Temerity outside the Forbidden City

　　By Tricia Carswell

　　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?

　　I was committed, though and past the point of no return. The heat was oppressive, so in a bold move, I tore off my shoes and ran on the sodden grass. In places, it was squishy between my toes; in others it was a cool tickle on my soles; in others the sprinkler showered high enough to make my hair wet. I did it - I threw up my arms and pirouetted - more than once. I jumped up and down like a kid and splashed in one of the few puddles. I laughed out loud and sang as if I was in a TV commercial. Was I embarrassed? Not in the least! Nobody could see me. It was so much fun - if only for a brief, precious Beijing moment.

　　With trepidation [there is no such word in the English language; moreover, 'intrepid' means 'daring', whereas 'trepidation' suggests the opposite, which is what she means: 'temerity'], I approached the turn to my meeting place. The road continued, but ahead of me there was a barrier. The closer I got, I could see there was no opening, only a gate that was under lock and key. If I beckoned someone beyond to assist me, I would be drawing attention to myself and it would be obvious that I was behind a fence where I should not be. Climb over it? No, it was much taller than me. Turn around and walk back? Another 90 minutes? No, I'd be at the wrong end to join my companions. Besides, it was hot! Swim across the moat? I don't think so.

　　I glanced to where the fence met the moat. There was a stone wall about three feet high beside the water. I could see buses on the street. Anyone on board would see me. Luckily, there was only one thing to do. I backed up to the stone wall and managed to sit on it. Swinging my legs up and over, I twisted and dangled my legs over the moat, shuffled sideways on my derriere past the fence and then, bringing my legs over the wall and down again, I hopped off. Rather nonchalantly, I continued on my way past the little offices and concession stands. No less than five minutes later, my husband and friends emerged through the archway. Once inside, once outside. That's enough for me and the Forbidden City.