The 'New' New China
These days, Beijing changes in the blink of an eye. One night, you're at a fantastic restaurant on a street jammed with fantastic restaurants. They're rubble by the next afternoon. That's progress, Chinese style. So go now -- before many of the ancient neighborhoods are destroyed to make way for the 2008 Olympics, and before the costs of visiting, already on the rise, start to approach those of Shanghai and Hong Kong.
The attractions you really must see
Mao's Mausoleum at Tiananmen Square: Out front, watch the locals buy silk flowers for 12¢, genuflecting--and even weeping--as they lay them at the foot of a Mao statue. (Guards gather the flowers and take them out on carts to resell.) You'll be rushed by the corpse too fast to know whether it's real or wax, then spit out the back among hawkers selling Mao watches, pins, and all manner of doodads. 8:30-11:30 a.m. Monday-Saturday, 2-4 p.m. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; free.
The Great Wall: As awesome as advertised--a technological and architectural wonder providing sensational views. Tours often pair the Badaling section with a visit to the Ming Tombs, but resist both. Badaling is reconstructed, overrun, and commercialized, and the tombs waste a half day. You're better off at Simatai (8 a.m.-5 p.m. daily), a more authentic and unspoiled part that costs $3.75 to get into and has a $7.25 lift for those who can't handle the rugged climb. The round-trip ride--with your cabbie waiting at the Wall--should cost about $36.
Forbidden City: Wander the halls and temples where emperors lived for five centuries (8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. daily, $4.75-$7.25 depending on the season). The $3.75 audio tour, Roger Moore's finest performance, is more informative than most of the guides for hire at the entrance. Pay the extra $1.50 to see the Hall of Clocks, a quirky collection of ancient timepieces. After you leave the north end of the Forbidden City, walk to Jingshan Park and climb the hill for a stunning overview.
Lama Temple: The lamasery--in recent decades a monastery for Buddhist monks but for centuries a royal-family residence--is one of the city's most peaceful locations, with five major prayer halls and lots of chanting and burning incense. It's also a terrific example of Chinese propaganda; the museum displays offer an accurate history of Tibetan Buddhism up until the 1950s, when the Communists rolled into the Tibetan capital of Lhasa, exiled the Dalai Lama, and hijacked the faith. Now they call it a "peaceful liberation." Take the subway to the Yonghegong stop and follow the signs. 12 Yonghegong Dajie, 011-86/10-6404-3769, 9 a.m.-4:30 p.m., $3.
What to skip and what to do instead
Skip the tours of the Great Hall of the People and the Museum of the Chinese Revolution. They're dullsville. Instead: Hop the Line 1 subway west to the Junshibowuguan stop for the little-visited but more entertaining Military Museum, which charges $1.25 to enter (8:30 a.m.-5 p.m.). Unfortunately, much of the collection lacks English explanations; then again, what you see--the history of Chinese artillery and war machinery--is what you get, and you can fire a sling-bow gun at an arcade target (24¢ for four shots). Afterward, walk five minutes west to the free Millennium Monument, a mammoth rotating sundial propped up on 200-odd steps. Climb it for something rare in Beijing: a view.
Skip full performances of puppet, acrobat, or Beijing opera shows. They're often in high school-quality auditoriums, and most Westerners can't bear the indecipherable screeching of the opera for long anyway. Instead: Take in a 70-minute sampler of all three arts, 7:30 p.m. nightly at the Liyuan Theatre, inside the Jianguo Hotel Qianmen (175 Yongan Lu, 011-86/10-8315-7297). It will only cost you one evening and $4.75 to $16, depending on where you sit and whether you order dessert.
Skip the pedicab tours of Beijing's ancient alley neighborhoods, known as hutong. The tours cost at least $30, your guide will stick to a script that you could have gotten off the Internet, and those pedicabs are only romantic until your butt starts aching from the bumpy ride. Instead, all you really need to know is that this style of housing--the courtyard house leading out into narrow alleys--is hundreds of years old, has no indoor plumbing, and is in danger of disappearing as bulldozers make way for thoroughfares. Keep walking south from Tiananmen Square or take the subway to the Qianmen stop, and then meander in the winding maze until you've shot enough quaint photos of old women sitting on milk crates and picking their teeth or diaperless babies chasing chickens.


