With no air-conditioning in their homes, residents flock to the the parks for an exotic array of pastimes, writes Clifford Coonan in Beijing.

In the early morning, before the Sun God turns on the heat and transforms Beijing into a 40-degree oven, the citizens gather in Ritan park to limber up for a tai chi session with a gentle, preliminary game of leapfrog.

Old Beijing was built along cosmological lines and Ritan Park is dedicated to the Sun God. This morning, the solar deity is allowing gentle watery sunlight to bathe the scores of people stretching and gracefully going through their exercises, breathing carefully, dancing slowly. Park life in summer in Beijing is genteel, far removed from the hurly burly outside the gates.

For wealthier Beijing residents, there is the seaside resort of Beidaihe, where the Communist Party leaders traditionally take their pleasure.

Despite the galloping economic growth that has brought unprecedented levels of wealth to this city of 14 million, many people don't have air-conditioning in their small apartments, so they like to get out into some of the city's ancient parks.

Ritan Park, near the capital's old embassy district, is beautifully kept and large. In the middle a long, circular wall encloses the altar where emperors once made offerings of animals and grain to pray for a good harvest. Today, this is where dozens of pensioners - all men - gather each morning to fly kites. It's a vast round concourse, surrounded by the low wall broken by four gates to the north, south, east and west. The kite-flyers hug the wall for the scant shade it offers and gaze skywards, tugging on strings. Their kites vary from home-made models cut from old black, plastic bags and fashioned into penguins or kite birds, to elaborate paper dragons, hand-painted and beautiful.

Outside the altar is an outdoor gym with an assemblage of machines specially designed to allow older people to exercise safely. The low-impact machines focus on maintaining flexibility by rotating hips, stretching arms, as well as stepping. It's all designed to raise the heart rate, but just a little. Similar outdoor gyms are found at many street corners in the capital, and retirees gather there not just for exercise but also to chat. At this time of year, the opening gambit is usually: "Too hot!"

Pensioners here are fond of exercise and foreign doctors used to the West's age-generated illnesses often remark at their general level of fitness. They like to hone this fitness by combining with dexterous, low-impact sports like badminton or juggling.

One particular favourite in Ritan Park is a form of "keepy uppies", where a group of people stand in a circle, often in leotards, passing what looks like a small pile of coins joined by a piece of string with a feather for balance. You can use your feet, your shoulders, your head but of course, not your hands. It's very difficult and lots of fun.

In Tuanjie Lake Park in the east of the city an elderly man is playing the erhu, a traditional two-stringed violin-style instrument, using a bow. He is one of many retirees gathered in the bamboo forest section of the park. Played badly, the instrument can sound like a shrieking cat, but with careful strokes the musician creates a surprisingly delicate tone.

Beside him a man sings snatches of Beijing opera, fanning himself and beating time. As the section of the opera comes to an end, the singer says "See you tomorrow!" and heads for home.

The erhu player is a member of an association of amateur music lovers in the district and practises everyday in the park. There are always some people passing by willing to sing. Singer and musician meet nearly every day, though they don't know each other well - they just come along and play and then go home. They describe themselves as "music buddies".

You can't do the Beijing summer without your fan, say the people lining the bamboo laneway. Some of the folks put their walking sticks down to show the fans. There are simple palm leaf fans, paper fans with delicate images of mountains and water, or Chinese calligraphy. Some have paintings of the masks used in Chinese opera.

On a corner of a laneway, a group of 20 people have gathered before several large pieces of paper hanging from trees, with the words of songs written on them. This is a kind of open-air, machine-less karaoke for retirees and a popular one is a poem by Mao Zedong, the man still known as the Great Helmsman to most of this generation.

Other songs were popular 20 years ago, while some others are army songs or patriotic songs.

Under the shade of trees, people practise calligraphy using big writing brushes, made of a bamboo pole with a sponge on the head. They dip the writing brush into a bottle of water and write on the ground. In the heat, the characters evaporate in seconds, before the calligraphers start again. The evaporation contains a message about the transience of life, many believe.

At other spots, groups of seven or eight people watch others play chess. There is an old saying here: "Watching chess, but not commenting, that's what a gentleman does." With this in mind, the spectators watch quietly, with great concentration.

Further along women dance with red cloth fans, doing a popular rural folk dance known as yangge.

Indoors in the city's big shopping malls, a younger, more affluent generation is learning to ice-skate. The city's few swimming pools are packed - hardy souls even dare to swim in the moss green canals, though it's illegal.

At night, things have cooled down sufficiently for the ballroom dancers to take up their positions. All you need is a stereo, a master of ceremonies and then it's Strictly Ballroom. In the park.