Halfway up the steep climb to the top of Jingshan hill， I am overtaken by a wiry octogenarian. The narrow steps do not seem to concern him， neither does the dusty summer heat. In China， you soon get used to elderly people being far more energetic than you. I watch his slim brown legs patter up the steps ahead. Below me， through the cover of cypress trees， Beijing traffic honks and swerves on. If I were to turn around I would probably be able to see it far below， a glittering line. China’s newest Great Wall is one made of traffic， and snakes through most cities in the country.

I reach the top and make for the temple on the apex of the hill. The crowds are thinner here， and it’s possible to catch your breath and look down on the city. Nobody had advertised this park’s presence. Earlier， when I emerged from the Forbidden City， I dived towards this towering hill to escape the cries of peddlers lying in wait. “Rickshaw？ Taxi？ Good price！”

Now， on top of the world， the air is clearer and the scream of Beijing’s busy roads and street stalls muted. From the pagoda’s shade， the whole of Beijing falls out from under you and away. Houses and pavilion roofs slope away and the lakes of Beihai Park glitter. Below， the Forbidden City unfolds， its red tiles bright in the heat. Jingshan Park is not the most beautiful green space in Beijing， but it does offer that fascinating Chinese contradiction of old and new.

A giant man-made construction， using earth excavated from the Forbidden City’s moat in the Ming Dynasty， it speaks to the sheer manpower on which so much of China’s greatness has been built. It is a good place to reflect on the country’s past， and wonder about its future. At the base of the hill， people laze in the Sunday heat. This park is a favourite for couples and elderly people， who play music and practise kuai ban under the trees. Feeling wistful， I have just decided to go and join them when the old man who passed me on the hill sidles up. He smiles slyly. In his arms， I am horrified to see， he clasps a gaudy imperial robe—and is that a ceremonial wig in his hand？ “Photo？” he says.“Full emperor gear. Nice view. Good price.”

我步履維艱地往景山山頂攀爬。在半山腰，我被一位硬朗的八旬老人趕上了。那些狹窄的階梯和灰蒙蒙的暑熱天氣似乎沒(méi)對(duì)他造成任何影響。在中國(guó)，你很快就會(huì)習(xí)慣見(jiàn)到老年人比你還要有活力。我看著他黃棕色的細(xì)腿“啪嗒啪嗒”地踏上前方的臺(tái)階。從我的下方，透過(guò)柏樹(shù)林，傳來(lái)了北京車流中的鳴笛聲和急轉(zhuǎn)彎聲。假使我轉(zhuǎn)過(guò)身，我很可能看得到遠(yuǎn)處下方的車流，一道閃閃發(fā)光的車流。中國(guó)的新長(zhǎng)城由交通組成，在全國(guó)大多數(shù)城市，車流蜿蜒緩挪著。

我登上頂峰，而后走向山頂上的那座寺廟。山頂人煙稀少些，我還可以喘口氣兒，俯瞰一下這座城。從未有人介紹過(guò)這公園。今天早些時(shí)候，我在故宮里稍作停留后，就沖向了這座高聳的小山，以避開(kāi)虎視眈眈的小販們的吆喝?！包S包車？出租車？算你一個(gè)好價(jià)錢(qián)！”

當(dāng)下，在世界之巔，空氣更加清新，北京繁忙的馬路和街道上的喧囂暫入一片寂靜。在寶塔的陰影里，整座北京城在你的腳下鋪展開(kāi)來(lái)而后消失。房屋和亭頂交錯(cuò)延展，北海公園的湖面上閃著波光，山下的故宮在你眼前盡顯，故宮里紅色的瓦片在熱氣之中越發(fā)光亮。景山公園算不上是北京最美的綠地空間，但它的的確確能讓你領(lǐng)略到中國(guó)新舊之間的迷人反差。

景山是一座巨大的人工建筑，明朝年間由從故宮護(hù)城河中挖出的泥土堆積而成。中國(guó)有太多浩瀚的工程純粹由人力建成，景山公園就證明了這點(diǎn)。這兒是一個(gè)反思中國(guó)歷史和展望其未來(lái)的好地方。景山腳下，人們?cè)谛瞧谔斓目釤嶂虚e逛。這個(gè)公園是夫婦們和老年人的最愛(ài)，他們會(huì)在樹(shù)蔭下奏樂(lè)、練快板兒。我覺(jué)得不大過(guò)癮，剛決定去加入他們的時(shí)候，之前爬山趕超我的那位老人悄悄走近我。他詭異地笑著。在他懷里，我惶恐地看到，他正抱著一套艷俗的龍袍——而他手里拿著的是不是一頂儀式用的假發(fā)啊？“要拍照嗎？”他說(shuō)道?！叭椎幕实坌蓄^。漂亮的風(fēng)景。算你一個(gè)好價(jià)錢(qián)?！?/p>