Tap dancing and the Purple Bamboo
...or Taking the Dark Tunnel
At 4:00 a.m local this Thursday morning (3:00 pm MPA time Wednesday) I've slept as long as I can. Two hours later, knowing that the temperature is set to rise to 100° F by mid-day, I decide to get some air in downtown Beijing. It is my first solo journey some six hours after arriving at the hotel.
After a first cautious circle around the hotel, I set aside my fears of getting lost without a word of Mandarin to help me. My destination is a park I've heard about-something to do with Purple Bamboo-a short walk from the hotel.
A footbridge takes me over a broad highway. I turn west in the direction of the park and reach what looks like a tunnel going deep under the busy streets above. People are busily coming and going through the tunnel on foot and on bicycles. It's quite dark, but appears to be the only way to the park.
Once inside the tunnel, it's mostly sounds-bicycle bells, chatter between passersby, motor scooters. At the darkest point, I hesitate, then continue on, eventually out the other side. A woman notices my hesitation and asks in simple English what I am looking for. "Purple Bamboo," I say. She's headed there too and will take me the half block to the entrance. "I make tai chi there," she tells me. She leaves me at the ticket window and turns to enter the park...2 yuan or about 25¢ to enter.
I could not possibly have imagined what awaited me in Purple Bamboo Park. About the size of New York's Central Park (or at least it seemed that way), it was filled with people of all ages doing various forms of physical activity-many simply standing among the flowers or in the shade stretching. Groups from several to over a hundred moved in unison to music all over the park. A large lake formed the center of the park with a variety of boats resting along the shore awaiting daytime users.
Of the several thousand faces I saw during the hour or so walk through the park, none appeared to be western-or to look anything like me, anyway. I recalled the comment the tour guide made when she had picked me up at the airport last evening. I had asked about parks near the hotel. She mentioned Purple Bamboo, but said it was for "locals." Excited to know that a park was near the hotel, I asked for more information, which she gave me, and again said, "but it's for locals."
Purple Bamboo Park
Walking through the park, I remembered the comment and wondered if I was intruding in a place where tourists were not expected to be. And then I heard the unmistakable clicking that could be nothing other than tap-dancing. Topping a rise, I saw six or eight men dressed in what we might call "business casual" following another man, similarly dressed, as he took them through tap lessons in the bright early morning sunshine. All were wearing metal tipped tap shoes. On worn stones among the tall bamboo, it was incongruous, but oddly welcoming.
As were the faces of those I passed throughout the park of Purple Bamboo, which, by the way, looked green to me. Back in the hotel, I examine the entrance ticket more closely. It reads "The Black Bamboo Park." Oh well, I'm glad I braved the dark tunnel.