monkeys (1)

Monkeys (part one)

June 7, 2008 and August, 2008

A year ago? Two years back? Yearly special training (gasshuku) with OO University’s Gong Fu group in the countryside.

The second night, I woke up early, very early, maybe 5 AM, to the sound of scratching on the roof. This was not the sound of a branch scraping the roof in the wind. Something was moving across the roof. I got up and saw that one of the students was also awake. We saw a monkey outside on the second floor balcony and were drawn irresistibly to the window.

Outside we saw a pack, an army of monkeys, all moving down the hill and across to our right. There seemed to be no end to them. They kept coming and coming in a spread-out swarm, sometimes hopping across the rooftops of nearby second homes but mostly scrambling along the ground.

All ages and sizes. They didn’t seem to be in a particular hurry but they were definitely moving together toward a destination. Glimpses of wildlife are rare in Japan. We weren’t really that deep in the countryside, either, so this was all the more surprising.

A few more moments and they were gone, continuing their pre-dawn exodus, moving on down the mountainside.

A strange and magical chance, watching them as the two of us stood side by side at the window. Magic – there is none of it in modern (post-modern) Japan. Everything runs smoothly and with precision. There are few surprises, and everything seems familiar.

In contrast, it seems that much magic and mystery remain in China though here, too, they are being swept away. One of my favorite books ever is Mark Salzman’s Iron and Silk, which draws me back again and again. He was in China at the perfect time, just after it began re-opening to the outside world. Moreover, he had all the right introductions and good language ability.

I am filled with new motivation each time I read the book – but also feel a tinge of regret, at being stuck in a Japan empty of magic and having spent too long here not getting deeply connected with the best teachers of Japanese arts.

Why I didn’t make these connections is a long story for another time, but much of the fault lies with me, not landing in Japan with a clear plan and determination to go straight to the best. 13 years in Japan, and I am now looking back at how very differently I could/ should have done things.

Midway through my years in Japan, I spent most of a year in China, one of the best periods of my life. I sampled mystery and magic at that time, but returned to Japan before having tasted deeply.

Maybe I doomed myself from the start, coming to Asia with the naïve idea of grasping the language and martial arts of not one but two countries. There is a proverb about trying to catch two rabbits and missing them both, and it has dogged me since my arrival.

Now I train on occasion with these kids from the university who are exactly half my age. I float on the fringes, in principle part of the group but in fact an outsider in every way. No matter – I am after more training time with Mr. T, not seeking acceptance from kids younger than my stepson.

I am quite fortunate to have been invited to take part in special trainings with this group. I have gotten intense scrutiny from Mr. T and exposure to chuojiao fanzi quan and ba ji quan in addition to my regular work with ba gua zhang and xing yi quan.

I have joined their monthly special practices for a couple years now, usually an 8-hour outdoor marathon. Each practice has been excellent, but my strongest memory may be sharing that moment, watching those monkeys making their way among the houses and cars of sleeping humans, on their way to who knows where. Did they have a clear plan for where they were going? Will they look back and reflect on missed opportunities?

olympics3:practice, bowing, judo

Olympics3: practice, bowing
August 13-16, 2008

(1) I grew up with little interest in sports, and had virtually no interaction with the athletes in high school. Volleyball could be fun, as could baseball when played for fun with friends. But otherwise, it was me and my books. The closest I got to sports was the competition of chess.

No sweaty locker rooms for me – much better the exhileration and excitement of academic challenge. My greatest moment of athletic glory may have been instigating a lunchtime snowball fight on a rare day of Texas snowfall – then leading the pack in running away when a wayward snowball hit the school library window. After all, I worked as a librarian assistant in the afternoon. Thanks to that glorious sprint, I escaped unseen and slipped in to work safely a few minutes later. But that was it, my greatest athletic exertion for an entire school year.

Yet here I am for a month at the Beijing Olympics, having plunged headlong into the world’s largest and most important sports event, surrounded by athletes and those watching, recording, and cheering their performances.

I have just finished a several-day stint with a Japanese tech crew at the swimming venue. Most of my time has been spent ensconced in our makeshift cabin, tapping away at the computer, doing venue research, or cramming Chinese language. Once in a while trouble arises and then I get called in. Trouble arose only once today – 5 minutes before I was to finish work. It looked like a quick ten-minute job.

Two hours later, the problem remained unsolved but the contests were finished, so we returned to the cabin. No complaints, mind – it was my first chance for an extended look at the actual competition. And it turned out to be more interesting than I had expected.

The best part was the underwater turns where the swimmers kick off the wall and roll their bodies over underwater, captured perfectly with an underwater camera. The beginning also caught my eye – the preparation and readiness. The splash of a handful of water on the face, a final stretch, the crouching position, and the initial dive, followed by that underwater wiggle which precedes the first strokes.

The crowd, however, is looking for something different – all eyes are glued on the finish. They want the fastest, the strongest, and they use this as a measure for the best. My eyes are also drawn to the finish, but I cannot share the roar of the crowd, no matter which country’s athlete is drawing attention. Of course a huge cheer goes up whenever a Chinese athlete takes the floor – and a bigger cheer erupts whenever China nabs another medal.

Each country’s athletes have ardent supporters. Yet I don’t feel any special connection to the athletes from the States (or from Japan, for that matter). I have never felt any particular allegiance to athletes from a particular school, region, or what have you. Maybe that is part of the reason for my ongoing interest in the martial arts – all the practice, all the training, are for oneself, to challenge and improve oneself.

So what about judo, wrestling, tae kwan do, even boxing or fencing? Yes, I would have more interest in watching any of those (and not just the preparation and practice). But what I really want is not to watch it but to do it myself, to work on my own forms and motions….

(2) At the moment I am with a TV crew covering the final day of judo competition. My background is in karate and weapons-based Japanese martial arts – I lack experience in any grappling arts, Japanese or otherwise. So the world of judo is at once foreign and familiar to me.

Inside the arena, I watch a few bouts and am not terribly impressed, apart from the brilliance of a French judoka who is clearly a crowd favorite. Back in the cabin with all the equipment and wires, I glance up at the monitors occasionally and see one thing which greatly impresses me.

Tsukada Maki is doing extremely well, moving closer and closer to the finals. Her wins are not what grab me – it is her bowing. Before and after each match, her bows are sincere. I sense that judo is more budo than sport for her. I do not get that sense from many other competitors with their half-assed non-bows, like chickens pecking at something on the ground, thrusting or tipping the head forward an instant because the rules require some semblance of a bow.

Even if she had not been successful in terms of win-loss, I feel she would have been the real winner. And that she maintains her sense of respect and decorum on top of a winning record…well, all the better. I have the feeling she does judo for the practice moreso than for the victory.

Update – later that night, she lost the final round to Tong Wen of China. The crowd was worked up throughout the match, then surged as one to their feet when Tong won the bout.

My eyes were on Tsukada. I can’t imagine her disappointment, having come so close to the gold medal. It was over in an instant but what we saw in a flash must have passed so slowly for her, with the awareness that she had been thrown, that her body was about to crash into the mat below.

The referee gave the signal, both judoka returned to their starting positions, Tong’s arm was raised by the referee. And there was Tsukada – deep and sincere bows to her opponent, the referees…more than a victory or a medal, this sight gave me hope for the future of judo as something more than a sport focused solely on winning or losing.

za shi chui

ZA SHI CHUI 杂式捶
August 14-15, 2008

Seventh practice with Liu Laoshi today. And I got damn lucky with the weather and the work schedule. It was a long day, pushing 15 hours with transportation time included. But in the middle of it I had a five-hour break. Liu Laoshi is waiting for a call from me each day regarding my availability for night practice. I am extremely grateful for his flexibility in working with my schedule. Especially on days like today, when I call him in the late morning and ask whether he is available for afternoon practice. He is. I am out the door.

And into the rain. Just a few drips when I walk out, but there are great rolls of nasty-looking grey clouds not far away. People are running about and backup generators are being fired up on orders from above, meaning things could be bad.

By now everyone is familiar with Beijing’s efforts at weather manipulation, firing rockets into the sky at all hours. The main goal was to prevent rain during the opening ceremony, and that was accomplished. But the thing is, that rain has to come down sometime.

And down it came, at least waiting until after I had gotten on a bus. Beijing is a massive, sprawling city and it is famous for having heavy rain in one area and rainless skies in another (it is not a city famous for clear skies, ever). Pushing meteorology to the limit, Beijing has been issuing separate weather reports for Olympic venues in different areas within the city. But this was not necessary as I moved south across the city – there was heavy rain everywhere.

One bus- subway- taxi commute later, I arrived at Tao Ran Ting park. The rain was still falling, but not quite so heavily. I had been going on sheer faith, hoping that Liu Laoshi had in fact ventured out into the rain. In our morning phone call, we had not discsussed the possibility of rain. Nor had I thought until then about whether he would be willing to teach in the rain.

No problem, no problem, as I often hear over here. I found him sipping tea under the roof of his usual teahouse. After the usual chatting and sipping, we got started right there, among the twenty-some people who were still seeking shelter from the rain. Space was cleared for us and off we went.

Fortunately, xing yi quan 形意拳 is characterized by forward movements along a mostly straight line, unlike some of the more flamboyant forms (long fist 长拳 comes to mind) which feature running and jumping all about.

We started with review – up and down the floor with the five basic fists. I could not get the piquan 劈拳 strike right (a recurring phenomenon these days), though I got his nod pretty quickly on the other four basic strikes. Several of those standing about were idly mimicking the motions and commenting on the foreigner in their midst.

After a while we sat down for another sip of tea but before it was sipped, he said “za shi chui” and we got right back up and into it. Enough of the review – on to the new. Za Shi Chui is a neat, compact form, easy to learn because it uses many familiar motions from other xing yi routines (yet without crossover problems). The new motions are straightforward and flow well.

So, for all my weather-related worries, it turned out to be an extremely productive afternoon. It was still raining as I walked out of the park toward the bus stop, but the rain felt good, and the break from days of heat and humidity added to my comfort. True, I was going back to work, but that was a long bus ride away, and my mind was filled with the excitement of plunging into a new form, one more piece of the puzzle which forms this particular martial art.

Nebraska

Had an unexpected day off, so I scuttled off to morning practice with Liu Laoshi - the first time I have seen Tao Ran Ting Park in the daylight this trip. They have completely redesigned, redecorated and improved the entire place since my visit last fall. This is quite significant because the park is nowhere near any of the Olympic sites, most of which are scattered all over the northern part of town, quite far away. I hate to mention it, but a toilet report is obligatory. This park passes, with flying colors. Morning and night, it is clean, has toilet paper, etc. I expect such changes near the Olympic sites, but to see such changes far from the venues is especially encouraging.

I did some wandering around between buses near Qian Men, one of the main gates / bus stops / subway stations near that big square that starts with a T. Bought some Olympic goods, and the obligatory folding fan, took a long wander to find my second bus. Did more wandering after the second bus and saw someone in red shorts with a big N on them, which can only mean one thing. That big N stands for nowledge at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.

Sure enough, emerging from an alley onto a shopping street far from my hotel, I had stumbled upon 3 Nebraskans, though not gymnasts or athletes as I had imagined. Go figure.

Other news - it rained and poured yesterday, when I spent the entire day inside the tech crew cabin, only got soaked going to the toilet. Today - my day off - it is actually a bit cool and a bit less humid than it has been every day so far, so I feel quite blessed. So everything has worked out in my favor on the weather front.

The only problem is that I have just been run through all 12 animal forms (xing yi quan) in four sessions and need time to review, review, review. At the end of today's practice, Liu Laoshi told me we would start a new form next time, one I have never learned (or even seen) in Japan. Not a complaint, mind - this is exactly what I came for.

Olympics2: work

Olympics2: work

You can read about the background, the opening ceremony, and the significance of all the 8’s elsewhere. From my perspective, we got the first TV broadcasts off in Japan without trouble and I can relax a bit. I am working as an interpreter for one of the Japanese camera/tech crews but my services are needed only on occasion (this may bear witness to a brief surge in blog postings…). So I have scattered points of intense activity followed by lulls of recuperation and waiting.

When things are getting set up at a certain venue, I am the interface point between Japanese and Chinese staff. My job is to be out of the way but instantly able to leap in and help resolve whatever trouble may arise. But once things are rolling, my job is merely to stay out of the way (and be prepared to leap into another 30-minute adventure).

This is by far my longest exposure to the world of interpreting, and it is far more exciting and stimulating than that of translation. In fact my skills as an interpreter are limited, yet to be honed. There are a couple members of the Japanese media team who are pros. They are the ones down on the floor, interviewing non-Japanese athletes for the press.

Another part of my job is simple human relations, doing what I can to ensure smooth workings among people from many nations and cultures. English is the de facto universal language here. Most native speakers don’t know to effectively communicate with non-natives (this does not mean speaking loudly and with a very few words, as most seem to think). Many non-natives (some with quite high levels of English) don’t know how to ask the natives to change their speaking style (a numbered, bullet-point style is good; avoid idioms; occasionally stop and check that the listener understands the message; etc.)

We have the entire range of accents going as well: Japanese English, Chinese English, French English, and so on, each speaker with their own ability level. Put all this together and add in people from different teams with different objectives/concerns and things easily get tense when communication fails. Throw in some specialized vocabulary (never thought I would be talking about coaxial cables in Japanese…), add obnoxious background music being blared inside the stadium, and matters are made more difficult.

So I am collecting names, building relationships, initiating conversations I would never have otherwise – all of this quite awkward and forbidding for the socially impaired introvert that I was.

But no more! A bold and bubbly new being is emerging out of my staid old shell. Eyes and ears (and mouth) open, exploring a new world and seeking new challenges. The strangest part of all this is that I am not, have never been, an athlete or even interested in athletics.

Remember the geeky kid with glasses who sat in the front row of class, attentive to the teacher’s every word? That was me. Recall the loose group of outcasts who didn’t fit into any other group and certainly didn’t play any sports? I was there. How about the kid who played right field in that long year of softball in elementary school? That was me.

I rose to some minor fame as a goalie in my brief junior high school soccer career and even scored a goal when we put the squeeze play on some team we beat mercilessly. By high school I ventured onto the cross-country running team for a year and came in dead last every practice except that glorious day when my nemesis – Chris, who always came in second-to-last, and who stood a full head shorter than I – had a cold.

I matched his pace for a while but the lust for fame overtook goodwill and I turned it on, my long-neglected legs and lungs given full vent at last. I left him in the dry Texas dust and claimed the Second To Last position for a day. That was the day, the only day, that I tasted what it is world-class athletes must know when they perform well. It was not that I had beaten Chris; it was that I had pushed myself and attained something I had not previously known.

That is the same feeling which captured me during my first karate classes as a university student, and which has continued to move me through the years as a martial artist. I have never had much interest in “normal” sports like basketball or football, and have instead been rather over-focused on Japanese and Chinese martial arts.

And I have somehow ended up in the midst of the world’s foremost athletic competition (and reputedly the biggest in Olympic history, by every measure), surrounded by athletes of all nations. I will learn more about sports this month than I have in my entire life. I may not ever do any of these sports, but I will finish my work here able to converse with sports fans from around the world.

Don’t worry, some things can’t be changed. When not cramming baseball or wrestling vocabulary in Chinese, I am running through tai ji quan routines upstairs as the crew works their technical magic downstairs. Things look good today – no troubles below means more free time for me above. And when the day is done, I am out the door, off to get in some martial arts training in the park.

hungry, thirsty, and gotta piss 2

August 6, 2008

Three days much the same – start my nebulous Olympics work in the morning, explore Beijing sites in the humid heat of the day (Olympic venue research), try to prepare for a job which still lacks any description. Afternoon crawls into evening, hope and hope for an early release from work, move toward the exit once the OK is given.

I carry a second backpack each day with a complete set of clothes and shoes for practice – just in case my work schedule allows it. Liu Laoshi is exceedingly kind and understanding and is basically on standby, waiting for my call each day…Yes, I can go….No, I cannot make it tonight…

First three days were all go. Race through the madness of Beijing transportation during the Olympics (a taxi – subway with three transfers – bus combination works the best, about 90 minutes one way) and then hustle through the park once I arrive. And there he is, waiting in his usual place, sipping tea in the evening breeze.

Yes, by the time I get there it is evening, past evening in fact and on into night. Each day I arrive in the same condition: have not eaten dinner, am quite thirsty, and need to use the restroom. Pissing is taken care of easily enough, and we start each lesson by sitting, chatting, and sipping hot water. The hunger is soon forgotten once in motion.

Each lesson feels too short. It is full and fulfilling in every way, but I want more. It is early in my one-month stay in Beijing, but already I fear it will pass too quickly and I will leave wishing I had found more time, even one more lesson, with Liu Laoshi.

It is dark by the time we finish and the breeze is wonderful each time we sit down for a short break. He is pushing me hard, but not into total exhaustion. I am covered in sweat within the first few minutes. The breaks are welcome, but I don’t want to waste a minute. But this is part of it – learning to relax, to slow down and not be driven to fill every minute. The tea-shop man waits for us to finish as usual, then helps us clear up the chairs and table.

Liu Laoshi guides me through the park to the back exit (open later than the others) and we separate near my bus stop. He says to call him the next day, anytime is OK. And off he fades into to the darkness. I dodge all manner of vehicles while crossing the street and let out a huge sigh once on the bus. Finishing this late at night has one more good point: a guaranteed seat on the bus.

I scribble post-practice notes as we wind through the Beijing night, grateful for the breeze coming in the windows as we move. At Hepingmen, I get out and re-fuel with beer and cheap-and-delicious Sichuan-lite fast food (nowhere nearly as spicy as the real stuff, but just right for me). Three subways later I arrive at Haidian Huangzhuang for a long walk back to the hotel.

Along the way, I stop and watch my newfound wushu friends. They practice on the sidewalk quite late every night. We exchanged nods the first night, words the second, and demos thereafter. Much more to come on this group…

The final stop before the hotel: a second refueling, with beer and chuar (various foods boiled on skewers). That provides enough energy to get me home, showered, internetted and into bed for the most needed recharging: sleep.

hungry, thirsty, and gotta piss

First complete day in Beijing and everything is good. Work is not terribly exciting yet, just driving around this vast and sprawling city, checking out various Olympic sites before the games open. 

The real story starts at 6 PM, when work is finished. I called Liu Laoshi and was surprised and happy to learn he would meet me this very night for our first practice. No time to waste, I sprinted toward the subway station.

Three subway transfers and a taxi ride later, I arrived a few minutes late and there he was, waiting for me as scheduled. My Chinese was put to the test but unnecessary - I was so glad to see him again after my solo visit to Beijing last November, few words were necessary. 70-something and still spry, he was just as usual - that growly Beijing version of Mandarin, using his two English words (yes and no) with great frequency, so eager to share his knowledge and experience.

Hearing that voice again is a great comfort. And I need some comfort. The hot water assuages thirst. But lunch was quite a while ago. Once I am in motion, though, I forget about the hunger instantly. That also solves the piss problem. Hot water does not help that but I can deal with it later, after the lesson. Work may interfere with practice at any time, and I need to get the most out of each class. 

730 PM means twilight and respite from the heat and humidity. My work schedule here in Beijing is extremely irregular but most days will be filled completely. He is quite willing to work around that schedule, to my relief. Even if it means going until 9 PM and later. This great flexibility of his (so different from many teachers of Japanese martial arts...) adds further comfort. 

745 PM, sit down and chat over hot water in the evening breeze as pink and orange fill the sky. We grab chairs and a table from the tea place he visits every day and passersby zoom in to check the conversation. We get up to stretch then get down to business and the passersby move along. 

Before coming to Beijing I had reviewed all my ba gua zhang well. But tonight he took me immediately into xing yi quan review. I was rusty but put in a good performance. He nailed me hard on the five basic fists but was relatively pleased with one of the forms (xing yi lian huan). 

We stopped a time or two for more water, a look at the stars, a listen to the leaves overhead. Then back into the motions, up and down the line. I wonder what it is like for those who live here in Beijing and study with him on a regular basis. True, my teacher in Tokyo is his student and maintains a very close relationship. I can move instantly from practicing with one to the other. But living far away, making a visit like this, adds a kind of magic to each meeting, a hunger to make the most of each moment. 

And that hunger is enough to overcome all the bodily needs crying out for attention. 

I recall nights going out to the outskirts of Tokyo  for karate in Hachioji- an almost two-hour commute each way after work. Same story - no time for dinner, no time for the toilet, but that forgotten once I put on the karate gi (uniform) before starting. Then, after practice, too tired to worry about food, only water was enough. But I have to confess, sometimes after practice as we sat kneeling in seiza and listening to various points, the urge to piss became almost overwhelming. While moving it was forgotten, but once still in seiza, my bladder began to scream with urgency, demanding attention and release. 

I also recall the glory days as a university student, spending more time in the dojo then on all my classes. 10 minutes to walk from morning class to the dojo for a daytime practice, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the way. Two of those classes back to back, an hour each. Then ten minutes to shower, change, and walk to an afternoon class (eating peanut butter and jelly sandwich number two on the way). I didn't think anything of it at the time. Nor did I think anything of going on to night class four evenings a week (at least with a full stomach). 

No longer in my 30s, I lead a bit more comfortable and staid life. But nights like tonight remind me of what is important, what needs to be given up, and what can be gained.