Give Us A Twirl

On another hot and steamy day in Dongguan, I find myself sitting in the spacious confines of the city's magnificent library. I use the word 'magnificent' advisedly, it truly is a wonder and there is nothing we have in Europe that compares to it as a public amenity. It also has the distinct advantage of being air conditioned which, in such a hot and sticky atmosphere as Dongguan possesses, is a distinct plus point. I am also feeling rather replete, having dined at a local Buddhist restaurant where they lay on the most generous spread each lunchtime. An entirely vegetarian affair, they often include grapes, bananas and/or pears to round off the already generous offerings. Today there is a choice of some 16 dishes, 5 soups and a range of dangao (cakes) and fried fancies. One can return to the trough as often as one desires – all for the princely sum of 15 yuan (approx. £1.50 or $2).

I have used this particular restaurant on several occasions since arriving in South China, the range and freshness of the food on offer being hard to resist, especially at such a reasonable price. The only problem has been that, as so often in my existence on this earth, I am struggling with an inability to resist temptation. On arrival in these parts, I was a sprightly and fit 101 kgs which, for my rather large frame, is not at all bad. Now, after only two weeks of regular indulgence, my weight has climbed to a rather portly 107 kgs. I even gave up the distinctly refreshing and unbelievably cheap (45p UK, 60 cents US) bottle of Tsingtao that I would imbibe at the end of each long day of diligently observing my flanneurial duties. Unfortunately, foregoing the pleasure of downing a cool beer at the end of the day seems to have had no measurable effect on the situation.

I have also been tempted into doing some exercise. In these conditions, walking two or three miles is normally enough, but it now seems necessary to supplement my flanneurial jaunts with some extra-mural calisthenics. So it was that when I came across a gentleman in the local square swinging nunchaku to and fro I became quite interested in learning this particular martial art myself. My companion here, a master at Tai Chi, was equally fascinated. Originally the intention was a few stretches and a round or two of qigong, but seeing this highly-skilled gentleman twirling the nunchaku with such dexterity aroused more than a little curiousity in us both.

Nunchuku (sometimes known as 'nunchucks' in the West) consist of two metal bars, each about 12 inches in length, connected by a sturdy piece of chain that is approximately 5 inches in length. Apparently, they were originally developed as a weapon from a wooden flail whose original purpose had been to pound rice in historic Okinawa. At the time, the Japanese had invaded the island and banned the possession of all weapons. The locals responded by teaching themselves karate skills and develop the use of such implements as staves and scythes as a means of defence.

The gentleman in the square who gyrated the nunchaku so skillfully turned out to be a Mr. Chen, a Shaolin trained master-artist who hailed from a small village in the Shandong district, just south of Beijing.  Apparently, his village has something of a tradition of training and teaching martial arts so, for Mr. Chen at least, this sort of thing runs in the family. This is by no means untypical of China, where certain areas will have certain specialisations, and even certain families be known for their expertise in certain fields. In Tai Chi in particular, it all gets a little too competitive, and perhaps just a bit silly, as each of the famous families involved tends to claim the right to the true lineage of Tai Chi (and, of course, the right to train the devotees at ever increasingly large fees).

 The idea appears to me that skills are passed down through the family line, usually from father to first born son. Though one imagines that genetics would have some bearing on the level of skill likely to be possessed, this sort of extreme attitude to the role of birth is hard to swallow. Although it often happens that a famous sportsman's son will follow him into that sport, rarely does that son display the same level of skill as his pater. There are exceptions of course, but the exceptions are so few that they rather lend support to the view that such extreme 'geneticism' cannot be based on anything more than belief.

The whole situation can become a very touchy subject, with each faction believing that they have the sole rights to the teaching of the given skill – and the right to denigrate the other families who are possessed by a contrary opinion.

Mr Chen, fortunately, seemed pleasantly free of such concerns, but his love for his art shines through his teaching and his attitude to his students. Mostly, he carries a demeanor of calm and patience – he scarcely ever raises his voice. When he does, just a few short, sharp words are enough to reassert the required discipline needed once again. He has clearly taught a range of fighting skills for many years now, as many photographs of him tutoring would-be martial artists of many nationalities demonstrate. My own desires in this area are far more modest; I simply wanted to learn how to use the nunchaku, hopefully without injuring myself in the process.

 Easier said than done! After a week now of twirling these bars  I have now successfully managed to hit my fingers more times than I care to remember, my elbows all too often and even managed to give myself quite a painful blow to the cranium on one occasion. My arms bear witness to my own ineptitude, with several bruises coming up nicely now. Still, there is something fascinating in the whole pursuit, something about the desire to get to grips with a very challenging skill, something in the feeling one gets when one actually does manage to manipulate the nunchaku skillfully. When it is going well, there is a certain sense of togetherness, of focus, of flow. It is a sense I have known in several other fields in the past, and each time I come across the state I enjoy it immensely.

There is also something rather lovely in that relaxed yet focus state which comes upon you as you practice well. Often, with me at least, it takes about 15 minutes of decreasing clumsiness before I get near that state. Each time I start at the moment, it feels like the first time all over again, but…. gradually, those periods of ineptitude are getting shorter and the feelings of competence becoming more and more sustained.

Mr. Chen looks upon my efforts with quiet and friendly eyes. He has seen it all before – the clumsiness, the incompetence, the frustration, but he knows that if one quietly perseveres the skills will come along in their own time. At first, I would curse under my breath or even, as few hear know when I am happily blaspheming, swear out loud. But gradually, session by session, I am learning to let go of that frustrating and simply pick the nunchaku up each time they clatter noisily to the ground and start all over again.

Weighing myself this morning, I still turn the scales at around 107 kg but … whether I lose weight or not exercising in such a way, I found myself both enjoying the learning of a new skill and, perhaps more importantly, re-learning the benefits of patience with one's own shortcomings.

Tucked away now in a quiet corner of the foreign books section of Dongguan library, I find myself smiling at the prospect of enjoying another session with my 'shifu' (master) later this evening. The gentleman in question is but few years older than me, but he is vastly more experienced in these areas. Martial arts here in China are, naturally, about fighting skills but, more than that, they are also a vehicle for one to learn about oneself, one's limitations and, ultimately, one's possibilities.  Beneath the combative exterior, there are layers upon layers of beliefs, philosophies and concepts.

Such notions deserves a little more attention than I have the time or the inclination to give today. It is an area, though, that I may well revisit in coming blogs. For now though, I must be on my way. Hopefully, barring too many blows to the head from fast moving sets of nunchaku, I will be in a position to continue my flanneurial activities next week.

Until then … Zaijian!