A Dangerous Exercise ...

Today my flaneurial duties find me gently lapping at a bowl of 'dou nai', which roughly translates to, warm soya milk (with a little added sugar). It is a great favourite in these parts and is often given away free with meals. In this particular café, they charge the exorbitant sum of 1 Yuan (10p or 16 cents) if you take some with your morning meal. I hesitate to say breakfast as it is already 10.30 in the morning;  another late night due to the demands of my friend's addiction to tai chi, demands which sometimes mean that I get dragged into taking exercises of various sorts very late in the evening.      

          My friend is a great devotee of Tai Chi itself whereas I only tend to indulge in some of the more esoteric offshoots such as 'Qigong' (energy work) and 'Pai Da' , a form of exercise therapy that involves slapping various strategic points on the body. The latter I find particularly enjoyable although it does tend to border on the masochistic at times. In the version we practice, one slaps five different locations; the inside of the elbows, the armpits, the groin (carefully!), the backs of the knees and the insteps of the feet. When I say slap, I don't mean a gentle tap but a full-blooded, vigourous slap, the effect of which feels as if the skin is being stung, hard and continuously. This is repeated a large number of times until the blood raises to the surface and the area thus treated has turned quite red. At least, that is the hoped for result. Other colours, in theory at least, indicate an imbalance in the body's energy that will necessitate drawing out with yet more slapping. The exact imbalance is indicated by the precise colour that comes to the surface of the skin.

          Many of these practices, like Tai Chi itself, go back centuries and are deeply rooted in the Chinese psyche. One sees them everywhere in the squares and parks of Chinese cities, sometimes even 'en masse' as hundreds of people will be practising a given sequence together. There are numerous sequences advocated by the various different schools of Tai Chi, passed down partly through the written word but mostly from Shifu (master) to pupil. Some pupils then go on to becomes Shifus themselves and so it goes on down through the years. Some masters even claim direct lines of descent, Shifu to pupil, going back to the origins of Tai Chi itself.

          There was a brief stage though, a decade or so in length, when this sequence was very nearly broken and Tai Chi itself nearly became merely an historical artefact rather than the living, growing cultural phenomenon that it is today. This period was known as the 'Cultural Revolution' and lasted from the mid sixties to the early seventies. Tai Chi was deemed by the advocates of the Cultural Revolution to be reactionary and hence unworthy of being followed by the Chinese populace. Practitioners were persecuted, some even ended up in prison where not a few were unable to survive the extremely harsh conditions imposed by the Chinese penal system of the time.

          The Shifu of the person who teaches my friend is now a venerable old man in his mid eighties, though it is difficult to tell from his upright posture and the smooth and beautifully co-ordinated movements he makes when he goes through a sequence. He lives in a large city in Sichuan province which today is enjoying the benefits of a booming economy and a good standard of living. It was not always thus though. Back in the sixties it was caught up in the storm that was the Cultural Revolution and he himself came very close to being imprisoned for his 'counter-revolutionary' activities.

          He had to promise to not only stop only teaching Tai Chi but to give up personally practising it himself. He found the latter promise impossible to keep though. At this stage of his life he had already been practising for many years and he was aware of the enormous benefits that such continuous practise had bought him. He chose to continue but to be very quiet about it. Sometimes he would practise in the dead of night at home when he thought all his neighbours must be asleep. Sometimes he slunk off in the middle of the night and practised in the local forest or in the cemetery. On one of these sojourns to the graveyard he even came across the man who had been his Shifu beforehand, the tow men practising an exercise known as 'push hands' together.

          The Cultural Revolution was, in one sense, an event unique to China but in another just a repetition of a sequence that has gone on for centuries. The leaders of revolutions, and generally those who seize power through violence, seem to suffer an enormous fear, a paranoia if you will, that that power so taken will be taken away from them, and maybe in a similarly violent way to which they had acquired it in the first place. In reaction to this there is often an attempt to almost start history anew, as if they could re-invent the whole of society in exactly the way they wish it to be, usually with themselves held up as the supreme leader. Even calenders may be reset to year zero (as was the case with French Revolution and with the Khmer Rouge). Perhaps this could be thought of as the ultimate in control-freakery.

          The French Revolution could be thought of as one example, although in that particular case the violent and irrational forces unleashed by the revolutionaries rebounded on themselves (Robespiere being one of many who suffered this particular fate).  Pol Pot's Cambodia would be another, perhaps even more extreme case. Mao's China a third, although the cultural revolution came some years after the original revolution when Mao could see that his grip on power was waning following the disaster of his economic policy known, somewhat ironically it would seem now, as 'The Great Leap Forward' (perhaps more aptly termed 'The Great Fall Backwards!'). Mao is often called 'The Great Helmsman' in China and that would be true, if you think that a great helmsman is someone who steers his ship onto the rocks! He is often treated almost like a deity, the disaster of his policies ignored in a strangely enduring cult of personality. The man actually responsible for much of the economic and social progress in China today, Deng Xiaoping, is barely ever mentioned.

          Indeed, it was Deng Xiaoping who as leader deemed that there was, after all, nothing wrong with Tai Chi. After years of being fearful to practise their art, people started to emerge into the light once again and Tai Chi once more resumed the cultural role that it had played in China over many hundreds of years. Unfortunately, it was too late for some. The Shifu of the man who practised in the cemetery was apprehended one day soon after and, after a perfunctory trial, sent to a labour camp. He never returned. Now his pupil is a great Shifu in his own right and held in great respect across China. How times change...

          My friend is not only a great devotee of these arts but is, in truth, a very skilful practitioner too. I, for my part, am a mere dilettante as far as these things go. I must admit though, despite its sometimes painfully masochistic quality, there is something very energising about Pai Da. Fifteen minutes of such exercises leaves one literally buzzing with energy in a way that conventional exercise never does. One may be feeling a little tired or jaded at the start but by the time the short session is finished you feel like you could take on the planet! I am not sure that I buy into ideas of Chi as a universal energy source but... I have to admit the affects of the practices. They are very direct and very difficult to ignore. Also, when one sees men in their mid eighties prancing around like teenagers it does tend to give one pause for thought. I am not sure how or why it works, but it is clear that something very significant is triggered by these strange but somehow very effective forms of exercise.

          Back in the café I finish off my second bowl of dou nai by picking it up and sipping directly from the bowl. The longer I am in China the more I seem to be picking up the local habits. It may be a good idea to be a little conscious of this if and when I eventually return to the West, slurping from bowls is generally not 'de rigeur' in those parts. I am also sorely tempted to have another portion of chang fen, a very pleasant and very filling dish that is not dissimilar to lasagne, but without the cheese. At the princely sum of 3.5 Yuan (35p or 50 cents) it is hard to resist but I growing increasingly aware of my ever increasing waistline – it has been doing so steadily  since I arrived in China, despite the amount of exercise I have done. Better to resist for now methinks and leave it for another day.

          The sun is out, it is around 20C and I sit here in shirt sleeves watching the world go by enjoying the last of my drink and another completed blog. Life could be a lot worse...

          

Love and Loathing: Muay Thai in Chiang Mai

This bright March morning I find myself in the somewhat pleasantly anonymous environs of The Thaepae Gate Hotel in Chiang Mai. It is modern, minimalist and an example of what the architects used to call the international style. The rather odd idea, very popular in the sixties and seventies, was that architecture should no longer relate to the cultural heritage and materials of its location but be essentially examples of a style that could be found anyway. My own instincts would be against such a notion, I rather like hotels to reflect local materials and customs, but I have to admit that on this particular occasion the place does have a peaceful and pleasant ambience ideal for tapping away happily on a netbook (they also do a very reasonable breakfast with as much coffee and orange juice as one could desire for 100 baht ($2)....)

Chiang Mai has turned out to be a city of violent contrasts, and I use the word 'violent' advisedly. There are a huge number of Wats (Buddhist Temples) in the city, somewhere between 250 and 300 depending on whose estimate you read. These Wats are almost invariably beautiful in design and offer the weary traveller refuge from the sun and a place to sit and contemplate if one should feel the need. On the other hand, Chiang Mai is also a very active centre for the practice of the sport of 'Muay Thai', simply translated as Thai Boxing. It is not boxing as a Westerner would understand it however, as the practitioner is allowed to employ his feet, knees, elbows and fists and so therefore such bouts tend to be far more intense, and much more like a street fight, than the Western version.

Many Westerners come to the city of Chiang Mai in order to train in this most demanding of martial arts. It has the reputation of being one of the most effective fighting forms after a series of bouts in the last years of the 20th century pitched practitioners of various schools of martial arts against each other. Some proved more effective than others and Muay Thai won the reputation of being one of the most effective at a practical level. Some of the Westerners, after completing their training, stay and compete. Some of the more skilful and brave even go on to become Muay Thai champions.

Martial arts, as a study, is a strange thing to be attracted to. Naturally it has its dangers, one can get seriously hurt doing these things. It also has a degree of intensity that is difficult to find in other sports. Being involved in direct competitions using these martial arts skills can produce a certain adrenalin rush. In my far distant youth I was a fairly proficient judo practitioner (judoka) and even competed in championships at a national level. I remember the nervousness experienced before one competed, but also how quickly that nervousness dissipated once you were actually on the mat. Such things as having a fairly large opponent intent on doing some fairly serious damage to you does tend to focus one's attention wonderfully!

These days I usually find myself averse to such extremes and tend to be a much gentler soul. Still, at times, I do enjoy watching boxing although I have to admit to a certain degree of moral ambivalence. I dislike the idea of the possibility of people getting hurt for my entertainment but, on the other hand, I find it hard not to enjoy the displays of courage, skill and character that are intrinsic to such sports. So it was, after thinking about it for a week, that I decided to take the plunge and watch my first Muay Thai bouts at the Thaepae Boxing Stadium near the gate of the same name in the old city.

On entering, I found the inside of the stadium to be quite unlike any Western equivalent save for the presence of a well-lit ring at its centre. The venue probably held around a thousand people or so seated on wooden benches with makeshift tables in front of them. The reason for the tables was that here, unlike in the UK, drinking was not only allowed it was positively encouraged! One could, if one so desired, also order basic meals which felt to me to be slightly incongruous in such a situation. Touts offering bets on the bouts were also actively encouraged. The odds are always “one one” or evens, as it would be expressed in Western parlance. The trick was merely to choose the fighter you felt most likely to win without the need to haggle any further. Getting one's bets on may prove difficult though. Those you would wish to take the bet have a good eye for the action and so, apart from pre-fight bets, it can be hard to get a bet matched once the fight is in progress.

The audience themselves were an eclectic admixture of all sorts of nationalities representing the cosmopolitan make up of the city of Chiang Mai itself. There were also a fair amount of Thais who seem to love their own form of martial art deeply. Perhaps slightly more surprisingly, the audience was made up of at least 33% of females, probably more, almost all of whom were Westerners. It reminded me of something I had read about the ancient gladiatorial games in the days of the Roman Empire. Apparently, even back then, women were some of the most enthusiastic spectators for such 'sports'.

The evening began with a demonstration bout with two practitioners dressed in traditional attire showing some of the more spectacular moves from the sport. Although merely a demo, they seemed to exhibit a degree of enthusiasm and commitment that threatened, at times, to spill over into a genuine fight such was the intensity.

The first fight proper was between two very lightweight practitioners, the match being made at 100lbs. My original thought as I watched these two tiny mites was that at least they won't do too much damage to each other. How wrong I was! The fight started cagily, the two combatants circling carefully around each other bouncing on the front foot seeking openings in the opponent's defence. Then, suddenly, one of the fighters lunged forward with a high kick to the head. The second fighter caught hold of the out-flung leg and pulled the kicker onto his blow. He struck with great power and the sound of glove thudding against head drew an empathic groan from the audience. After a flurry of such blows and several knees to the ribs, the fighters were separated by the referee. The rest of the round took a similar course, cagey circling followed by sporadic bursts of speed and power.

To watch such a display is a strangely compulsive experience. At one level, one feels a little horrified and fears for the well-being of the contestants. At another, there is a compelling quality which one may not particularly approve of but which is undeniably powerful at the same time. I have to admit that I found myself drawn into the intensity of the experience.

The second round started at a much higher tempo. The fighter in the blue corner seemed to forever be smiling at his opponent. Not just a sly grin either, but a huge toothy and apparently friendly smile that made it difficult not to like him. There was no artifice in his expression. His opponent would acknowledge the smiles with little nods of his own. One of the aspects that one could not help but note as the evening drew on was the implicit and explicit respect between these guys, so different from the 'bad-mouthing' that often mars boxing competitions.

Suddenly, in the centre of the ring, there was a lightning fast exchange of blows completed with an awful thud as the smiler's elbow crashed into nodder's head. The audience gasped. It had happened so quickly that one could scarcely see it. Nodder swayed, attempted to straighten, swayed again and went down on all fours. The referee began counting but after three seconds nodder turned over onto his back and it became obvious that the fight was over. Smiler immediately came over and knelt beside his opponent, clearly concerned at the damage he had done, an oddly sweet gesture given the circumstances.

There were a grand total of seven bouts on the program for the evening. Each and every one of them ended with a stoppage. This ring was no place for faint hearts. Whether one approves or not, one has to admit that the courage shown by these combatants, knowing the cost of losing, was impressive indeed.

The final bout was between an impressively muscled French fighter by the name of Oumar and a Thai opponent. Oumar appeared to be beautifully prepared with scarcely an ounce of fat on his 150lb body. After just a few seconds of the bout it became clear that his speed would prove difficult for the Thai. The Frenchman was some four inches taller which allowed him to dominate from the early seconds. The Thai fought gamely but succumbed to a crunching kick to the shins (a common and effective tactic in Muay Thai) early in the second round.

As I wondered back through the still crowded, late-night streets of Chiang Mai to my hotel I reflected on the evening's experience. In some ways my response was ambiguous, paying to watch people fight each other is not something I have done often in my life but, on the other hand, I could not deny the intensity and immediacy of the experience. I had, it must be admitted, enjoyed it. Muay Thai does not need my approval or disapproval, it will go on whether I agree with it or not. Westerners of a more adventurous disposition will still be drawn to learning these skills and the more successful ones will want to prove their prowess in the ring. I will pass no judgement but will express my admiration for the skill and bravery of these people. Such qualities, I think, have to be admired.

Back in the Thaepae Gate Hotel yesterday evening's excitement seems a world away. All is quiet now save for the trickling of the ubiquitous fountain on the balcony outside and the occasional tip-tapping of the waitresses shoes echoing in the minimalist interior as she clears the detritus left by yet another customer. Thailand seems wonderful and awful in turn. Cruel and kind, loving and callous, deep and facile; it has a way of making one examine even one's mostly deeply held beliefs. There is an intensity to life here, a vibrancy, a colour that stands in sharp contrast to the place I originate from. Love it or hate it, it is difficult to be indifferent to this land and this culture.