The dictionary doesn''t contain enough adjectives to describe Beijing''s number one attraction: splendid, impressive, brilliant in its conception, magnificent, majestic, imposing. But - I''ll tell you one thing, "Once is enough."
My first visit to the Forbidden City was in early spring, when the crowds were few and the air was crisp. It was a thorough, informative and leisurely event accompanied by a guide who spoke English words, but demanded intense concentration to make sense of what she was saying. Four [I presume ''early spring'' means March, not January.] months later, in the blazing July heat, surrounded by the push and crush of hordes of rushing tourists, I made an impulsive decision not to escort our overseas guests through the old Imperial Palace. Leaving them in the capable hands of my history-buff husband, I parted company with an agreement to meet 90 minutes later at the opposite end in the Imperial Garden, before crossing to Jingshan Park.
Knowing the streetscape on the east side of the grounds was not spectacular, I drifted westwards through Zhongshan Park, tipping my hat to Dr Sun Yat-sen and noticing how different the pastel summer landscape was to the bright tulips and peonies in May. I lingered little, for my plan was to [''circuit'' is a noun] go around Zhongbai Lake. Unfortunately, I had left [tense!] my map with the others. On the outside, serendipity took over. There was a roadway between the moat and the palace perimeter. There were no vehicles and none of the ubiquitous guards in sight. There were no signs either, only a feeble-looking swinging gate that did not stretch across the tarmac that was hot under my feet. A hubbub of noise came from a cluster of one-storey buildings to my left; a worker passed me to enter, but said nothing to me. I walked on.
After five minutes, the wall to my right seemed to stretch on forever. I looked back, but I was completely alone. The moat shimmered beside me. The great expanse of grass between my pathway and the moat was being watered by a buried sprinkler system. I took a long drink from the bottle in my belt [in English, ''fanny'' must not be used, because it means a different part of a woman''s anatomy] pack and contemplated how, in a metropolitan area of 17 million people, I could be just by myself. On the other side of the red painted wall, itself about 30 feet wide, were at least 10,000 babbling day-trippers. My world, however, was silent. As I strolled on and passed the half-way mark to the end of the building, the thought crossed my mind about what I might encounter when I turned at the north-west corner. Would the road end? Would the moat be right against the wall? Would there be guards located at the palace exit who would capture me?
