BEIJING - Thanks to the guidance of my friend Monica and a few other Beijing locals, my second pilgrimage to China’s populous capital (and the cultural centre of my heritage) was infinitely more authentic and rewarding than my first trip here — a mundane bus tour of the city’s tourist traps during my adolescence 13 years ago.

Our journey began with a midnight check-in at the Ritz-Carlton, located in the centre of the city’s financial district. Laura, a friend from back home in Toronto, and I were lucky to be sharing a suite with Monica, a Beijing-born financier who was in town for business.

The next morning, on her way to a meeting, Monica dropped us off at her favourite entrance to the Forbidden City, next to Tiananmen Square. Laura and I lined up along with hundreds of impatient-looking tourists in hopes of entering the former imperial court of China, a 180-acre complex in the centre of the city. Since there was a political summit near the palace that day, the government was severely limiting the amount of tourists allowed inside. After a 30 minute wait, the guards momentarily opened a gate and we scrambled through just before security closed them moments later.

Once inside, we were approached by a middle-aged Mongolian man who introduced himself as Attila, peddling his skills as a local, albeit unofficial, tour guide. After some brief negotiations (to be expected in Beijing), Laura talked him down to 120 Chinese yuan — about $25 Cdn — and the three of us set off on our private tour of the grounds.

The next three hours were spent following Attila around several courtyards in a labyrinth of ancient Chinese architecture. From touring the concubines’ dormitories to learning a few of the etiquette rules the emperor’s mistresses used to strictly abide by, as well as admiring the corridors decorated with colourful murals, there were many beautiful artefacts to gawk at.

In one of the courtyards, Attila led us to a wooden, circular door that had been painted a deep emerald shade — it looked like Bilbo Baggins’ hobbit-style door in Peter Jackson’s film adaptation of The Lord of the Rings. Attila explained that the Chinese believe the door imparts luck on newlyweds who pay it a visit.

One tidbit of info that did stick in my head from my tour of the Forbidden City over a decade ago was the tradition of stepping over (instead of stepping on) the wooden floor beam that served as a threshold for adjoining courtyards. According to ancient legends, these timber beams, placed about a foot above the ground, act as barriers to prevent evil spirits from entering homes.

Attila’s last stop with us was at a tea shop just outside the palace walls. We sampled blends of white, green and black teas, as well as ones made from fragrant rose petals. I purchased a tea set complete with six cups, which I thought were beautiful because they were decorated in Chinese calligraphy. Later in Toronto, I gave the tea set to my Dad. As he read the messages on the cups, he recognized it was a famous Chinese poem.

When we emerged from the tea shop, it was already evening, and we suddenly realized how hungry we were. Fortunately for us, Monica had planned to take us to her favourite restaurant, Da Dong Roast Duck, to teach us the local way to eat Beijing’s most famous dish, Peking duck.

Peking duck is not a dish designed for the bashful eater — the glistening slices of duck are equal parts crispy skin, tender fat and moist meat. The traditional serving process is as follows: the roasted duck is offered for inspection, then carved table-side into thin slices which are laid out in a fanned pattern — like a hand in poker — and finally presented to the guests. This ritual is probably the most well-known form of Chinese culinary theatre.

As a Chinese-Canadian, I thought I knew the correct way to eat Peking duck, having grown up eating this dish countless times in Hong Kong and Toronto. So, when Monica told me to dip the duck skin in sugar, and then eat it — instead of rolling it into a thin pancake garnished with hoisin sauce — I was a bit skeptical. But the sweet-yet-savoury, crunchy skin was a perfect combination, and I have since taught this method to all my family members and friends and we are now all officially converts.

Next morning, Laura and I had an early start because we had hired a driver to take us to Mutianyu, which offers the best views of China’s Great Wall. Monica told us this section of the Wall was likely to be congested with tourists, which proved to be true.”

Laura and I took a cable car ride above a few rocky hillsides to reach the Wall, which terrified me because I am afraid of heights.

The Wall stretches as far as our eyes could see in both directions, up and down peaks and valleys.

Only small groups of tourists had ventured to Mutianyu that day and Laura and I appeared to have the Wall all to ourselves that afternoon.

Before leaving Beijing, Laura wanted to buy a souvenir for her best friend. Monica’s advice was to try and find something at the Silk Market, a shopping mall divided into tiny stalls where vendors hawk knockoff bags, accessories and clothing. Laura showed off her negotiating skills again, and quickly haggled 80 per cent off of the sticker price for a monogrammed purse.

Our last stop before our flight was a quick drink at the Park Hyatt— a recommendation from Monica’s friend Li, another Beijing local, who said it was the most luxurious hotel in Beijing.

The swishy lobby lounge overlooks the city from the 63rd floor of the hotel, and for me it was the ideal place to relax before our long journey home. We ordered some wine, and reminisced about our adventure — both of us were thankful for Monica’s expertise of the city, which transformed this trip into a real pilgrimage.