By GREG LINCH
They leave their homes early before the heat of the day sets in, before the bustle of everyday life, to engage in the ancient art of Tai Chi.
While they emerge in the early daylight hours, much of the city remains asleep.
Streets normally congested and noisy are surprisingly void of activity and quiet as a handful of cars and buses traverse the city's roadways.
Sidewalks usually clogged with parked bicycles and scooters are lightly dotted with these stationary wheeled conveyances.
News stands are locked up. Shops are dark. Street vendors are only just beginning to materialize.
Subway cars typically packed with people are sparsely populated, with a seat available for the majority of riders.
These scenes seemed like a different world Tuesday morning when the three girls and I went out to the Bund to see the senior citizens perform their morning ritual.
As we left the apartment building at around 6:15 a.m., we saw a most unfamiliar sight: the two streets near our apartment completely void of vehicular traffic, save for a people on bicycles and scooters. Even the major avenues in the area were relatively empty.
We entered a quiet, near-deserted subway station by Jing'An Temple and saw two women setting up a spot to sell scented wood trinkets by one of the entrances.
All of the permanent vendors who rent storefront space in the station were nowhere to be seen. A few of small counters in the main area were open, but most were closed. I could spy through one of the exits that even Watsons, a store akin to America's CVS, had its lights off and iron grate down.
Effortlessly making our way through the turnstiles, we rode the escalator to the track alone. We missed a train by seconds and had to wait--- with a scant number of business persons, students and others--- a little longer than normal because the subway runs less frequently that early. A few more people trickled in before the train arrived after a roughly four minutes.
Although the cars were nearly silent, the seats were not as empty as I had anticipated based on the number of people in the station.
We exited the Metro at the
Heading east, we saw three people performing Tai Chi in front a large advertisement poster. A few blocks west of the subway exit we could a much larger group doing Tai Chi, but using what appeared to be swords in their routine.
Continuing to walk toward the Bund, we witnessed a number of traffic assistants emerging from behind a wood gate. We passed by security guards who were chatting on the sidewalk. Trotting ever closer to the Huangpu River, we saw a chef in a white tunic stretching on the sidewalk, with his arms extended and legs bent.
When we finally arrived, we observed two groups performing Tai Chi on the Bund near the
Tai Chi is a slow-moving form of kung fu that is also called, tai ji quan, which means "supreme ultimate fist."
Several meters to the south, a large group of elders were chatting. In close proximity, but on the street level, another group of seniors utilized the cool morning to dance.
And while one would expect these dances to be traditional Chinese steps, they were not. This group, which contained some younger couples who were middle-aged, was swinging about as if a Glenn Miller and his band were blaring in the background.
Other elders strolled along the Bund as all this transpired, in addition to some younger people. Overhead, the sun climbed in the sky over Pudong as a few kites fly through the air.
We knew it would not be too long before the elders finished and would begin their day's other activities. It seems that as they retreat from the streets, the city awakes.
The noises we have become so accustomed to return and the peaceful stillness of the early morning disappears. Just as tai ji quan deals with the yin and yang, these practices are the yin to the yang of the modern, busy city that is
© University of Miami School of Communication
