Finding a dojo

I remember the pot-bellied ceramic Buddha blissfully contemplating, the dark wooden sign with golden characters above the entrance, the giant black gecko on the wall licking its glistening eyes, and the well-worn lacquered wooden tables and the vague smell of some aromatic smoke. It was the early 1990s in Cape Town, outside was the inner city and in came the sound of traffic. This joint was a window into a vast new world. Out came the food, and I was handed to wooden sticks. My father attempted to show me how to use them, but struggled to do so himself. I used them like tongs, broken tongs that is. This was probably my first encounter with Asia, with a new culture from far far away, and I was fascinated - drawn to the strange flavors and the exotic aesthetic. This was my first taste of Asia. Left with a desire to explore Asia and to experience its cultures, this feeling has remained with me ever since.

Another childhood encounter with the East was The Karate Kid (1984) on VHS. For so many people of my generation who find themselves drawn to Asia, this film played a pivotal role in stoking the fires that would temper our passion for the East. No matter how cliché references to Mr Miyagi may seem, he was an important figure in film that exposed me to Asian culture. Asia was a mystery, a place far away, a culture with its own unique wisdom and its own unique paths, a place with exotic food and of course the home of martial arts. For me Asia is still this place, even as I look out the window here in Zhongguancun and fail to see the Western Hills through all this humidity and smog. There are days when I sit on a small fold out chair on a dusty pavement having some chuanr (kebabs) surrounded by a few inebriated chaps, when I think back to how this journey started. I know that it was that old Japanese man with the ponytail that guided me here.

Fast forward. I recently watched these films again. It had been a while since I had been to any sort of martial arts classes or done any training. I knew it was missing in my life, and so I used dazhongdianping (popular Chinese app for finding restaurants and places of interest), and quickly saw that the city has loads of dojos. Most teach full contact karate – also called kyokushin. My current sensei told me that in China most people learn karate to fight, instead of some more traditional aspects such as kata. Makes sense. Kyokushin turns your body into steel, and gives you the ability to take a beating as well as hand them out. A hard style for a hard city I guess.

I have huge respect for kyokushin practitioner Judd Reid, an aussie now living in Thailand, who completed the 100 man kumite back in 2011. If ever you want to know of a test that is only for a select few, it is this one. Fighting 100 black belts, one by one, and still standing at the end – then you have what it takes and more. Then you can call yourself a badass. Allowed.

Having always been more drawn to traditional karate, I have decided to learn goju ryu, one of the major Okinawan styles. The style, like the culture of the island it calls home, was shaped by its proximity to China. Higaonna Kanryo, one of Chojun Miyagi’s (founder of goju ryu) teachers, travelled to Fuzhou in 1873 to deepen his knowledge of martial arts and went on to study with various Chinese masters. It is easy to see these southern kung fu roots in goju ryu. Sanchin, the most important kata of goju ryu, was one such import. Sanchin kata is not very Hollywood, yet it is very real. A firm stance, slow purposeful moves, deep breathing and an incredible rigour of body and mind. Stand firm, withstand every blow or shove, keep going. While practicing this kata at home I cannot help but feel this is not just a kata, but an attitude, a spirit, to live your life by.

I looked on amazon.cn, taobao and JD, struggling to get hold of a real karate-gi (uniform). I decided to stop messing around and ordered one from Japan, heavy cotton canvas that will last, and hopefully my determination will too. The suit arrived after two weeks, and as expected it was great quality and a perfect fit. This is my new skin, my robes for this journey into karate, a path I had almost forgotten. Bring it on.

For me putting on the white karate gi is almost a spiritual practice. The suit to me symbolizes an attempt to purify the mind, the heart and to turn my body into steel. At this point my aim is no longer to be the best, to win any competitions or even to perform in front of anyone. My aim is to train my being, on all levels, to challenge myself daily and to grow. I want to develop and never stop moving forward no matter what obstacles I encounter. This is my 100 man kumite, and I may be knocked down but I will always keep standing up again.

A pot-bellied colleague walks past me, my screen is covered in characters no longer exotic, the company’s core values hang on the wall, as I sit here at my desk working on another editing job. My reasons for being in Asia have not changed fundamentally. I remain as curious as back in that restaurant in Cape Town, I still feel as drawn to the culture if not more so. Since the recent government meetings here in Beijing the urban landscape seems filled with the official slogan 不忘初心/bu wang chu xin (never forget why you started), and I plan to do just that.

Lamb for your frozen ears

The grey skies stirred outside, the wind beating against the windows of my office. Then all of a sudden these mean concrete streets were sprinkled with a white powder. Falling fluffs of white ice lingered outside the windows. Luckily I had brought my navy Eisenhower jacket, as I was about to travel south to Zhengzhou for Qingmingjie (清明节), also known as Tomb Sweeping Day. My hands and ears were a bit frosty as I walked to the subway station, headed to Beijing West Railway Station.

As it would turn out, this trip was to be all about jiaozi (饺子), dumplings usually filled with both ground meat and vegetables. Jiaozi are serious business in China, usually eaten on special occasions such as spring festival. Jiaozi are a symbol of family and the holidays, and making them is a way for families to bond during the holidays. They also happen to taste pretty damn good.

There are many versions about the origin of jiaozi. One version tells of how Zhang Zhongjing, a famous TCM practitioner, used jiaozi to treat frostbitten ears. He found that poor nourishment and insufficient warm clothing in winter caused many residents to suffer from frostbitten ears. He used dough to make small thin pancakes, called “skin”, and filled them with his special recipe filling made of lamb, pepper and herbs. He boiled these small packets and gave the jiaozi and broth to his patients prior to Chinese New Year. To this day Chinese people still have the tradition of eating jiaozi on the winter solstice (冬至) to avoid the ears freezing and falling off.

At university here in Beijing my friends started calling me Mr Jiaozi, after I had jiaozi nearly every day – not needing the reason of a special occasion to have my favorite dish. I was also living on a scholarship, so my budget for lunch was about 10rmb. Few things are as amazing in life, as jiaozi with lots of vinegar and chilli. A simple meal, and hardy like a Beijing taxi driver.


Your life is like a plate of jiaozi
In the winter of your life the plate will become empty
Each day might seem dull and plain, like their dull complexion
Savour the moment, dip your jiaozi in a sea of heavenly chilli, vinegar and soya sauce


I was on my way to Zhengzhou to spend time with my Hui family. Hui (回族) are one of China’s many ethnic groups, they are also muslim. For this reason pork, which is the filling of most jiaozi in China, is off the menu. So I was about to try a new type of jiaozi, and a slightly different experience.

We are like jiaozi
We might all look the same
Folded by two heavenly hands
Yet our filling is unique

And then there was dough.

The large piece of dough was rolled into a long log, and then cut into small pieces with a cleaver. These pieces were then pressed flat and covered in flour. The next person put the “skin” on their upturned hand, cupping it slightly before adding a lump of lamb and jiucai (韭菜) filling onto the skin. The skin is then skillfully closed around the filling and sealed, creating a lamb filled packet which looks a bit like an ear if done correctly. The jiaozi are then put on a large mat called a bi (箅), waiting to be cooked.

Apart from the skin and the filling, the other essential matter is the sauce you use to dip your jiaozi in. The sauce we had was a mixture of vinegar, soya sauce, chilli oil and garlic. The quality of these ingredients makes a big difference to the final experience.


Life is like making jiaozi
You hold the “skin” in one hand and add the filling
It might seems hard to create the perfect jiaozi
We create our own perfection in the here and now

The plate of shuijiao (水饺), boiled jiaozi are literally called “water dumplings”, was placed in the center where it belongs and we all sat down for dinner. The jiaozi had a much chewier taste than usual as the skin was much thicker than those I have had before. The skin was almost like the thick noodles of huimian (烩面). The lamb itself was very good quality, like the lamb back in South Africa and Namibia. The dip was just the cherry on top, like a bomb of flavors. Lamb jiaozi are just that! These jiaozi are quite big, and the more you have the hungrier you get. The beer helped wash them down. Sort of like life, the more we have the more we want. We often suffer from tunnelvision, and fail to enjoy the moment. Like beer, life can be bubbly and yet it can also be bitter, but it definitely helps you get through a big plate.

Apart from hulatang (糊辣汤) and huimian, the Longmen Grottoes (龙门石窟), White Horse Temple (白马寺) and some other sights, I will remember lamb jiaozi whenever I think of Zhengzhou.


Life is like a jiaozi restaurant
It can steam, boil or fry you
Although your skin might become crispy or even soft
You will end up stronger


Getting on the train bound for Beijing, I felt warm and luckily my ears were still attached. Strokes of white decorated the great blue canvas above. Fields and residential compounds rushed by, as I sat back thinking of where to wander next.

 

See the article on Radii:

https://radiichina.com/holidays-history-and-dumplings-with-a-hui-muslim-family/ 

Nantang (南堂), 4th March 2018

Sometimes I enjoy walking aimlessly, to get a feel for a place, to wander and wonder.

After the hibernation of the spring festival, I decided to go down to Xuanwumen after seeing an image of its famous cathedral, an image I was strangely drawn to. Located in the south-western part of the inner city, Xuanwumen was traditionally a place for the common folk, vegetable sellers and also the site of executions in Old Beijing. Corpses would leave the city through this gate in imperial times, which was unfortunately torn down in the 1960s.

Regardless of how much I love staying home on weekends to watch documentaries or old films, I find myself itching to go out and explore the might-be-torn-down-tomorrow streets of Beijing.

Across from where the historic gate once stood, rises the grey façade of The Church of Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the oldest catholic church in the city. As I stood there looking up at the intricate brickwork, the white cross on top, the stain glass windows, the barren branches swaying with their Christmas decorations still on and the blaring sound of Chinese Christian hymns all around. I was now deep in the world of Chinese Catholicism, down here in Old Beijing.

There in front of me stood a connection to Beijing’s past. The current structure had been completed in 1904, but in that place this church has stood since 1650 and around this site are scattered the bones of its past. The boxers had once raised it to the ground, yet somehow it survived the chaos and terror of the Cultural Revolution.

The skeleton of the church, the brick skin, looks like something right out of an old European town square. The stained glass windows look slightly less than antique, the electronic signs out front remind us where we are, but the feel of the place is old world missionary zeal and faith.

I remembered I was here to go to mass, and so I stepped inside and took a seat. 30 minutes early, and by the time it started the house was packed like a line 1 subway carriage.

“Welcome… brothers and sisters… of God.”

As mass commenced I got a sense of why this church had managed to survive centuries of turmoil. To see this church and community thriving, inspired me and gave me hope. I looked to my left at a wrinkly veteran who was holding her rosary firmly in her delicate hands as she kneeled during mass. Her bible was well worn, like a ticket book on a bus to Xiangshan, kept in her bag as she walked through the maze of alleys that are either crumbling or being torn down.

Holding out to the uncertainty of the world around, clinging to the teachings. Like this rock of religious faith clinging to the shifting sands, Nantang remains a symbol of Xuanwumen and of Beijing.

Similarly, I cling to this city for it is home and it is my inspiration.

If you have time one Sunday morning, swing by Nantang for mass, I guarantee you will not regret it.