National Centre for the Performing Arts

Stand at the edge of the water and look down before you look up. The surface of the lake is almost still. In it, a huge curved shell of grey metal and glass floats upside down, and the two halves, the real building and its reflection, close into one complete oval. Beijingers saw this at once. They call the place the Giant Egg, and once you have seen the reflection, you will not forget the name.

You are a short walk west of Tiananmen Square. Behind you are the heavy stone columns of the Great Hall of the People, built in the late 1950s, and beyond them the red walls and golden roofs of the old imperial city. Into this setting of straight lines, symmetry and solid masonry, the city placed a smooth, low dome with no corners at all. The contrast is the whole point, and it is also the reason this building started arguments.

The architect was Paul Andreu, a French designer best known for his airport terminals in Paris. He won an international competition in the late 1990s, and construction began in the early 2000s. The centre opened to the public at the end of 2007, less than a year before Beijing hosted the Summer Olympics. In those years the capital was building quickly, and it wanted new landmarks that showed a modern, outward-looking face to the world.

Not everyone welcomed the egg. Some critics, including Chinese architects, said a foreign design of this shape did not belong so close to the political and historic heart of the country. Others worried about the cost. Andreu answered that the building was meant to sit quietly. Its height is kept low, and much of the complex lies below ground, so the dome does not rise above its neighbours. Look at the roofline of the Great Hall, then at the dome, and judge for yourself.

Now look closely at the shell. Most of it is covered in titanium panels, thousands of them, with a soft grey surface that changes with the weather. On a clear morning it looks almost silver. Under cloud it turns the colour of slate. Down the middle runs a broad band of curved glass, from the base up over the crown. It looks like a stage curtain that someone has started to pull open, and that image is intentional.

Here is the first detail many visitors miss. There is no door in the dome. The building has no entrance you can see from the street. To go inside, you walk down a ramp and pass through a corridor that runs underneath the lake. The ceiling of this passage is made of glass, and the water lies directly above your head. On a sunny day, rippling light falls across the floor and the people around you. It is a quiet, strange moment, like walking under a pond.

The lake itself does more work than you might think. It cuts the building off from the traffic of the city, and it turns the arrival into a small ritual. You leave the noise of Chang'an Avenue, the long boulevard that runs past Tiananmen, and you cross a band of trees and water. By the time you reach the doors below ground, the sound of the city has mostly gone. Andreu wanted people to feel they had arrived somewhere separate.

Under the single dome sit several separate halls, each with its own character. The largest is the opera house, where Chinese and international companies stage opera and ballet. There is a concert hall, home to symphony orchestras and a very large pipe organ, and a theatre for spoken drama and traditional Chinese opera, such as Peking opera, the stylised local form with painted faces and high, sharp singing. Smaller spaces host chamber music, experiments and work for children.

The second surprise is about scale. From outside, the dome looks like one great empty room. Inside, it is more like a small town under a roof. Between the halls run wide public spaces, galleries, stairs and walkways. Look up and you can see the steel frame of the shell curving overhead, and through the glass band, slices of the Beijing sky. Exhibitions of art, costumes and instruments often fill these spaces, so even without a ticket to a show there is often something to see.

The materials inside are warmer than the cool metal outside. Much of the interior is finished in wood, in shades of red and brown, with stone floors underfoot. The opera house is wrapped in a kind of golden metal screen. The colours were chosen with care. Red and gold carry strong associations of celebration and good fortune in Chinese culture, so the inside of this very modern building still speaks a familiar visual language to local audiences.

Performances here are a real part of city life, not only a show for visitors. On a concert evening, you see families in their best clothes, students carrying scores, older couples who come every season. Many people arrive early to walk around the lake, take photographs and buy a programme. The centre also runs education work and low-cost events for young people, part of a wider effort to build new audiences for classical music, dance and theatre across the country.

If you can, come back after dark. When the lights come on, the glass band glows from within, and the titanium shell takes on a faint golden tone from the lamps around the lake. The reflection in the water becomes even sharper than by day. Seen from the far side of the lake, with the evening crowds moving towards the underwater entrance, the building looks less like an egg and more like a lantern resting on the water.

Before you leave, walk slowly along the edge of the lake. Notice how the shape of the dome seems to change as you move. From the front it looks low and wide. From the corner it looks taller, almost like a hill. Listen for the quiet hum of the city beyond the trees, and the sound of water near your feet. Then turn back towards Tiananmen, and watch how the straight stone lines of old Beijing return, one by one.