Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Haidong!- Dark Mountains, Flashing Swords

So it's been nine months and I've advanced to the Red/Blue belt. I've never gotten this far in a martial art before so I'm really rather thrilled.

My technique is improving, and with the recent usage of real swords incorporated every now and then during class, as opposed to my regular wooden one, I can actually *feel* what I'm doing wrong. Many people think using a sword is easy, that you just swing it around until you slice your target. But there's far more to it than just your swing. Knowing were on the blade your cut should strike, the extent of your arms in a blocking position, the aim of every cut on the opponents body, the turn of the blade as you make an upward torso cut...and countless more are all things you must learn before you can call yourself a true swordsman.

On Tuesday, Master Cha informed me that the next evening would be a training session between select students from her dojang and her father's dojang in Ansan, which is the next town over. We would go into the mountains to a little shelter where we would practice cutting bundles of straw with live blades. Up until now I had used wooden and metal blades, but the metal blades had always been blunted. The swords we would use on the mountain would be true sharpened blades that would come from my master's and her father's collections.

I got to the dojang earlier than usual and after the dropping off the kids Master Cha, myself, and another student, a young girl named Ju Young (주영), went to Ansan to pick up Master Cha's mother and student. I got to see her father's dojang and it was nice! Ours is a little dingy and quite small, but the one in Ansan was open, newer looking, had high ceilings, more equipment... Don't get me wrong, I love my dojang but I couldn't help but feel a little envious.

We headed to the mountains and the ride there made me a little motion sick. The bright lights of the city were blinding me so I cupped my head in my hands and tried to steady my breathing, fearing I would vomit it the ride continued for much longer.

Once out of the city, we turned off on a little side road that lead into total darkness. It was one hell of a contrast between Ansan and the mountain road and I felt less sick. We finally got to the shelter, which was little more than a greenhouse looking building that had apparently seen better days. Inside it was very spacious and dimly lit with old overhead lamps. In the corner was an old iron stove with a pile of discarded bamboo pieces, evidence of a previous training session.

We gathered around the stove to warm up and were soon joined by a friendly black and white cat who stayed with us throughout our visit. I was unsure why were were waiting. So as Master Cha began unpacking her swords, and her mother the food, I explored around a little bit. The shelter was long and a little narrow, but free of debris. The floor was of tightly packed earth that cradled evidence of puddles and water runoff, which I found curious. Against the walls stood a plethora of stands for holding straw and bamboo targets. Most could hold one or two targets, but there were a few that could hold ten and one that could hold twenty! Near the back were high stacks of tightly bound straw targets and beside those were two large, deep plastic tubs.

Master Cha called me over and put a heavy sword in my hands, instructing me through slow Korean and hand gestures to use the utmost caution, and then had me practice Paldo (unsheathe the sword) and Chakgum (sheathe the sword) and then some cuts. The male student and I practiced for about thirty minutes as we waited, but for what I still did not know. I was nervous as I practiced. The sword was heavy so my cuts were labored, and my hands were shaking. A few times I nearly slung the sword into the ground, which would have earned me a hefty punishment.

Master came over and watched me work, noted my mistakes, and showed me how to correct them. She continued to watch me but I felt no nervousness. After her instruction my cuts felt better, more precise. And when I heard her say "Gro-chi" (right, correct) I knew I was doing it right.

Suddenly headlights appeared out the door and a short ahjuma climbed out of a large van. She greeted my master, her mother, and the students with warm affection of familiarity, but when she turned to me her smile faded and her eyes went wide. It's not every day you see a blue eyed white girl in your shack out in the middle of nowhere. Once she got over the shock of seeing a foreigner she was very friendly towards me, beckoning me over to the stove to warm up and giving up her seat for me as well. Eventually, she grabbed a large wooden cart and headed to the two large plastic tubs to pull out soaking wet bundles of straw. I now understood the reason for the water run-off.

My master grabbed three single stands from along the wall and set them up in the middle of the floor. Once the ahjuma had stacked up 25 bundles of straw in the cart she rolled it back towards us and master taught me how to properly impale a bundle on one of the stands. Each straw bundle is tied into 5 parts. The idea is to cut the straw between the ties. If you cut the tie and break open the straw your cut doesn't count.

My first try was successful, beautiful, with the straw falling to the ground still perfectly tied and the rest unbroken. However, my subsequent attempts were not so good...

For the first half of my bundles I cut them too high or low and always hitting the string so that the bundles fell open at the top, making it even more difficult to cut the rest. By the end of it, I had improved greatly. I loved having a real sword in my hands. I loved the weight, the feel of the straw as I sliced, and the power of such a gorgeous weapon in my hands. It reminded me slightly of the first, and only, time I used a gun. But with a gun, while I felt powerful, I was frightened by the control I had over life and death and didn't want to handle a gun again after that. But with a sword I felt more in control of the weapon itself, as well as the artistry required to handle it.

After we demolished the bundles, I caught the delicious aroma of samgeupsal filling the tiny shack. We cleaned the swords, sheathed them, and put them in the case as my master and her mother cooked the thick pork meat on the top of the pot bellied stove with sheets of tin foil. We were joined by my master's father, the Grand Master, and we all stuffed ourselves with roasted pork, kimchi, and beer. We even shared some of our meal with the cat, who was not very happy about the heat coming off the meat, biting into a hot juicy bite, letting it go and then scatting at it menacingly.

I had a really good night, even though I was exhausted by the practice. We stayed out in the mountains for three hours practicing and eating. I felt happy and accepted by the group. Even though my Korean is not as good as it should be, they always make an effort to include me. I love the spirit of camaraderie during these times we spend together, and whats more I love that my place among them is based on my character and not on my status as a foreigner living among the Koreans.