wubo (2) Chinese watching kendo

Ten years ago, I took part in two brief kendo / iaido tours of China. Both were excellent experiences and I wish I had known a lot more THEN that I know now (in terms of Japanese martial arts, Chinese martial arts, the languages involved, everything). (Human relations, too).

On each tour, we gave demonstrations in several cities in the Southeastern province of Zhejiang. We toured together with members of a local wushu school. At each stop, reactions were fairly similar.

The Chinese crowds knew something of Chinese wushu and knew how to appreciate the Chinese martial artists. The crowds did not know much at all of Japanese martial arts, nor how to appreciate our demos.

They were used to flashier demonstrations with large numbers of techniques. Kendo, iaido, and other Japanese martial arts are not flashy and tend toward pursuit of a single technique which finishes the encounter. Our kendo and iaido demonstrations were usually met with curious silence, followed by tentative applause, often at unusual points in the demonstration.

In just ten years, general knowledge about the Japanese martial arts has increased significantly in China, and fledgling clubs can be found scattered across the country.

At the Sport Accord Games (wubo or 武博), there was an overall greater understanding and appreciation of kendo in particular. Even so, I loved the fact that the greatest crowd response seemed to come not after the masters’ bouts or any of the other excellent demos, but during the childrens’ kendo demo.

You just have to love the kid who is shorter than everyone else’s shinai (bamboo sword) – and who is trying twice as hard as most of them.

wubo (1) Combat Games

I finally made it back to Beijing a couple weeks ago - the trip was much too short but good in many ways. I traveled on a journalist visa for the first time, for Kendo World but also teamed with journalists from Kendo Nippon and Kendo Jidai magazines.

More on that later...About the games - this was the first of what is to be an annual international event, gathering martial artists of various disciplines. I have heard that these "Combat Games" will be followed by a "Mind Games" event in 2011, which could be a lot of fun. Personally, like "chess-boxing" (was that in the UK?), I would like to see (or be??) contestants participate in both games.

I wanted to see the wushu event but our journalist visas were extremely strictly controlled by the government of a certain country involved in it all. We were allowed in the night before the games, and had to return home the morning after they finished (two days of competition).

Overall, things went well and I look forward to next year's Combat Sports tournament. More details to follow...

unlearning

My first kendo teacher in Japan didn't immediately teach students who came to him with prior experience. He said he would wait 3 years, to watch them, judge their character, see if they were teachable.

By this I think he meant that he was waiting to see whether or not they could unlearn what they had previously "learned". He had to work with a blank slate, to write his own kendo upon each person from scratch. At the time, I had a hard time understanding his approach. Looking back, I don't think I unlearned enough kendo to learn what I could from him, and it is to my ongoing detriment.

I have a hard time letting go of things, especially when it comes to martial arts. That is part of what has gotten me into my current mess, trying to work on too many things at once.

Starting something completely new, unrelated to any prior martial arts activity, is relatively easy. But starting something that is related to things you have studied before...there are endless problems of cross-over, of old habits that interfere with new ways.

I have felt this most keenly in kobudo. As part of my karate training, we learned several weapons forms or kata. I burned some of those into my body pretty deeply, and the habits and motions of a decade and more are not easily erased.

I have had no karate action for a few years now. But I have recently made a big shift in kobudo, shifting from a couple-years' half-assed commitment to kobudo to a much more serious approach lately. It has not been easy, and there has been much unlearning.

The forms I learned many years back were right, true and correct for me at that time. More recently I have come to see them as having been "Shotokan-ized", adapted and changed from the original to fit into the overall rubric of Shotokan karate. Some of the forms I am working on now are exactly the same ones I started over fifteen years ago - and yet they are completely different.

The best example is Shuushi no kon sho, one of the basic bo / staff kata. It is the same and yet different. On the surface, you could see two people doing roughly the same kata, but once going in deeply, they become worlds apart.

For some years, my ideal was to preserve the old forms I had learned in my formative years while getting to know the "new" (original) ones. And, predictably, I made progress in neither. I have finally tried to let the old forms I grew up on go completely, and am focused solely on the "new" (for me) forms - and am, also predictably, also finally making progress.

Another example is the sai - a weapon made of metal, slightly longer than one's arm (see photo elsewhere on the blog), a rod with two tines protruding. One of the basic kata is tsukinshitahaku no sai (or, in the Okinawan dialect, chikinshita haku no sai). I have had to unlearn and re-learn completely opposite motions and principles. Only recently, after completely setting aside the "old" form which I originally learned, have the "new" motions sunk into my body.

"new": stack up at 45 degrees, block fully facing or torso square into the opponent. Stack up with the handle near my shoulder or armpit, not up by the ear. the arm is flat to block down, with the sai outside on the edge - not with the arm rotated or turned out. Narrower front stance. And on and on.

When I think about it, it has taken me just about three years to let go of my old habits, fully open myself and embrace the "new" habits. Maybe now the real learning can begin.

kote

Whoever invented bogu / armor for kendo did something great. Back in the 1700s in Japan, people practiced kenjutsu – old style/ koryu which was done with wooden swords called bokuto or bokken. This was great, because practicing with live blades is nice and realistic and all, but one slip and you are injured or dead.
But practice with wooden swords can also result in injury and occasional death if gone at full force. So you sacrifice some realism to enhance safety, pull the blows just short of contact…but again, one slip and you have severe pain or injury.
There is a lot to be said for the realism which comes with such practice, though I have not experienced it first hand. Nope, in our relatively peaceful world, I welcome the trade-offs that come with increased safety. Using bamboo swords, for example, is a marked departure in shape (straight vs. curved), cutting style, and the awareness brought about by being in proximity of a live blade. Their use also allows us to practice kendo with virtually no fear of injury, meaning that we can lead work and family lives.
Back in the 1700s, people began to wear armor designed not for the battlefield but for the blows of bamboo swords called shinai. Hence the beginnings of kendo as we know it today. The number of areas to strike with the shinai is quite limited and it corresponds to those places where bogu is worn: the head (men), wrists (kote), side of torso (doh), and throat (the sole legitimate target for a thrust or tsuki).
While having bogu is a great thing – there is one great drawback.

The smell. The armor is not washable. Nor does it dry quickly when soaked with sweat, especially in the humid summers of Japan. Let’s see…practice a couple or few times a week for just a year and the accumulated sweat stink is abominable. It comes with the practice and you get used to it, though those around you cannot be expected to do the same.
Anyhow, I bought a new pair of kote the week before last week’s kendo grading. My prior best pair was getting a bit frayed along one edge and I didn’t want to risk being failed due to the external appearance of my equipment (which is a very real fear). Also, the leather lining of the palm had just begun to tear.
And I was quite happy to have a pair of kote which didn’t stink with the accumulation of years of sweat. But the leather lining of the new pair has a peculiar odor all its own, one that may not be gone until it has been overcome by the stench of sweat.
I failed the exam anyway, due to my performance and technique rather than to my equipment. And I remain quite happy with my new kote, despite their unusual scent. Some kind of protection, old and stinky or new and smelly, is necessary. We must vie with unknown opponents and wrestle with stink. Truly, the world of kendo is not for the timid.

興武館

It’s been a busy budo weekend: Zaimusho kendo Friday night, Chinese stuff Saturday and Sunday, Meiji Jingu demos today (see prior post). And somewhere in there was a long-overdue first visit to the famed Koubukan Dojo in Nakano, Tokyo.

One dojo member – whom I met a couple weeks prior at a kendo tournament – had put together a sort of gaijin kendo bash, drawing 40 foreigners from around Japan (two from Singapore, in town for today’s all-Japan kendo championships) as well as a couple Japanese who had lived abroad for some time.

He had hoped for 20 and gotten 40, not bad at all. Ozawa Sensei watched while the show was run by and for we gaijins. The format was unusual and good – three separate 30-minute sessions of practice or keiko, each punctuated by a 10-minute break to rest and, more importantly, to commiserate.

Everything was quite free (choosing your own practice partner, feedback if appropriate, “lining up” in a circle) but all the necessary decorum was also observed – a nice respite from the sometimes overformal martial arts world in Japan. Really, everything was done exceptionally well and I look forward to the next time.

Kind of a funny feeling – at most practices in this country I am the only foreigner present. At most big events like gradings and tournaments, there is usually a handful of foreigners who already know each other or who get to know each other quickly. Yet here we were, basically a dojo full of foreigners in Japan blasting away on each other and doing it the right way, good kendo.

New friends made, old friends seen again after many years – cheers to all.

紙一枚

Kami ichi mai (紙一枚) : I hear a lot of references to this lately in kendo. Literally, “one sheet of paper”. That is how much progress we make in a practice. And we are piling up these sheets of paper, slowly. So we can’t really be aware of our own progress in the short space of a single practice. But over time, with many practices, many sheets of paper get piled up and the stack is noticeably larger. Part of the message is “don’t despair” – we might feel like we are not getting anywhere, not making any progress, but it is happening, just more slowly than we can see in an instant.

I heard it used in a very different way last week. I went to a local naginata tournament. Naginata is like kendo in that two people face each other in a match wearing armor called bogu which is worn to protect the spots that are targets to be hit. The naginata is about two meters long and has a curved blade on the end – one made of bamboo in the modern sport version of naginata.

But the body mechanics are completely different between kendo and naginata. In the latter, the body is turned sideways rather than front-facing (as in kendo). And the feet are not parallel but are turned out.

After the matches were over, the Sensei’s main comment was “kami ichi mai” – in this case referring to the need to keep the heels raised just off the floor, for maximum mobility. All of the participants suffered from a certain flat-footedness which slowed their speed, she said.

It had been a long time since I had seen most of the people in this group. The top fighters had grown quickly, more quickly than I had anticipated. Despite the teacher’s words, I saw clearly that I had been surpassed by people who used to be below me. When I go back for practice, I will have much to learn from them, be they flat-footed or otherwise. They have been adding those sheets, one by one, while I have been idling.

(photo above is of equipment used in Ten Do Ryu Naginata, one of the two main branches of koryu or old-style naginata still practiced in the Tokyo area. There are techniques for jo (really a naginata with the blade broken off in action), nito ryu (two swords style), kusarigama (go look it up) and other weapons. But in most of the practice, the senior student wields a bokuto or wooden sword against the wooden naginata used by the lower student).

no people

Picture above is from Teishin Dojo, which used to be located inside the Japanese Postal Ministry and used to offer a short-but-excellent lunchtime kendo practice. I say used to because it was closed down back in 2006 as part of the wave of privatization which swept the Japanese government.

I wrote an article on the dojo’s closing for Kendo World magazine in 2007 (interested parties, please contact me and I can send the text by email). This morning, I was giving copies of the article to a few people. One of them glanced at the pictures and said, “there are no people in the pictures, only things”.

His comment stung an instant – I rather liked the photos. But he was right – no people in motion. I could beg off on technological issues, as I am armed with a cheap digital camera which captures the blurs of people in motion quite well…but in fact I had chosen to take these photos, and I had recommended these photos for the layout.

He said the pictures did not show the feeling or environment of the dojo. But I wonder – must every article about kendo use the same photos? Here are two people with tips crossed in kamae, here is someone landing a great strike to the head, oh, look, here is someone kneeling in seiza, taking off their armor (bogu). I did find an appropriate irony in his comment, as in fact the people have all been removed from that dojo…

And I will be keeping his comment in mind in the future. I am even now working on a profile of a Sensei at a different dojo. And I snapped some shots of people in kamae (and landing a shot to the head, and taking off bogu…) a couple weeks back. But, honestly, I prefer the other pictures. Look for those in Kendo World later as well.

(photo above appeared in Kendo World volume 3.4 Also, KW can be found online at www.kendo-world.com)

kote

I hit kote today, a very nice shot.

This is not, by any means, big news in the world of kendo. But this was, for me, a very special kote.

Kote is the wrist, one of the four targets in kendo. Getting whacked with a bamboo sword hurts but does not cut or (usually) injure. To allow people to practice together in a basically injury-free environment, kendo people wear armor which covers the head (men), wrists (kote), sides of the waist (dou/doh), and, for protection against thrusts (tsuki), a piece of armor covering the throat.

We can argue day and night about the realism or combat effectiveness of kendo, which limits strikes solely to those areas protected by armor (compare most schools of old-style koryu bujutsu, which are full of strikes exactly to those areas without armor or where the opponent’s armor would be weakest). Kendo allows us to strike (or cut, more properly) the opponent. Kenjutsu and other koryu bujutsu require that blows be pulled, just short of actual contact, though with full intention. So each has points to recommend it as well as limitations. Given endless time, energy and money for practice, as well as access to good teachers, you would of course do both. But here in the real world…

Back to the kote. In a typical kendo practice, you should try a variety of attacks to a variety of targets. But in some practice situations you practice with little or no variation.

One of the many excellent teachers at morning practice shares much time with me. Unlike the case with most opponents, we don’t have matches, though, trying to “win” by scoring a point. With him, practice is nothing but ai-men, the simultaneous striking of men by both parties. And it goes long, 20 or 30 minutes, sometimes longer, of doing nothing but lining up, crossing tips, probing and firing an attack on men. There is only one goal: driving directly down the center and taking men. No feints, no combination attacks, and certainly no head-dodging to avoid getting hit cleanly when receiving.

Every once in a while he will slip under and take my kote as I go for men. No problem, just go again and again. Men, men, men. But it can’t be mindless or robotic – you have to make each shot real, as if it were your only chance to strike him. And never look at the clock, no matter how tired you get. Just keep going with determination and don’t worry about the time.
Every once in a while I slip in a different technique but it usually draws a frown – it is only a distraction from the task at hand, an evasion.
My job is to throw a clean, orthodox men attack. It is, in one sense, an exercise in futility, because I am not going to land any of these attacks unless he lets me have one, perhaps judging that my set-up and technique were proper. And yet it is this hopeless practice which builds the correct technique which will someday blast through and land on top of his head.
This morning, out of nowhere, I dropped a kote which landed just right and drew the briefest of nods from him. It had the right snap at the end, not my usual heavy plonking down. I hadn’t planned on going for kote at all – it just dropped out of nowhere. But after that, it was men all the way.
People had long since faded off to work and the floor had gone from being more crowded than usual to hosting a single pair of combatants. The drum sounded to finish practice and we both fired off a final shot at men.

strange and good kendo days

Interesting and strange and good. Full schedule of work, of course, but along the way some good practices sandwiched in. Wednesday night was a stand-out kendo practice - members of the Ministry Finance Dojo - where I sometimes practice - went to the Ministry of the Economy Something Something Dojo for a shared practice. Konishi Sensei from MinFin and Toda Sensei (METI) together in one room, along with Kurihara Sensei (Japan Energy) and a slew of 7dans all packed into a fairly small dojo...
Tokyo is the center of the government in Japan, and Kasumigaseki is the center of the government in Tokyo. All or most of the government ministries are plastered in a small area, along with quite a few embassies and such. MinFin happens to be across the street from METI, but they are in different worlds in terms of kendo, and very few people train at both on a regular basis. As to why government ministries have kendo dojos in them (and two across the street from each other), and about the closing of the Postal Ministry Dojo (that building is next to METI), see my article in Kendo World, to be posted later.
Anyway, it looked to be an excellent practice. Unfortunately, I was starting a three-day seminar for work and had to haul my shinai, uniform and bogu armor all day in addition to my stuff for work. Quite a heavy load, still humid in Tokyo so I was working up a good sweat on the walk to the station. About midway, I noticed that there seemed to be many more people than usual walking toward the station.
Once close to the station, a disaster was in plain sight. There were people packed outside the station, unable to get in. It was the morning rush, brought to a complete halt. I snuck a peek through the fence and my worst fears were confirmed: no trains were moving. The entire train platform was jammed with people, the stairs to the platform were packed with unmoving people. That meant the entire inside of the station was also packed and they were spilling outside- and more pedestrians and buses and bicycles arriving by the minute.
After hovering outside the station and watching the lines waiting spill out in every direction, down the stairs and along the street, I gave up and hauled my bags to a quiet spot in the shade a hundred meters away and sat down, kicked off my shoes. No way I could make it to work on time, but fortunately someone could cover the first hour for me (damn, I had busted my ass to make an early arrival to have extra prep time....).
I found out later there had been two problems - one way out west, jamming the over-crowded Chuo Line and stalling the trains (thus the masses walking to my station from one station further down the tracks). That would have been bad enough. But then they also had some kind of signal trouble between my station and the next, so it was complete chaos for an hour. Things were not looking good that day...
But they turned out well. Work was fine, yeah. Practice - back in the vaunted Budo Bum days, I trained once or twice a week at METI, but I hadn't been there in over a year. I walked in the door and was greeted by Sensei after Sensei that I knew from METI, MinFIn, Japan Energy...what a wonderful feeling. The place was packed and I only had two sessions, but the second in particular was quite good. Then there was food and drink downstairs and much conversation and encouragement. Maybe the thing that stuck most was to "walk like a bushi" - not plonking the feet down, but powering off the back foot and propelling the hips forward on each step. K Sensei reminded me that since we easily walk over 10,000 steps each day, I could practice all day long without even being in the dojo. Drinking was followed by more drinking at another establishment, which made for a late return home and a long next day at work.
Two days later, I went to my usual Friday night practice at MinFin, still charged from the excitement of Wednesday. A typhoon was blowing in - a big slow-moving one which did much damage way down south but just gave us rain here in Tokyo. Still, it was an unusual day with all the atmospheric tension building.
I arrived earlier than usual and got in practice with a few extra teachers. I was busted right off the bat for straying off the centerline when pulling the sword up, and was reminded at the end to turn on the power only at the instant of striking (vs. my bad habit of lifting up with muscle power, bringing down with muscle power, no focus or snap at the instant of impact). Though disappointed in my own performance, I was also uplifted by the great deal of suggestions for improvement that I was given. We always eat and drink in the dojo after practice, and that offered the usual opportunity for further instruction. I got home quite late but very satisfied.

gasshuku (1)

gasshuku 合宿
Sept. 2008

Gasshuku is a Japanese word referring to a group of people stepping outside of normal lives and routines and going on a sort of retreat together. There are lots of happy group activities, practice, and, in the case of adults, much drinking. Having practiced Japanese martial arts here in Japan for about 13 years, I have had a good share of gasshuku experiences.
At the moment, I am taking a high-speed shinkansen train out of the endless sprawl that is Tokyo, headed into the semi-countryside for a 3-day gasshuku with xx University Kung Fu (sic) Club. I usually travel to gasshuku by bus - with the group of course – but I don’t know how well I fit into this group.
Almost all these kids are literally half my age. It would be easier if I were from the university, but I am not. I began joining their monthly special trainings (one-day or half-day affairs) a few years back. Then last year I was invited to join their gasshuku and it was fantastic. I look forward to another excellent experience.

My first gasshuku in Japan was kendo- and iaido-related. A group of us foreigners from my then-dojo took a trip into the countryside for a weekend with another kendo group. Ogino Sensei and his students welcomed us warmly and it was made better by the presence of many lively children.
On the last day, we all ate nagashi-somen outdoors. This is a traditional summer favorite in which a long slide made of split bamboo runs down a slope. Ice and water flow down from the top in order to bring cool and delicious noodles to those waiting below. We lined both sides of the trough and used chopsticks to quickly grab mouthfuls of noodles as they streamed down.
Inevitably, germs are spread with all the chopsticks going in and out of the oncoming noodles. And people at the bottom of the slope, like me, are left with the few strands of noodles which remain after everyone else has dipped in. But these are healthy young kendo kids and are not easily brought down by a few mere germs.
Not so the adults, it seems. A day or two later, my throat was painfully swollen and I could barely open my mouth or swallow. For three days, I ate nothing but watery rice gruel. おたふくかぜ. Yes, it seems that the mumps I had never had in my youth had finally caught up with me.
Even so, that remains one of my favorites gasshukus ever, and I look forward to another chance to study with Ogino Sensei someday. (Curiously, he is also a friend of with my iaido teacher. Last year, they were chatting and looking over pictures from Ogino Sensei’s mountain dojo when Kogawa Sensei spied my picture and just about spat his dentures out in surprise. “How the hell do you know that guy?”)

Then there is karate. Kenkojuku Shotokan (Okano-Ha) has an annual summer gasshuku which is completely oriented toward the 200 or so kids who jam onto one bus too few for a weekend of practice which culminates in a rank exam. I was lucky enough to join several times and one memory stands out in particular.
Adult black belts are strongly encouraged to attend but their role is primarily to teach and watch over the children (and to handle the massive job of orchestrating meals for these 200+ kids). We adults had one special practice each day and could of course practice on our own, but the real instruction was focused on the kids.
During the rank exam on the third day of the 1997 gasshuku, Okano Sensei waved me over and took me outside. I wondered what massive breach of protocol I had committed and was about to get busted for. Nothing of the sort. He had suddenly remembered that he had asked me the night before what kata I would like to work on the next day. So we went bit by bit through kankuu sho, which is rarely taught in the dojo. We drilled it carefully about seven times, going slowly and making sure I understood. He seldom taught kata like this, and it was the first time I had been taken so thoroughly through a kata in Japan, so that brief time outside the main gym remains special to me, one of my best Kenkojuku memories.

Then there is naginata (think of a long wooden handle with a curved blade on the end, something like a glaive in appearance). I used to spend much time practicing naginata and built a strong foundation. I attended numerous weekend seminars on top of 3 times a week practice and eventually passed the test to become a naginata referee, something only a handful of foreigners have done. Alas, my training time for naginata has diminished rapidly, though many good memories (and that foundation, I believe) remain.
One such memory takes us to Japan’s northernmost island, Hokkaido. Winters are snowy and cold, damn cold. And our gasshuku was in the heart of the snow and cold.
Naginata is one of the least popular budo or martial arts in Japan in terms of numbers. Also, it has been relegated in the public awareness as a woman’s martial art.
More on the history of that elsewhen. Though outside Japan more men than women practice naginata, men are still the overwhelming minority within the already small naginata world in Japan (less than 5% of the total). The naginata federation is making efforts to promote the presence and participation of men in naginata. One part of that effort is the annual men’s naginata gasshuku, which is held in a different part of Japan each year, in a move toward accessibility.
For whatever reason, someone decided to have one year’s gasshuku in Hokkaido in mid-winter. The snow was deep – streets were lined on each side with walls of snow more than three meters tall after the snowplows went through. And the cold was cold. Then another someone had the idea of taking our group picture outdoors in our uniforms.
The naginata uniform is not designed for cool climates. The legs are covered by a hakama, a sort of pleated skirt-like thing which is split into two legs and is usually made of a fairly heavy material. But the tops…thin white cotton, short sleeves…and the wind was blowing. And the cameraman was taking his time. I think I suggested going topless to show what we were really made of, but nobody warmed to the idea. Anyway, the mandatory group pictures were taken and we hustled back inside the unheated school gymnasium which suddenly seemed so much warmer.

Back in Nebraska, we trained hard in the university dojo. And we made several trips each year to Denver, where a senior teacher in karate, kendo, and iaido taught. We joined their special trainings and took rank exams there. We might skip some Friday classes, make the 7-8 hour drive and arrive just in time for Friday night training.
We felt the effect of the high altitude right away but energy remained high on the first day. Saturday was devoted to several sessions, sometimes in the mountains. The pain and fatigue of the second day was lessened over eats and drinks, but the third day was just plain hard. And time seemed to move so much more slowly. Somewhere in the afternoon it ended and we piled back into our cars for the long drive back to school. Each of these trips left us utterly exhausted as well as filled with new excitement and energy.
So tonight I have returned to the big city from my second gasshuku with this university group. Again, it was an excellent experience and very different in feeling or flavor from my gasshuku involving Japanese martial arts. I was not pushed to the point of utter exhaustion – nor did I need to be. We all left feeling that we had been pushed, challenged, and filled with new energy. So now it is back to everyday life and everyday training.
NOTE - The 5 characters in the picture refer to five virtues upheld by swordspeople. Our gasshuku was held in the kendojo and ping pong room of a community gymnasium, and the characters were brushed by a junior high school kendo student.The Japanese reading is jin-gi-rei-chi-shin. Anyone know if this same set of 5 virtues is commonly referred to among Chinese martials artists?