The tunes were stirring. The band was loud. It was martial music and it made me want to get up and go for a march a long one.

There were about 200 people gathered in the shade of trees at the back of the bandstand last weekend. Everyone was singing from the same red songbook. Between songs you could hear the chirping of cicadas.

Most of the singers were middle-aged or elderly. Some were in wheelchairs. Great grandchildren played among them. The mood was upbeat, inspiring.

The band consisted of a keyboard player, saxophonist and female drummer. A couple led the singing.

A young man with good English confirmed that the songs were from the era of the civil war: "Red" songs, patriotic tunes.

Park life in Beijing is so relaxed and safe. There's music, dancing, and, of course, sleeping. I've never seen so many people fast asleep on benches or on blankets on the ground.

Try sleeping in a park in Glasgow, where I come from, and you'll wake up minus your wallet, wristwatch and shoes.

It was a warm, Beijing Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago. I found a park bench and decided to take a nap. When in Rome, do as the Romans, or in this case, the Beijingers.

I locked my bicycle, put my wallet and watch in my rucksack and used it as a pillow. I stretched and tried to get comfortable. I turned sideways, drew my knees up and closed my eyes

Time passed, my mind drifted, I relaxed. Then there was a commotion. Angry voices. I sat up. Five men in straw hats were driving a smaller chap away. One of the big men punched him in the body.

The little guy whimpered. Clearly distressed, he came and sat down behind me. He was stabbing the ground with a pair of garden shears. He didn't look like a gardener. I got up, unlocked my bike and strolled away.

In the park, Chinese people are uninhibited. There's a guy singing what sounds to me like Chinese opera. He's standing under a tree and giving it laldy (Scottish, it means doing something with gusto).

In my favorite park there are signs for camping. On weekends you can see young couples erecting tents, possibly for romantic trysts.

During winter I watched "military maneuvers" in the park. Two radio-controlled model tanks, painted in camouflage, prowled over the snow, turrets spinning, engines growling. A dog watched and ran away.

There was a tank transporter with flashing lights. The model radio enthusiasts and their girlfriends, myself and other onlookers, followed the parade of miniature military might.

I should tell you about my favorite park, Tucheng Park. It contains the remains of the Yuan Dynasty (1271-1368) city wall. You can walk along the 10-meter-high earthen mound for hundreds of meters. Today the mound is covered with trees and bushes.

The wall was built between 1267 and 1276. When the Ming Dynasty rebuilt the city wall further south, this old wall was abandoned.

Beijing municipal government has designated it as a protected relic.

The park is only 130 to 160 meters broad, but nearly 5 km long. It's divided into seven blocks, with seven scenic areas. There's a man-made marsh with ducks and geese and a pagoda. The park also contains Beijing's biggest open-air sculptures, Da Du Ding Sheng.

I was wandering around looking at the sculptures last weekend when I saw two women. One was about 50, in traditional dress, perhaps Mongolian. The other, about 40, wore a colorful top and a long, flowing skirt. They were taking photos of each other. They waved me over. I thought they wanted me to take a picture of them together.

No, they each wanted to be pictured with me. The older woman struck a pose. The younger woman also posed, cocking her head coquettishly. Then I was directed to stand back to back with her. I twigged. These were mock wedding pics. We linked arms and smiled. She gazed adoringly (for the camera). A final photo and we were done. We waved goodbye.

You never know what park life in China has in store.