INCIDENTAL TOURIST

No two ways about it: visiting Beijing in May was a mistake for me and my two friends. We walked right into the first May Day holiday that had been extended from a few days to a whole week, the government's reasoning being that a longer break for people would give a kick to the economy.

Its strategy worked. Millions of Chinese and foreign tourists flocked to the city to take in the sights and generally have fun, which was all well and good. But as inevitably happens when sheer people-pressure bursts the seams of this or that venue or other attraction, including restaurants, there was a good deal of mayhem too.

Our visit seemed doomed from the start. The small hotel where we had reservations had overbooked, so no room at the inn. We spent our first afternoon combing Beijing for somewhere affordable, but in the end had to splurge on a room at a Holiday Inn. No doubt the 800 yuan per night for such luxury was a fair price in the normal run of things, but it blew our tight budget. It could have been worse. The following day, a Chinese newspaper reported that lack of hotel rooms had forced a Shaanxi family to spend their first couple of nights bedded down in a huge sewage pipe waiting to be laid. At least the nights were warm.

Cameras at the ready, we first headed for Tian'anmen Square, which I had read was so vast that it could stage an entire Summer Olympics with all the events taking place simultaneously. I was ready to be impressed by the square, and it did not disappoint. It was flooded with tourists as the daily Sunset Ceremony neared, so a kindly Chinese man ushered us forward for a better view. Almost instantly one of my friends and I were swallowed up in the crowd, and we lost contact with the third member of our trio.
We tried to push our way from the melee, to no avail. After the ceremony we searched everywhere, even leaping madly into the air screeching her name and waving our arms. Oh, woe ... we'd lost our friend in Tian'anmen, and she spoke not a word of Chinese. Naturally one thinks the worst in these situations, such as her being swept off on horseback, Rudolph Valentino-style, by an amorous Mongolian at that very moment at full gallop towards his grasslands. An hour later, we found her back at the hotel, tetchy but safe.

I don't wish to seem too grumpy (I have come to love Beijing), but the Forbidden City the following day was not much better. Memorable, yes. Comfortable, no. Never, it seemed, had so many people crammed themselves into so inadequate an area, spacious though it is on a wet Monday morning. There were barely a few square centimeters per visitor, but various small groups somehow created new elbow room to gawp at, and photograph, the blonde member of our party. 

Her flowing locks stirred as much interest as any of the ancient buildings, and every five minutes or so Chinese tourists asked to be photographed with her. It was her 15 (extended) minutes of fame, oriental style, and she was happy and flattered to oblige. Along the way, it was noticeable, and charming, that other visitors too shy or courteous to intrude on our friend were unobtrusively snapping her in the background of their pictures of their families and friends. Despite the fun of this diversion, it was not the leisurely afternoon we had hoped for.

So far, so ... well, not exactly good, but interesting and worth a diary note. We agreed that, despite the problems of the first two days, we could on the morrow deem our visit a success after we had climbed the Great Wall at Badaling.

Dawn on our final morning in Beijing found us at Qianmen bus station for the ride to Badaling. The queue already extended several hundred meters, but we persevered. By 10am, we had inched our way to the front of the queue for the last bus. When it arrived, all proverbial hell let loose when dozens of local tourists rushed the vehicle.
One man who tried to scramble aboard found himself in the headlock of another potential passenger who pinned him against the bus to create a passage for his friends to rush on and grab seats. Some parents stuffed their children through windows, probably praying they would be able to join them.

I looked worriedly at my friends. Did we want to risk losing our teeth in getting to Badaling? No, the Great Wall would have to wait ...

Since that first ill-timed trip, I have returned to Beijing many times. You may be surprised that I have done so, but even the May Mayhem could not eclipse the city's overwhelming charm. Simply, Beijing is impressive, with a capital "I". In what other major capital city can you haggle for precious silk goods in old-style street bazaars, feast on outdoor barbecued squid for less than a dollar, and relax in a scenic park watching elderly women fan-dancing to traditional music?

Unlike many other Chinese cities perpetually "under construction", Beijing seems largely finished. Construction cranes, while occasionally evident, don't block the skyline. Sidewalks aren't torn up for any length of time, and streets are more and more pedestrianized. I often hear Beijingers complaining about noise and pollution, but they should take a look at Harbin, a coal-burning city with which I am very familiar, and experience nostrils that daily turn black with grime.

Traversing Chongwenmen on our first day in Beijing, my friends and I noticed that many of the negatives associated with Chinese cities were absent in Beijing. We did not have to play dodge-the-gob along former Skid Rows, nor trip over discarded Coke cans. Instead of garbage there was greenery -- lashings of it -- and massive weeping willows lining street after street. So much for the negatives about Beijing that we read of in the West. Somebody's fibbing, and it's not Beijing.

Like so many first-time visitors to Beijing, I had not been at all sure what to expect. I had seen superb tourist literature, of course, but in truth I was amazed that this capital of a developing country could rival any long-established top western city.

Beijing has modernized without losing one iota of its essential essence, no easy achieve-ment. Open-air markets sell everything imaginable, and there are genuine, delectable Chinese cuisines in every setting one could wish, including from outdoor vendors. Historically, it offers some of the most beautifully maintained architecture and sites anyone could desire, and of which it can be proud.

The elderly still perform their early morning tai chi by slam-dunking their heels on to a wall above their head, winter swimmers revel in jumping through the ice into sub-zero waters, and the people who take their exercise by walking backwards continue to negotiate parks butt-first. Strangely, they don't seem out of place. But why should they? Their perambulations are philosophical light years from British comedian Spike Milligan's famous song about walking backwards for Christmas.

Venture from the beaten track and you may spot what I see as truly symbolic of China, men squatting by the side of the road, smoking Chinese cigarettes while they indulge in people-watching.

Today, after many successful sojourns in Beijing, I can laugh at my first disastrous trip. Visiting during the May Day rush had been a mistake born of unfamiliarity.
Returning never has been.