You would think you were in southern China. Staid northerners typically turn up their noses at such frivolous games as majiang (or mahjong, as some insist), preferring the more stately pastimes of cricket-raising or Chinese chess. And yet there they are, springing up like mushrooms around Beijing: majiang parlours.
First one or two appear at the corners of apartment blocks, then suddenly more pop up in any spot with a fluorescent light and four square metres of floor space. Locations that were once gourmet vinegar shops, plastic housewear outlets or western-style bars have all been absorbed by the craze. Signs outside read 'Cards! Games!' while signs inside, hung prominently over the tables, declare: 'No gambling allowed.' In 1998, majiang was added to the list of official sports and games: before that, it carried a certain taint of the underworld.
Such overwhelming supply reflects the high demand: by four in the afternoon the parlours are buzzing, and they stay open late into the night. The patrons are almost uniformly elderly, and arrive in astonishing numbers. One apartment complex in eastern Beijing now hosts six or seven such parlours, each seating upwards of 40, and they are regularly packed.
This particular complex was built on the site of a demolished old neighbourhood and now houses former courtyard residents, so the occupants may be a bit above the median age. But the image of Beijing as a city of the aged is not far from the mark. The one-child policy is taking its revenge as younger, sparser generations take on the burden of supporting their many elders. As long as the seniors can rely on their children, the looming financial crisis may be averted, but the government is watching anxiously.
The elderly themselves seem perfectly aware of the situation. In a nameless, street-side majiang parlour, retirees are happy to welcome a stranger to their table.
One or two polite questions spark a discussion of the retired life: 'Pension?' a portly lady asks scornfully. 'How many hundred kuai do I get a month for a pension? If I weren't living with my son, could I afford medical bills?'