Kuai Bar

Writing this as the end of my month in Beijing draws near and events begin to blend together, too many unfinished tasks piled up…Thinking back to one of the first nights I met the group practicing martial arts on the sidewalk down the road from my hotel. I stood and watched a while, ventured to plunk down my bags. They watched me awhile. Then kuai bar man came over and struck up a conversation. – warm and open from the first night I met them.

I may have waited too long, but I decided a few nights back to begin kuai ban (kuai bar), a pair of wooden percussion instruments which Mr. Liu (not my 72-year-old bagua zhang and xingyi quan teacher) teaches in addition to helping teach the group’s staff fighting techniques. We had, over the weeks, shared conversation and a bit of practice but I was still hesitant to take the plunge.

But that night was right. Liu Laoshi was busy, so I went to their little area on the pavement and asked to practice by myself in the open area behind them. I had a long stretch (heard their murmurs of approval), had an excellent solo bagua session, getting ready for the next day with Liu Laoshi.

Somewhere in that long and late session, I was called over and introduced to a partner stick drill which moves at a damn fast pace and left me with a couple sore knuckles and a banged forehead from missed blocks. I hadn’t intended to formally start with this group, but now the wheels were in motion.

We finished well after midnight, maybe 12:30. The school-age members of the group had gone home “early” at 11 PM. Mr. Liu and I walked back partway together, and I invited him to the chuar shop for sticks and beer. Chuar (or “chuan”, in the standard dialect) is bits of various food skewered and slowly boiled in a spicy soup. This particular shop is more of a stall and a collection of stools. It will not win any awards for excellence in sanitation, but the people there (from Anhui Province) welcomed me warmly from my first visit, and I feel more comfortable there than most restaurants.

It was a little crowded, so we moved across the street and sat on some concrete benches. Before long, a slow rain began to fall, so we moved under the eaves. Soft rain, post-practice beer and eats…all seemed right in the world. Then he added to the atmosphere by pulling out his kuaibar and providing a beat for the spontaneous rhymes that began to pour out. I could have sat there all night, munching on skewers and downing beers.

When it rains, they close up shop, so we finished our beers and sticks and moved on. Walking along in less rain, he had me clack out a rhythm on one clapper while he worked a complicated rhythm with the other and did his rhyming. There we were, walking down the street, carrying staves and making music in the drizzle. I could have walked across the city just making my clack-clack-clack noise and watching the taxi drivers watch us.

We reached the bridge and went our separate ways. I listened to the sound of his kuai bar fading in the distance behind me. My time in Beijing is much too short to make much progress with the kuai bar or the staff routines of this group, but I am sure I will make contact with this group again next time I am here.