owT traP, esreveR ni anihC ni serutnevdA

And as the day began, the streets were still littered with the remains of firecrackers, which had gone off incessantly throughout the night and into the early morning. Little red ashes were scattered everywhere; and all about were old men and women, wearing red vests, sweeping up the debris into indiscreet piles at intermittent distances. A smell of lingering smoke hung in the air, which was dry and windy, and very cold.

In my (half-)deafness, I had managed a good sleep, despite at one point being awoken by the chaos of the night's celebrations. You see, it was the Chinese New Year, and what had just passed was the Eve. Unlike back home, laws are not in existence in China to limit how people use fireworks, at least not on this holiday. And the people took full advantage. Randomly, bursts would sound, from afar and from nearby, loud as a shotgun, sometimes right in the middle of the bike paths which framed almost every road throughout Beijing.

When we were all ready, our shoes on, our gloves in our pockets, and our jackets zipped, Loren, Luke and I walked out of the comfort of the hotel, and began to walk down the street. Today's trip would take us to the Forbidden City, which was a conveniently short distance from our lodgings.

The walk led us initially into the beautiful Forbidden Park, where we puzzled over a map and took pictures. Before long we found ourselves staring effusively at the great red walls of the old palatial complex, and at the huge portrait of Mao which overhung its facade. The scope of this structure cannot be overstated: It consists of more than 8,700 rooms, and nearly 1,000 buildings. Its size as an imperial palace is mind-boggling. And today it is a museum, open from 8:30-4:30. Whereas before the penalty of being within its borders without permission meant instant death, today a fee of roughly $10 for a ticket will do the trick.

Our first misfortune, and one of many that would follow that morning, was that, due to the Chinese New Year, the Forbidden City would remain closed, or so we were told. So we wandered around the courtyard just inside the gates, staring wistfully at the towers, and at the fence behind which the massive doors to the Outer Court stood, stolidly closed and glowing in the sunrise that had just eclipsed the outermost walls. Shops distracted us -- or Loren, rather. Luke and I wandered apathetically about in search of a diversion.

Here our second misfortune occurred. We became separated from Loren, amidst the heavy traffic of some thousands of tourists in the courtyard. After a brief search, Luke and I departed the courtyard, and headed back to the hotel. On our way, however, I decided to see Tiananmen Square, but Luke, his knee still in pain from hiking the Great Wall yesterday, decided to go back to the hotel and take a nap (what having slept only a few hours with all that racket in the night).

Throughout this area of Beijing, in addition to the subway stations, there are several underground crosswalks. Tiananmen Square, while untouched by them, is flanked by several on the surrounding streets. After leaving Luke, I made my way down the stairs into the compressed air of the nearest walk, glancing obliquely at every direction in which the tunnel veered: Escalators going down on the left; a wide branch going ahead and to the right; immediately to my right, separated by a partition, another entrance; and ahead, the light of the exit to where I was headed. I smiled at a relaxed guard on my way, and he returned my smile quickly before resuming his placid but expressionless post.

In the air again, I walked, uncertain where to cross to get to the square itself. To the east, immediately to my left, a long building stretched. Later I learned it was the National Museum of China. On the far right, the Great Hall of the People, which functions as the Chinese Parliament, loomed behind the imposing Monument to the People's Heroes, an obelisk with a large base structure that rippled outward in a series of platforms and stairs from the monument.

Eventually, I found a street crosswalk. I realized then, after spotting a tent, that I would be checked before entering the square. But once finally through, a strange thought occurred to me, and was confirmed in a quick reappraisal of my surroundings. Apart from the security checkpoint, the layout of this whole area was not unlike Washington, D.C., where the National Mall unfolds down the road toward the Capitol Building, flanked on all sides by memorials and museums. There's even an obelisk there, too: The Washington Monument. And at the far end, there was the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong, perhaps a little like the Lincoln Memorial.

I was taken in by the location, by whatever history lurked beneath the stones and cement there in the square. Unspoken history, bloody, revolutionary, and celebratory, weighed lightly on my mind. I smiled as I took out my camera and prepared to take a picture of the Monument. But before I could do so, my third misfortune struck.

To be continued in Part Two of Part Two....