True Urban Myths

A gift of fruit really does cost the equivalent of $50 aussie.

Beach Karate

So much has happened since I last updated these pages. I was waiting for photos to develop before I wrote this one up. We went the beach one hot Sunday. Several kay’s up the coast. My karate dojo and connected dojos. I thought it was a general excuse for a social outing Japanese style, and it was, but it was also an exhibition.

I got a lift with Hiro, who was helping to set up and had to be there at eight. We left shortly after seven; far too early for a Sunday morning, especially when one has been out drinking until 4am the night previous. Being excused from the general set up I promptly found a soon to evaporate patch of shade next to the sea wall, threw myself onto the sand and tried to pass out.

My calm was chased away shortly by a chattering, excited family who set up their picnic table and sunshade right next to where I was trying to block out the piercing light of the sun. I groggily lifted my head and could see nothing but foldout picnic table legs arranged uniformly in rows under similarly congregated shade tents. A huge stretch of beach and apparently thousands of little karate kids and their parents squished into one small area.
A keg of beer was set up, help yourself style, and garbage bins full of ice, alcoholic and soft drinks stood adjacent. A machine making shaved ice was being operated by shifts of keen dads who liberally poured cordial and condensed milk over the cups of ice. Gross as it sounds it tasted really good. A curry was being constructed and rice washed at one end of the camp and the fire built upon which a Japanese style noodle stir fry would dish out hundred of plates of food later. So much for just grabbing a towel, swimmers, sunscreen and bottle of water to take to the beach.

Some of the kids were in their dogis and were playing in the water. This I found somewhat odd. Why would one come to the beach in your karate gear? And go in the water? This conundrum was soon answered when Irikura Sensei, now outfitted in his own dogi, came to get me to inform me it was time to train. I looked at him and laughed. Yeah right. At this stage the celsius was well over the 30 degree mark and steadily climbing. Normal training goes for three hours with regular rehydration breaks. Inside. At night. There is no way any half brained person would train in full summer sun in the middle of the day.

I was asked if I had a dogi, an odd question I thought, as they knew I as yet didn’t. But it seemed like a good excuse to blend into the crowds of parents similarly dressed in shorts and t-shirts. Only recently returned to the dojo after my stint on crutches, a weak ankle seemed like another good excuse to get out of training on sand.

Everyone lined up facing away from the water and proceeded to practice the range of punches, kicks and blocks whose Japanese names still elude me. It looked cool, the row of white clad black belts and wannabes seriously putting on this bizarre display. My nephew’s words of warning about the Japanese being truly weird came back to me, and for the first time I thought maybe he was right. Then everyone moved back several paces, and the older combatants were standing in water, showering everyone with their kicks. Again everyone moved back, completely seriously, up to knees in water it looked really difficult to kick properly. By the time everyone was up to their thighs, hand-to-hand combat was instigated by the Senseis safely instigated on dry land, megaphones in hand.

At this point I appreciated the Japanese talent for silliness. Sternness had been steadily washed away, and now anything went. As combatants switched partners it escalated into a full on water fight with teams being made and war being waged with younger lighter participants hoisted on the backs of their older comrades. I wanted to drop my camera and join the fray, but it was too late now. I hadn’t earnt the right, not today at least.

The rest of the day was spent eating, drinking, playing in the water and socialising. At a preset time everyone was thanked for coming and politely told it was now time to go home. So everyone did.

I learnt later that this is a traditional event that happens twice a year. Stay posted for the winter episode.