Welcome to IOGKF Shurenkai Tokyo !!
Wednesday Training Session
= Real Okinawan Goju Training with Tadano Sensei =
Time & Venue : Every Wednesday 19:00-21:00
@ Shibuya Tokyo (Shoto Junior high school gym)
Black belt IOGKF JPY2000/month or JPY12000/Year
(as YUDANSHA-KAI administrative cost)
White & Color belt JPY5000/month
(as training fee)
Contact needed in advance :
@shurenkai_karate@yahoo.co.jp
Essay of Jeff (3rd Dan IOGKF USA) -----------------------------
Training in Japan
At around 4:00 in the afternoon, I leave my wife and kids at home as I head off to my Wednesday karate class here in Japan. I won't see them until the next day, so I make sure to spend a little extra time saying goodbye. I walk down our quiet little street, turn a few corners and make it to the bus stop in only a couple minutes. Being of German ancestry (second-generation even), I arrive a bit early but with full knowledge of when that blessedly reliable Japanese bus will arrive.
The green Senshu University bus takes me down to the train station. I sit quietly reading a book or trying to learn an extra word or phrase in my Langenscheidt J-E/E-J Dictionary, which I will promptly forget once I'm two minutes out of the bus. In the meantime, hope springs eternal. The others on the bus maintain the same silence, although there were two people talking on the bus yesterday, I think it was.
We pull into the North Lot and I can slowly walk over to Mugogaoka-Yuen station for my train. The machine reads my Pasmo card, and I walk through the narrow shoot. Up the stairs, remembering to look at the arrows painted on the ground to see which side I should be on? Japan follows the British model of traffic, and so I need to walk on the "other" side. The problem is that I've been here a little while, and so I forget which is normal and which is "other?" And what happens if I don't? Will my silent Japanese traveling companions think I'm stupid? rude? Do they do it sometimes?
Down the stairs to the platform. I glance at the schedule; the Express will be here in 12 minutes. OK. Maybe next time I should plan my schedule more carefully so I don't have to waste all this time. I have time to position myself carefully so that I will enter the train at just the right spot, so when I leave it at the next station, I will be in a prime position to get to the next platform. It also gives me time to watch people, an old and dear hobby.
At this time of day there aren't too many salarymen and women in their identical suits, staring blankly ahead. This station at this time is full of college students on their way home or somewhere. The guys favor the mophead look with skinny jeans and oversized shirts or jackets. If this is to be the fashion in Snyder County, PA in a few years, I'll remain out of fashion. The ladies are a remarkable looking lot. The color combinations seem to be picked at random, but I'm told there is rationale to mixing yellow, black, purple and turquoise. OK. From the waste down, half of them look like prostitutes: daringly short skirts or shorts (but never revealing the bottom of the cheek!) and high heel shoes or boots. From the waste up, Victorian standards seem more the norm, as cleavage is nowhere to be found, collars are at the neck, and long sleeves and scarfs (yes, even when it's warm) are quite common. Japanese fashion clearly favors the leg-man.
I glance at my watch. There are only 30 seconds left until the train's appointed arrival time, and I don't see it down the track. Strange. I glance back and forth from my watch to the track, wondering what is amiss. Could there have been one of those "jumpers" I've heard about? No, the train is just a minute late ? something to notice but not really all that uncommon. Two minutes late, and that would be something to share with others the next day!
The train is far from empty, but not the "sardine" situation that people talk about. I slide my backpack up on the luggage rack and pull out my book. Three stops on the Express doesn't take too long, but the thrill of riding a Japanese train disappeared over a month ago. I notice again on the map that there is a triangle instead of a circle at the Kyodo stop, which means sometimes we stop there, and sometimes we don't. I still have no idea what times that little triangle represents, so it means I can't absentmindedly count stops.
We make our stops at Noborito (a name which still makes me smile, thinking of a Nazi Mexican chef denying customers their fare if they do not follow the rules), Seijingaokasomething-mae , maybe Kyodo, and then Shimo-Kitazawa. I positioned myself quite effectively, and I can quickly make it up the stairs to the next platform and catch the next train to Shibuya. The next train is always more crowded, but not really a problem, unless you are an agoraphobe or claustraphobe. Do those conditions exist in Japan? God pity those who have them.
Shibuya is a whole other world compared to our quaint little Kawasaki City or other parts of Tokyo. This is fancy-schmancy Tokyo, with stores filled with ridiculously priced items that only evil rich people would buy. People are dressed to impress and be seen ? except me, of course. I'm dressed for comfort on these evenings, but I still look better than the vagabond Gaijin who are here looking for themselves, teaching a little English, and spending up their trust funds.
I make my way down past Hachiko the dog, who is still waiting for his master, and head to the restaurant I'm patronizing this month. I had enough ramen and gyoza last month, so now it's a Thai restaurant. Walking up the street, people with megaphones yell at the pedestrians. I wonder if anyone ever responded to that approach and went in one of the stores to buy a new cellphone or whatever. The ladies here are decked out even morec remarkably. Pale Japanese girls with yellow (no, not blond) hair look like Hollywood hookers to me... again, from the waist down only. Of course, I've never been to Hollywood, but that's how I suspect they look.
I pass pachinko joints, tiny restaurants, coffee shops, and make it to my favorite Thai place. The staff greets me now in Thai, because they know I can speak three phrases in their language. But the solidarity we feel is not based on my mumbled "Sawaat di krap," but the fact that we are foreigners together. The common Asian race means nothing in a country where everyone is either Japanese or Gaijin, and once Gaijin, always Gaijin. The food is good, but I always feel a little ripped off with the portion size, not just here but everywhere in Japan. Maybe that's healthier, I suppose. I reflect back and realize that walking through Japan, about every 500th person is overweight, and half of them are probably Americans. Well, I'll need calories to burn, so I'll get an appetizer or dessert as well. Considering I'm in Shibuya, the prices are really quite reasonable here.
I pay my bill, ride the elevator back down to street level, and walk up the street to one of the ubiquitous corner convenience stores to buy my bottle of Pocari Sweat for after class. Then it's down past a couple of nightclubs, a few quiet streets lined with the houses and cars of Shibuya's elite, and through the gate of the junior high school in whose gym we have class. While class starts at 7:00, I usually get there between 6:00 and 6:10 to slowly warm up and get some extra practice time.
I put on my dogi (no one says "gi" in Japan, it seems) and then proceed to prepare the room for practice. I carry over the chi-ishi and tan from the closet, hang up the heavy bag, and attach the makiwara to the wall. We use a makiwara attached to a car tire that can be easily hung and removed when borrowing another's space for practice. After two months of trying, I am finally able to hang the makiwara to everyone's standards; no more "It's an inch too high," or "The ropes are too loose," explained with a smile.
While I arrive first, it's not long before others start trickling in. We greet each other with a formal rei and onegaishimasu or whatever abbreviation they've made that into ? sometimes, but not always, reduced to a simple ossu. There's no chatting or socializing; people warm up and work out on their own quietly and diligently. Tadano Sensei arrives and we hurry to greet him with the same bow and wish for time well spent together. Then it's back to our original training.
I notice that 7:00 has come and gone, and so now we are officially training "Okinawan style," that is, to each his own. Most of this is solitary, but occasionally we will grab a partner and work on some kakie or randori. Around 7:30, while Tadano Sensei continues his own training, he directs one of the students to begin class. One of the more senior students (but never the lone Gaijin, understandably) lines us up and we begin working on kihon (i.e. basics). Basics give way to moving basics and finally to partner drills. The emphasis is often on sport karate techniques when the young university guys are preparing for competition. I diligently practice my reverse punches, hoping the tendonitis in my right shoulder does not get any worse. Hope still springs eternal. While we men cycle through partners, the two ladies in the group only work with one another, despite the fact that they are certainly proficient enough to work with the men. But this is Japan ? egalitarianism between the genders is not what it is in the US. And besides, they aren't training for self-defense, so why work with some big sweaty guy ? better to work with someone of the same size.
Tadano Sensei then comes over and we work on kata. This is the point in class when I look over at Morikoshi Sempai, practicing the same kata, and I feel really slow. I would say I feel old and slow, but Morikoshi san is only a couple years younger than I. While there is a sports influence in kumite, there is none in kata ? no shiteikata for this bunch, thank you very much! While I've been practicing these kata for many years, and have had them watched over by some very senior instructors, I am still learning new things from Tadano Sensei. The elbows need to be in more on toraguchi and the 180 degree turn in kururunfa. Pull the hands back more strongly before morote tsuki in saifa and gekisai dai ichi. The right hand moves further behind the back before the furitsuki in seipai. What I appreciate most about Tadano Sensei is not only that he will make sure I learn the kata the way he was taught, but that he explains the "why" of each movement. Movements aren't corrected merely for the sake of history but martial effectiveness. Who knew little movements in sanchin held such practical application for specific self-defense waza?
As we approach 9:00, I'm looking at the clock, a bit disappointed in myself for wanting class to be over, but still wanting class to be over. With the efficiency of the trains, the class ends right at 9:00. We rush to put away the equipment, which I am a bit lax about, since I put it all out at the beginning of class. Morikoshi and I grab quick showers in the facilities which have no hot water ? an increasing challenge as the months grow colder ? while the others put their clothes on over sweaty bodies. I always seem to be the last one ready, even though I rush and have laid out my clothes in proper dressing order before class. I hurry up the steps, bid a quick domo or arigato gozaimashita to the lady at the desk, and we head off to "build solidarity."
When there's a small group, we head to the tiny, smoke-filled izakaya filled with cool Japanese stuff on the walls. Tonight, we have a bigger group, so we proceed over to one of the Tengu bar/pub/restaurant-type places to become a cohesive group. If practice is marked by quiet seriousness, drinking is certainly not. We seat ourselves, carefully according to seniority. I'm pretty much to the place where I know where to sit without having to be told. Tadano Sensei sits furthest into the table. From there, according to seniority, we sit in descending order. Hide explains that this is so the juniors can more easily work with the wait staff. I prefer the story that this seating arrangement exists so that if a ninja breaks into the room, the junior students will be the ones disposed of and the seniors will be safer. The juniors pass out coasters and warm towels and begin the process of ordering food and drinks that will carry us through the next two hours.
We all begin with beers, toasting one another as the revelry begins. From there, food and harder liquor appears throughout the evening. Not being much of a drinker, I usually have my one beer and then water, or some sake (not sakee) if I'm feeling a bit saucy. I pass on the large cubes of tofu but eagerly grab my share of gyoza and yakisoba. I suspect they order French fries and pizza just for me, food Hide calls "dog food," since it fills you up but isn't really all that good. Still, I notice he enjoys a bit a "dog food" himself. Talking, laughing, and joking are the rule for our time together. Tadano Sensei has a good sense of humor, which, mixed with stories of the good old days, make for a fun and educational evening. I marvel at how much some of the guys can drink. Akama Sempai is the reigning champ, as he finishes off drink after drink with only a wider smile to show as the effect. Hide's face becomes redder as the evening progresses while his translating skills slowly suffer. It is a time for building solidarity, I am told. Since it is once per week during my stay in Japan, my wife forgives my late night socializing, but I know this would be seriously frowned upon back home.
Around 11:30 we collect money from everyone to pay the bill. Juniors worked the evening pouring and mixing drinks for the seniors. Now they pay a smaller share of the total bill. Most are students, and their economic position is understood. Seniority has its privileges and responsibilities. I am often required to pay less because I am "non-drinker" or something close to that. Still, I don't tell my wife how much I spent on two hours of snacks ? tasty as they may be.
We all walk together to the station, where people begin to head in different directions. The majority of us climb on the Keio Line together. I still can't get over how crowded a train can be at 11:30 at night on a Wednesday.
We continue our silliness in the train, albeit more subdued. Back at Shimo-Kitazawa I bid goodnight to Tadano Sensei and then the others as I climb off the train with Morikoshi san. We head to the next platform where I catch the Express and he waits for the Local. Another "See you next week," another few stops down the line, another bus ride back to Senshu University, and I walk those two minutes to the house, arriving about 12:20 in the morning. Another day of training is over.