Tranquility Amidst the Excitement

At Ditan Park, northeast of the old city, the pace of life on this Sunday in Beijing seemed very normal, despite the Olympic drama flowing across the airwaves. Li Bin, a 29-year-old Beijinger practiced the tian ren he yi form of taiqi on hard-packed soil, alone in the shaded stand of narrow trees. He used his body to connect the earth and sky. When mastered, he said, it would have “unimaginable effects.” To answer his smile, a small drum circle at the center of the park rumbled like the mid-afternoon storms that doused the city.

Nearby, but underground, Zhang Chunhua found his own patch of solitude, a 1970s bomb shelter turned ice skating rink. He sped in wide circles around the nearly deserted complex.

“Beijing has been changing too fast,” the 46-year-old Chinese antiques merchant said, reminiscing about the days when Beijing had a fraction of the population. Still, Zhang welcomed the Games for a different reason.

“Because of the Olympics, the city feels a bit like it did when SARS hit,” he joked, referring to government regulations that has reduced traffic levels. Zhang has been skating three times a week for thirty years. The Olympics haven’t changed that.

Far from any venues, tucked deep in a quiet south Beijing neighborhood, an elderly man admired his pet finch Hongzi. Though brown and white, the bird is an auspicious companion given his name that evokes China’s most symbolic color, red. Bird walking in China is a tradition among older gentlemen, who can be found in almost any park or neighborhood towing their cages on early mornings. As some suggest, the pets require the occasional leisurely stroll so they can learn to sing from other birds. Alone in their cages, they will not find their voices. This provides the pretext needed for an outing. For just more than two weeks Beijing is at the center of the globe’s attention, but there is evidence that hidden from the bustle of a city 16 million strong, tranquility can still be found.