Another School

On Monday I received a text, "13:30 Jusco bus station?" The master had invited Jimmy and I out for a meal. The two of us agreed that 2:30 (1:30 was just when Jimmy and I rendezvoused) was an odd time to eat. A bit late for lunch, but far too early for dinner. Eating, we discovered, was only a small part of the master's plan.

We caught the 33 bus from Jusco (as usual I attracted plenty wandering eyes) and rode to a stop near the mountain we hiked the other week. There the master joined us and led the way into a quieter, neighborhood zone. I thought that maybe I'd misunderstood, and perhaps the master was taking us to his home. Apartments were all around, nothing else. But after a while we turned off the street and into some sort of department store. It didn't appear to be in business. The lights were off and no customers were about, but still we kept on through to some stairs at the back, dark and steep, which led (among other mysterious destinations) to a smallish hall: complete with smallish punching bags and stretch-bars that might as well have been guardrails.

It was a school, he must run it on the weekends (he spends all week at the camp, or has recently). Despite it being the holidays there were a number of children, ranging from about four to seven, walking on their hands and chasing one another around the room. Finally I understand how the master retains his impish qualities, he teaches kindergarten-ers.

We were shown a wall of pictures, of master's former students (and of the master himself) as well as a significant array of medals and trophies. The the training began, and I was invited to join in. My height was drawing a lot of, "ooooohohoho"'s (how am I supposed to punctuate that?) from the kids, and they seemed curious to see what I would do. I don't know if the master had warned them of my coming, but they seemed mildly impressed when I followed along with the drills. I was not, however, laboring under any illusions of equality.

Understand that these kids are mad flexible. They fall into the splits without noticing, and a few of the more accomplished boys can stand on one foot while holding the other to their heads. Curiously enough, backbends are actually fairly difficult for them (most of them). They're all flexibility and no strength. I guess that's what comes of a child's physique.

Somewhere in there the master asked if I'd like to play Go (Weiqi is the name here in China). One of his students also takes lessons in it, and upon my acceptance two of the kids were dispatched into the neighborhood. They returned a short time later with a board and some stones.

The kid was good. He had clearly received instruction, and his grasp of overall board-perception in the opening (Fuseki, if you want a more detailed description) was clearly better than mine. But, he was not as devious as me, and could not read as many moves ahead. We traded losses, and while I'm sure I was the better player, he was pretty skilled. I don't know how hard he studies, but he might be able to stomp me in another month. I had loads of fun hanging out with the kids, several of whom crouched around to observe our games. One can say a lot in with Weiqi, nevermind words.

I was in an excellent mood after playing on a real board for a change. Afterwards we played something like duck-duck-goose (although it was more like a version of tag where we all had to stand in a circle initially), and then it was finally time to leave.

We emerged from the depths into a pleasant evening, the day itself had been sticky. Now, I assumed, we would go to eat, but I was only half right. The master had "something" to attend to. He ushered Jimmy and I into some kind of establishment, told us it was all taken care of, and vanished.

I learned from Jimmy that we were in a Bathhouse, but by no means was it solely for bathing. Honestly, I don't think we have an equivalent business in America. There are baths, showers, and lockers, but that's only the beginning. After entrusting one's shoes to an attendant, and one's clothes to a locker, one must don a weird sort of tunic and a pair of short matching shorts. Everyone in the bathhouse wears identical psyche-ward-esque get ups.

Once past the showers, which Jimmy and I chose to bypass, since we were not particularly dirty and only wished to eat, we gained entry to a different floor of the building which reminded me of nothing more than the interior of a very large boat. There were no windows to speak of and a low humming noise, as though we were aboard the starship Voyager, surrounded us. The floors were all soft carpet and large rooms off the hallways were outfitted to admit multitudes of guests: there was a a dinning room with a buffet and stage, a pool room (for shooting pool, not swimming), a tea room, and a large, dim space filled with recliner chairs: each one outfitted with an adjustable t.v. monitor. This was all on just one floor, of which there were several, but we didn't venture any further.

The place was quiet, the sound leeched away by ubiquitous shag. Chinese people ranging from greying, overweight women to younger men who could've been gang members padded around in the same light yellow monkey suits. It was downright weird, though I can understand how one might get used to such a place. We ate, reclaimed our belongings, and left.