Visitors to China remark on it. Elderly everywhere - many in wheelchairs pushed by attendants, but even more exercising at parks in the morning, dancing in public squares at night. The high profile of seniors here leads to the perception that China is a great place to be old. And, like most impressions about China, it covers a seething mass of contradictions.

To be sure, the number of elderly here, and indeed the rest of the world, is growing at a startling rate. Demographers predict that the world's percentage of people over 60 could grow to fifteen in the next 50 years, from seven percent today. China currently has over 140 million senior citizens, roughly ten percent of its population. But that figure is growing at over three percent a year.

Time was when those old folks' sunset years were supported unconditionally by family. For sons or daughters to turn their aged parents out, even not to give them a respectable burial, would be an unthinkable crime. To have four generations living under one roof was one of the highest Confucian family accomplishments, tantamount to having a son pass the imperial exams.

But China's Great Catching Up has meant a lot more than driving a car and eating meat every day. Pressure to be perceived as upwardly mobile, as well as the modern emphasis on individuality, have quickly corroded the bonds that kept more than two generations in the same dwelling, however cramped it was. As the generation gap widens, youngsters find it easier to get a job and move out.

The trend explains why today China has more than 40 million seniors, thirty percent of them urban, living alone. In 2005 it was predicted that by next year eighty percent of urban China's elderly would be on their own. Some cities are close to that figure, such as Tianjin, at over seventy percent.

Interestingly, these elders aren't all sitting by smudgy windows waiting for the kids to visit. A 2005 survey in Chongqing found that over half of all seniors surveyed would rather not live with their children. They cited children's disrespect and boredom as the chief reasons. But can the isolation of a big city be preferable to bratty grandkids?

That's where things get complicated. Before the Opening Up, you could forget about playing golf in your retirement, but your old bones were supported by a fairly rigid social structure, everything from hospitalizations to caskets taken care of by the state. These days, more than ninety percent of elderly Beijingers rely solely on their monthly pensions, which averages 786 RMB, basically what a few hours at KTV cost those industrious chaps in the Audi A8s, the ones with tinted windows.

One third of Beijing's over-sixties rely on less than 500 RMB per month. Medical care and loss of support are constant worries. That's why it's common here to be approached by an old woman for your soda bottle before you're even done drinking it. In other cities, such as Qingdao, the average is lower, in the 400 to 600 RMB range, yet daily necessities cost comparably. It's tempting to point to the '99 release of state-owned enterprises from their obligation to care comprehensively for retired workers, to say that the government has abandoned the people who've struggled hardest to make the new China a success. But again, it's more complicated than that.

And it's not as grim as all that, either. Quoth Zeng Huaqing, 65-year-old retiree from Wuhan, as she waved her red card of printed service items, "I can offer services like cleaning, washing, cooking and plumbing with this service contact card." Zeng is widowed, and her two sons rarely find time to visit. But she remains optimistic. "Life is comfortable, though I live alone. I call the community whenever I need help."

For a clue to the happy side of yet another growing China crisis, stroll away from the cities' glamorous thoroughfares, to the endless blocks of shabby walk-ups, built with uncompromising social realism. These are the remains of the days when your work unit was your family, company your parents, and Mao your savior. Nowadays getting rich is glorious, and it's Yao, not Mao, but the parents aren't off the hook.

 Besides the pensions, SOE's still subsidize medical clinics and community centers, addressing the two ghosts that haunt the elderly, poor health and loneliness. Moreover, the good old days, when everyone in the community was so well-acquainted with everyone else's daily doings that you could scream in terror from the closeness of it all, have mellowed to a post-revolutionary buzz. Amidst the earth and grey-toned flat blocks, the old totter about playing cards or reading newspapers in car-choked gardens. They're survivors of interesting times, and they're not about to hide in the attic for the self-entitled generations.

Of course, that is all fine while you can still manage the crumbling stone steps to your apartment. What happens when you need round-the-clock medical care, and the kids are off chasing their bright futures? SOE coverage rarely goes far enough for costly medical treatment, affordable as it is compared to the West.

 The state has over forty thousand senior care institutions nation-wide, close to two million beds for those in need. But Zhang Mingliang, director of the Social Welfare Department of the Ministry of Civil Affairs, calculates that there are over thirteen million seniors currently in need of dire care. Early morning Taiqi and evening waltzes can only help so much. And capitalism with Chinese characteristics doesn't mean old promises can be broken.