Beijing's Moment

The Games are widely understood as Beijing's global coming-out party, and the city is preparing like a newlywed out to prove itself to a nit-picking in-law.

It's not just the yet-to-be-unveiled subway expansions or the surreal new sports venues, which include a stadium that resembles a steel bird's nest. It's also the odd attempts at social engineering, such as the campaign to discourage Beijingers' habitual, sinus-clearing spitting.

There's also the campaign against bizarre "Chinglish" mistranslations -- an "anus hospital" is now a "proctology hospital," to use an oft-cited example -- and a quixotic attempt to teach cabdrivers English. In my 12 days in Beijing, a single cabdriver told me "Good evening." The rest suffered, with varying degrees of patience, while I jabbed at maps and made incomprehensible attempts at basic Chinese.

For visitors, though, the most annoying part of Beijing's pre-Olympic frenzy is the restoration work affecting almost every major tourist attraction. Even Mao's Tiananmen Square mausoleum was shuttered, cheating me of a chance to see the pickled remains of the Great Helmsman.

The situation is not too grim, though, because Beijing has enough painted eaves, swirling dragons and outsize golden Buddhas to exhaust even the most earnest sightseer. The less dedicated might be content with just the Forbidden City, which extends over an area the size of 135 football fields.

Located just north of Tiananmen Square, the palace was home to the Ming and Qing imperial courts from the 15th to the early 20th century. Here, you'll find Beijing's architectural drama of vast vs. intimate reflected in gold gilt and red lacquer.

The complex's three great halls (one was closed) preside atop a spine of marble staircases and balustrades. Impressive, but I preferred the smaller residences and courtyards at the edges of the inner palace, where the audio guide told of court intrigue and murderous rivalries between concubines.

For a more religious vibe, I tried the Lama Temple. A Tibetan Buddhist complex, it hosted a handful of bowing worshipers cloaked in clouds of sweet-smelling incense. It was fabulous, but so were all of Beijing's temples, and I was starting to sleepwalk through them.

The Summer Palace woke me up.

An imperial retreat to the northwest of central Beijing, the palace's magnificent buildings get trumped by its enormous lake and relaxing gardens. As I walked a lakeside trail beneath graceful willows, Beijing seemed, for a moment, to pause for breath.

Then I left the palace gates, and the city was off again.

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