Park Life

It was a January morning in Chengdu. I had arrived the day before after a long semester at university, beginning my Chinese New Year travels in the home province of fragrant, spicy hotpot. Frankly, I was a little burnt out and was ready to hit something other than the books. I decided to take a stroll in People’s Park to clear my head.　　

After navigating the appalling traffic, I was met with an oasis of greenery and herds of children rushing by me blowing bubbles. The entrance gate was flanked by vendors selling an assortment of colorful sugary snacks, and others selling bubble-making machines that dazzled the children racing nearby.　

Around the corner from this impromptu market was a square thronged with people, all moving in synchronized motion. It was a gang of China’s ubiquitous and ever-merry “dancing aunties,” seemingly led by a frizzy-haired woman in a flowery pink coat who was pumping her arms from side to side, her hair bouncing to the beat. Children, grandmas, and middle-aged men had all come together in the spirit of shared movement, and I got a glimpse of at least three generations in perfect sync. Despite the blaring stereo and mishmash of outfits, there was something calming about this dancing – it is something I have only seen in China, and seems to unite people in a way few other things can.　　

Leaving the music behind, I was met with another unforgettable sight. A group of four elderly men, dressed half in military fatigues and half everyday clothes. The man in the center had donned a red bandana, Rambo style, and was singing so enthusiastically that his voice carried far beyond the small crowd surrounding him. His three companions were dancing to his tune, albeit less vigorously than the nearby grannies, occasionally belting out impromptu exclamations to excite the crowd. I felt the exhaustion of study slough away from me as I struck out for the main attraction in People’s Park – the huge lake.　　

What an attraction it was! There were women in heels shakily piloting pedal boats, their kids yelling out directions. Slightly more contemplative grannies than the dancing ones gracefully worked through their tai chi routines, unperturbed by the yells of the impatient children in the pedal boats. Circling around the lake, I heard some people whispering behind me, turning I was met with the all-too-familiar phrase: “Can we have a photo?” I nodded, and became yet another stranger’s vacation souvenir.　　

Having come circumnavigated the lake, I sat down at a teahouse overlooking its limpid waters, ordered some jasmine tea, and was presented with a porcelain cup filled with tea leaves and a seemingly inexhaustible thermos of hot water. With the tea steaming away, I pondered on how much of Chengdu and its people I had already seen in a single park. What struck me the most was how it brought the city’s oldest and youngest residents together in shared activities, something that Europeans aren’t so familiar with. It was also the sheer number of elderly people who were out and about on a January morning that stood out, proof positive that age, in China at least, is just a number.　　

While I was still deep in thought, a piercing, twanging sound broke through my reverie, bringing me back to the floral aroma of my tea. A man was standing in front of me toting an odd assortment of small metal instruments, one of which he was tapping, the source of the odd noise that had broken my train of thought. He gestured towards me. “Clean ears?” he asked. It took me a few seconds to realize that all of these instruments were indeed designed to penetrate the aural canal, and I vigorously shook my head, my adventurousness quickly dissipating. I spotted one nearby fellow who had agreed to this “service,” and I watched in fascination as these oddly sonorous instruments twanged as they delicately did their job. 　

I refilled my cup, and settled back into my people watching, while keeping a wary ear out for anyone else keen to de-wax me. Despite it being January, there was something relaxing and enjoyable about sitting outside and enjoying the diversity of the people and activities around me in the cool air. Even though I had only just arrived, I was invigorated by the energy and life that filled the park, my weariness floating away like so many new-blown bubbles.