I'm not a punk rock fan and it's a little late in life for me to have experienced the dubious joys of a "mosh pit," but here in China I now know what it feels like to be lifted off the ground in a human wave.

I was literally walking on air at the Ditan Temple fair, swept up in a crush of happy Spring Festival revelers, both of my feet a few inches off the ground. For a few seconds at least, the fair felt more like a cattle stampede with red lanterns.

The media reported a drop in visitors to this season's temple fairs, with vendors demanding their rent money back for souvenir booths that lost money. You can't prove it by me.

Never have I seen so many people crowded into one place with so little to do except gnaw on lamb kebobs and spend money on silly hats.

"People watching people," is how my best friend described the event, which pleased me as a natural-born people-watcher.

Watching the Emperor make his Grand Procession with a cast of costumed extras was fun, but it was more fun to see guys hoist their giggling girlfriends up on their shoulders to get a better view.

The sideshows were fun too, especially the Sichuan Opera dancer who switched face masks seven times with no hands. He was so good I didn't want to know his ancient secret.

Chinese street theater always seems to have one little quirk that leaves foreigners like me puzzled.

Teenage girls in revolutionary fatigues and red star caps dancing with Chairman Mao's little red book over their hearts was easy to understand as a nostalgic throwback to the days of their grandparents. But their Red Army-style dance routine was interrupted and mocked by a fat comedian in a farmer's straw hat and he got a lot of laughs. What was that all about?

Under some leafless trees, a group of seniors in Ming Dynasty costumes were banging on drums and parading around with a "bride" in a sedan chair.

A couple of grandmas staged a mock catfight over the 70-year-old bridegroom. The oldsters added a comic touch by puffing on empty opium pipes and getting cross-eyed. Wait a minute. Wasn't there a war over this?

The temple fair seemed to borrow a lot from Western street fairs. I don't think the coin-toss and ball-toss booths lost money with people gambling for stuffed animals. That's probably the worst thing about American street carnivals.

But one of my Chinese buddies will always be a hero to his daughter after he won a giant stuffed rabbit that was bigger than she is.

Cuddling with her fuzzy-wuzzy trophy, the child wore a smile you could see for a mile.

For one little girl, at least, temple fairs are not "uninspiring events."