulating devices are common in Beijing, puffing out vapour in the living room corners to make the air more moist. Somehow I don't think they would sell well in Ireland, not this winter anyway from what I hear.