A kite swoops against brilliant blue sky. It's a dragon of course, and I have seen them dozens of times already in Beijing. They are synonymous with China, the premier birth sign, and a symbol of power and authority.

The Great Wall, north of the city, meanders over ridges like a giant dragon too, constructed to defend the southern regions and the precious silk route from the marauding hordes of Mongolia.

But dragons are mythical beasts, and the threat from the north has long diminished. And silk is no longer the prized and precious creation it once was, unique to China, its secret carefully guarded.

Beijing, home to thirteen million people, is not China's largest city. It is outsized by the mega-industrial city of Chongqing and Shanghai, yet it is the capital and has the air of solid administration. Its buildings are chunky and square, separated by long straight wide roads,. Even the city's three million cars move in an orderly fashion

We head of course, early on our first morning for Tian-anmen Square, the largest city square in the world. My guide tells me that it is said that one million people can assemble here in the forty plus hectares.

Mao's portrait presides over a building on the far side. He looks almost benign so I weaken and buy a Mao wristwatch that waves in time with the tick. It stops keeping time immediately but Mao keeps waving.

While this is the modern face of Beijing - affable guards resigned to having their pictures snapped, tourists at every turn - an equally important movement is the return of open pride in China's heritage

No longer out of bounds, the Forbidden City was the imperial residence for 600 years, kept secret from the eyes of commoners. Today it is called the Palace Museum, a tranquil and beautiful magnet for all.

To the south, the Temple of Heaven - round dome for the sky over a square building for the earth - was where the Ming and Qing dynasty (1368 to 1911) emperors came to ask for the one thing they could not control, a good harvest.

You must take good walking shoes for Beijing. There is much to see, and many steps to climb, but for a relaxing break there is the Summer Palace, built around a lake in the northwest of the city.

Here you can get a feel for how the Empress Dowager Ci Xi in the late 1800s endured Beijing's steamy hot season. It is built around the Kunming Lake and you may stroll on the lake front, or take a boat across to the suitably Venetian Marco Polo bridge.

It's cold here in China's north-east, and the lake freezes over in winter. It is said that the Empress had her servants cut chunks of ice from it and store them in underground cellars where they remained until she needed chilled drinks the following summer.

But it's not all history in Beijing. One morning we visited some black-eyed beauties at the Beijing Zoo. There, several lazy pandas stretched and sunned themselves, oblivious to their responsible task to keep their species going. Right then they were more interested in gnawing on a bunch of tender bamboo leaves.

Another night we entered the realms of culture - Chinese tourist style - with a trip to the Opera, subtitled so we could grasp something of the storyline. It hardly mattered though as the facial antics and wildly coloured costumes were entertaining enough.

No trip to Beijing would be complete without a dinner of Peking duck, and our meal, at a table pressed up right alongside the kitchen's window allowed us front-row viewing. Chefs in immaculate whites swung out gleaming tanned ducks, hanging them just above us, the other side of the glass, while a starched and aproned waiter carved our portions table-side, then mimed the process of wrapping duck slices with onion and sauce inside a wrapper selected from the large stack in the bamboo steamer.

On our last day we took a trishaw ride though the narrow laneways of a hutong, one of the few remaining villages of Beijing. Once there were thousands of these but Beijing's redevelopment has seen many residents move on to multi-storey apartments, and much of the land morph into highways and factory sites.

These quaint stone houses wrapped around serene courtyards are locked off from the street by heavy doors, but some allow a peep into another world.

Here, we sip green tea with Mr Jing overlooking the pomegranate tree. His family have lived here for a century but now operate a home-stay programme, and he invites us, proudly, to inspect the spotless guest bathroom and bedroom. 

Beijing is an ancient city which has seen it all. Wars, revolution, emperors and dissidents. There are temples imploring heaven for rain in the right season, and humble homes opening their doors to strangers.

Somehow Mr Jing's welcome seems a fitting metaphor for Beijing.