Jinan
by Lori Ann White Shaolin Instructor
My introduction to China was a day-long train trip from
Beijing to Jinan, in Shandong Province, during the fall
of 1991. That train ride, and the subsequent days spent
in Jinan, form a foundation of images on which I can still
depend; though only last year I finally managed to visit
China again, when memories come, like as not they're of
the Chinese countryside as seen from the train, with farmers
driving donkey-drawn carts and corn drying on the roofs
of red brick buildings; the Yellow River, flowing broad
and slow beneath our train; the flower-bedecked streets
of Jinan, spruced up for the coming celebration of National
Day; an afternoon walk up Thousand Buddha Mountain to
see my first Buddhist temple and smell the incense I had
heretofore only smelled at our kwoon; the gymnasium where
I and my teammates competed on a wide, lonely stretch
of green carpet; the plentiful moon cakes in the dining
room of the Nanjiao Hotel, left over from the recent Autumn
Festival; and the gardens behind the hotel, where, granted
a rest during a Praying Mantis seminar, we found--a praying
mantis. He was big and bright green, and we watched him
for a time and practiced fashioning our hands after his
claws. An auspicious omen indeed, we thought.
I treasure those memories and more, yet when I first
learned of the proposed itinerary, I was most excited
by the Beijing and Hong Kong portions of the trip. I had
heard of Beijing--the Great Wall, the Forbidden City,
and other sights that were synonymous in my mind with
China. And Hong Kong--I felt I already knew the city after
watching Jackie Chan and Chow Yun Fat blast their way
through its streets. What was in Jinan?
To begin, the ostensible reason for our journey was in
Jinan: the Jinan International Traditional Wushu Competition.
I and several others from the Wing Lam Kung Fu School
were to compete. Though organizers were hoping to establish
the tournament as an annual or biannual event, it was
the first such competition in Jinan, and we had no inkling
how well-attended it might be, or what level of competition
we could expect.
Next, some trips and sight-seeing were planned. Jinan
is not far from Mount Tai, one of the five holy mountains
of China, where in days past the Emperor would ascend
to the summit where gods lived and make sacrifices to
the earth and sky, and Qufu, the birthplace of Confucius.
There were also some sites within the city, such as Daming
Lake and Thousand Buddha Mountain.
As it turned out, we had little time for sightseeing
and exploring, because the most important thing Jinan
had to offer us was kung fu. The area that now makes up
Shandong Province is old in martial history. The marsh
made famous in Outlaws of the Marsh is in Shandong Province.
Mount Song and the Shaolin Temple are in neighboring Henan
Province.
The tournament was a four-day affair, beginning with
opening ceremonies the first evening, followed by two
days of competition, then finished with an excursion to
Mount Tai and an awards banquet. During those two days
of competition, when we were not actually competing we
had the opportunity to take seminars from and watch demonstrations
by masters who had been invited to the tournament. These
were not Beijing-trained wushu experts. These were men
and women who had learned the old, hard way. They'd studied
and practiced with their whole lives, going underground
during the Cultural Revolution, practicing in secret,
not letting their styles die.
I and several others from my group took a grueling Praying
Mantis seminar from a tall, slender master with long,
whip-like arms and legs. Others of our group learned two-handed
straight sword and an esoteric Long Sleeve style--all
styles not easily found in the US.
The competition itself was also an excellent experience.
It was, indeed, truly international in scope, with teams
from the US, China, Canada, Venezuela, Spain, Estonia,
and Latvia, and since then it has increased in scope.
We met some wonderful fellow martial artists, all with
the common language of kung fu. My only complaint was
that the competition for the women was a bit sparse, but
I trust that's changed in the intervening eight years.
Actually, we'd all been reaping the benefits of our decision
to compete long before we went to Jinan. There is nothing
like the thought of performing kung fu in its birthplace
to motivate practice.
Though all this would have guaranteed the trip of a lifetime,
the opportunities we had to do some sightseeing also remain
treasured memories. Thousand Buddha Mountain, with its
street performers and temples, monks and odd exhibits
(a mummified woman in a room full of money), was my real
introduction to the conflicts, concessions and compromises
that make up China--the state gets tourist dollars, and
the people can still worship. Whether or not everyone
is happy, I don't know.
The excursion to Taishan, or Mount Tai, also remains
with me. Unfortunately we didn't have time to climb its
fabled seven thousand steps--we took a bus most of the
way up the mountain, a beautiful drive that reminded us
Californians of the Sierras, then took a tram to the summit.
It was a bright, cool, autumn day, windy at the top, and
we wandered through the holy places and looked out across
the eternal landscape. Next time, I hope to climb the
steps.
Jinan is not Beijing, with its walls and palaces, temples
and tombs. It is not Xian, with its terra cotta soldiers.
It is not bustling Shanghai, or cold Harbin, or Hangzhou
with its silk and gardens. It is not turbulent Hong Kong,
or camel rides in Urumqi. But it is, no less than the
others, China, and perhaps more valuable in its very lack
of appeal as a tourist haven. After travelling there I
felt I'd met the people, not merely seen the sights. I
don't think I'd trade my experiences in Jinan for all
the terra cotta soldiers in China.
