I was late again, it being a Sunday, but it didn’t really matter. A couple of kids and their father watched me do the sword form; the boys wanted to play with the sword, which was taller than the younger boy. His older brother grabbed it and started waving it around, so I took it back and astonished them by driving it up to the hilt in the ground, and then then into the trunk of a tree. It’s my collapsible practice sword, of course, but they didn’t know that.

I did some form work with Teacher X for a while, but then he grabbed me by the arm and literally pulled me over to practice with a teacher from another group.

It started out well enough; the guy wasn’t too violent, and we got into a give-and-take rhythm. He paused a few times, which I took to mean he felt he had me in a bind, but I suppose I am not yet advanced enough to realize such subtle conditions. I tried a few experimental “attacks” but he would just fold up like a chair, such was his agility. I would push to a point that I felt appropriate and then let go.

As we continued, he grew more aggressive and a little antsy. I realized that his friends, possibly his students, were watching us practice, and he might feel some pressure. “Come on!” they called, “What is this, free massage class?” The teacher began to try harder and pushed me off balance a couple of times, but not very decisively. I didn’t have anything invested in the exchange except gaining experience, so I was pretty relaxed. The teacher, on the other hand, began to launch quick shoves that Weeble would have been proud of. Not only was this kind of thing a step backwards, it often didn’t work. I felt a bit disappointed at the way things were going and told him I was tired. Still, it was educational.

Conor sent me a note a couple of days ago that a bunch of musicians were getting together at the Taipei Artist’s Village on Thursday night for an impromptu show with Yerboli Ahmethan and his band, a group from China in Taiwan for the Bitan Music Festival. I saw Yerboli and his band play last weekend at Bitan in front of a small crowd huddled inside a tent due to the rain. They started out slow and soft, yet built up momentum throughout the show until they were really hopping at the end, playing songs with interesting time signatures and various cultural voices. I chatted with them as we walked back across the bridge, them back to their hotel and me back home; a nice bunch of guys, from all over China. Only Yerboli is Kazakh, and his Mandarin isn’t as fluent as the others’.

As it happens, the TAV is close to my office, so I walked over after work yesterday so find the group setting up. David Chen, Lo Sirong, Dana Wylie and Jez Hallerd were already there, and later Lin Shengxiang and Chalaw showed up as well. The food, including delicious Filipino dishes, rice and salad, was laid out buffet style on the wood deck outside Jason’s bar, where the impromptu show was taking place. I spent the first set taking pictures of the group, missing having any kind of telephoto lens, and enjoying the music. The more intimate setting was really a lot more suitable to their subdued style. Yerboli really gets into the music, which is a mixture of Kazakh, Islamic, Chinese and Reggae styles; you can tell from the way he moves his body around on his chair as he sings and plays his two-stringed dombra, of which he is a master. All of the musicians are top-rate, the syncopation provided by the drums and percussion spot on, no matter how complicated and intricate they get. The band is managed by Shenzhen DJ Tu Fei, who, I must say, has some of the nicest-looking calves I’ve ever seen on a man.

For the second set I couldn’t resist joining in, so I got out my pocket trumpet and joined the group along with Conor on his harmonica. It’s been a long time since I played, months in fact, but though my embouchure got tired quickly, I managed to keep up well enough and had a great time. Playing music with friends is always enjoyable, but it’s even more fun when making new friends. I always forget how much I miss it until I actually do it. Then I promptly forget and wonder why I am so miserable all the time without it.

It was about 1 a.m. by the time we wrapped up. I talked with the guys some, and we traded albums and name cards. Bassist Joco, whom I was trying to convince should try a washtub-based setup, said the Muddy Basin Ramblers should go to Shenzhen, where they have access to a good venue. The group really liked my black pocket trumpet and insisted on having their pictures taken holding it.

I waited around for someone to share a cab back to Bitan with, but everyone had disappeared by that point, so I bore the entire NT$350 brunt myself. It’s just as well, as I was half asleep for most of the trip and wouldn’t have been up for conversation anyway.

The weather’s been nice this week, but another cold front, which I hope is the last one this year as I really want to shave my head for summer, is on its way; the cool wind coming through the window behind me as I type this is already hinting at such a change, alas.

It was raining pretty hard yesterday, so I didn’t attend practice at CKS Hall. After spending most of the day inside working on photos, I decided I needed to get out of the house today and make up for my laziness by going to the 2/28 Park, where our group practices on Sundays.

I’d never been to a Sunday practice before; I’d assumed that it would be just like the one on Saturdays before, but I noticed immediately as I exited the subway station how many more people were there than on Saturdays. Not only were there more people; they were a lot more aggressive than the Saturday group. Our group was somewhat scattered; I saw Yang Qing-feng practicing with a stranger in black nearby, and Mr. V with another stranger in another spot. I asked him where Teacher X was, and he pointed at the horse statue a ways away, where Teacher X was teaching a group of new students.

I found Little Mountain Pig not far from our usual spot, and decided to put my things down there and find a place to go through the forms, despite the fact that everyone else in the vicinity was wrestling, pushing or downright fighting. After I finished I spotted Little Qin, which was unusual; I hadn’t seen him at practice for months, so I went over to say hello. We practiced for a while, and as usual I learned a lot from him; Little Qin always has a different perspective on things, both physically and mentally. It’s too bad he has so little time to come to practice; he also teaches students at the military base where he’s stationed. As we were practicing, the sun came out for one glorious moment, raising the temperatures noticeably.

A large circle had been scratched into the sand nearby, and guys were using it in sumo fashion, trying to push and/or knock each other out of the ring or on the ground, their clothes covered in dirt and their arms and necks red from all the grabbing and twisting. As I went through the sword form, I noticed a guy watching me very closely. He was dressed in dark clothes and carried a sword of his own. I tried not to let it distract me, but I was ready for all kinds of criticism when I finished. Instead, he just clapped. I’m sure it was insincere, as I was just doing the first warm-up form and wasn’t really into it yet.

I practiced with LM Pig a while, going through the usual drills with him; I have to say they help a lot, though they’re a little monotonous. Then Pig pulled me over to the group of guys who had been wrestling rather violently before, and before I knew it I was practicing with them, one by one. The first guy wasn’t nearly as big of a challenge as I’d thought he would be. He kept looking for chances and I wasn’t giving him any. The second guy, a short fellow with protruding teeth, did better and forced me over a few times. Then I was practicing with an older guy whom the others obviously looked up to. He played his cards close to his chest, pushing tentatively, advancing slowly and taking his time to understand how I moved, becoming slowly more aggressive. All the while all of the guys were complimenting me on my form and my “softness” which they said was a hallmark of Teacher X’s students. I knew better than to take their words seriously, though; they were just being polite. Finally the older guy stopped, and another man who had been very complimentary stepped up. This, I gathered, was their leader and possibly their teacher. He demonstrated his “softness” to me with a few moves where his arms were completely rigid. Maybe he was alluding to some strange definition of “soft” that I’ve never heard of before, but to me he was anything but yielding. In fact, none of them were really yielding at all and seemed very rigid to me.

It was approaching 3 p.m. by that point, and I was hungry for lunch, so I took my leave. It was a very interesting and educational experience, and makes me wonder if perhaps I should try to attend more Sunday practices at the park.