Lesley in the Land of Legends.

I think the sign says "Beware Those who Enter."

I should have checked the itinerary more closely.  I should have read the fine print.  I should have studied my trip literature.  It was a hasty decision to go, I'll admit; I specialize in hasty decisions.

It was revenge of sorts.  I scrawled the 'ol John Hancock on the dotted line of the "Shaolin: Land of Legends" trip that was organized by the kids' Kung Fu teacher shortly after Austin informed me we would not be vacationing in Shanghai as planned over the Chinese Labor Day holiday.  It turns out Austin had to work (again).  Hmph.  I would not be hanging out in Beijing just because my dear husband has to work (again).

There. Done.  The boys and I are going to Shaolin, the birthplace of Kung Fu.  I thought:  Goodie!  We can see some temples, watch some monks kick monk ass, pick up a few sweet moves, pretend we know a thing or two about Chinese culture.  I envisioned relaxing with a Tsing Dao beer and enjoying the fresh air while my boys pound each other with renewed vigor and new-found expertise.  Excellent.  I packed a few clothes, a few snacks and plenty of reading material because I was counting on the kids nodding off early to leave me some free time to read. (HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!! Is my brain really that clouded from learning Chinese?)

Eli looking serious in his Kung Fu Uniform.

Once settled on the train--our first Chinese train ride!!!!!!--I dug out the crumpled trip brochure and decided to educate myself on the glorious adventure unfolding before us.  I first leaned that we would be housed at the original Shaolin School of Kung Fu, "school" being the operative word.  School sounded the alarm bells as I'm pretty sure there are no umbrella drinks served at a school.  What?  Shaolin has no Hiltons?  I dialed down the panic meter by reasoning that Shaolin is too sacred a place--the Chinese prefer to use the word Intangible Cultural Heritage Site--to sully with chintzy hotels.  ***Those of you who have traveled to China recently can go ahead and LOL.  There is NO place here that is too intangibly cultured for a shabby hotel.***

More worrisome was the word "training" that appeared 3 times PER DAY in the trip itinerary.   I was sure this meant training for the kids.  Great, wear them out:  go ahead and try!   Oh, the books I can read tonight, baby!  I can almost feel the cold sweat of a Tsing Dao bottle clasped in my hands!


Okay, so check in, followed by dinner at the mess hall, followed by uniform hand-outs.  Blah blah blah and something about providing all kid and adult shoe sizes.  Blah, blah blah, we were to report in the lobby at 5:00 am the following morning to run to the temple and begin training.  *****SLAMS ON BRAIN BRAKES***** Wait, WHAT?    What's this about adult shoe sizes and 5:00 am?  And did I just read that correctly:  RUN to the temple?!?!?!

Me:  "Laoshi, why do you need my shoe size?
Laoshi: "For your Kung Fu Shoes."
Me:  "Why do I need shoes?"
Laoshi: "Because it's better than training bare foot."
Me: "Um, what exactly do you mean by training."
Laoshi:  "We practice Tai Ji and Kung Fu."
Me:  "What if you don't know Tai Ji or Kung Fu?"
Laoshi: "You learn it."
Me: "Is the part about meeting at 5:00 am a typo?"
Laoshi: "No."
Me: "Can we start, say, around 7:00 pm?"
Laoshi: "No."
Me: "Is the temple close to our dorm?"
Laoshi: "No."

My next question was almost:  "When is the next train back to Beijing?"  But I thought better of it.  Now, let's be clear:  I wanted to learn a martial art while in China.  My two personal goals to achieve while in China are to learn the Chinese language and to learn a martial art (pick one, any!) As for my first goal,  I am working extremely hard to sound less intelligble than a two-year old.  Chinese is my pain, Kung Fu would be my gain, my reward, my fun hobby and interesting exercise.

Ass-whupping monk using pain to reach zen.

The plan all along was to, you know, soft-pedal my Kung Fu learning.  I would find a foreigner-friendly school.  I could pick the place and time and a kind, understanding instructor could come to me.  Nowhere did I say I wanted to learn Kung Fu at dark-thirty with an ass-whuping monk who uses pain to reach zen.  5:00 am is when I am heading into my second sleep cycle, and I only run if someone is chasing me.  Alas, I am awash in that familiar "Oh-shit-what-have-I-gotten myself into--feeling.  I look over at my kids and they are happily smacking each other.   I can do this, I think.  Monkey see, monkey do.  Let's hear it for good role models!

They practice on Granite.

We arrived at the hotel good and tired after a long, hot train ride and a long, hot bus ride.  We ate, got suited up and I set my alarm for a time heretofore never occupied with such barbaric activities as morning exercise.  Turns out I didn't even need my alarm.  The school's 200-decidble staticky bugle recording sounds at 4:45 a.m.  Within ten minutes I heard foot falls echoing off the plaster walls.  Voices shouted in unison: "Yao Er Yao (pronounced yow, R, yow) Yao Er Yao." Or "Yi Er San San San......." I peered out the curtains and saw a red, undulating caterpillar 6000 students long heading to the main square.  Waking up to the red army works better than caffeine. 

The seven-year old students at morning drills.

The original Shaolin Kung Fu Academy is small compared to it's newer counterpart that has 30,000 enrolled students.  Think about that for a moment.  The New Shaolin Academy is the size of a large American University, only ALL 30,000 students go to the same class at the same time.  And ALL 30,000 students were packed together in a campus smaller than my high school.

Students attending Shaolin start as young as 4 years old.  Some with "extraordinary athletic talent" are sent here to begin training for the Olympics.  Most enter at age 7 or 8, the magical age where kids are labeled "bad" "dumb" or disobedient.

Still other students attend Shaolin because Kung Fu runs deep in the family.  Some descend from generations of Monks and Warriors.   And little has changed over the years.  Students sleep 12 to a tiny room, bunks piled 4 to a column.  Bathrooms are few, running water is scarce and electricity is limited to a single bulb hanging in each room.  There are no computers.  There are no cell phones.

Finn stick training with Yan Laoshi.

Students practice 6 days a week.  Kung Fu practice takes place in the morning and regular school in the afternoons.  School starts at 5:00 am and ends around 8:00 pm.  Lights out at 9:00 p.m.  Sunday is reserved for washing and cleaning.  Students must hand-wash their uniforms, shoes and bedding.  In their free time, students practice Kung Fu because there is, well, nothing else to do. 

If you are trying to compare Shaolin with US boot camps and "reform" schools, don't.  Once you are enrolled in Shaolin, you cannot drop-out, you cannot go home.  Family is allowed to visit for a few days, not to exceed more than 2 weeks a year.  They do not use money on campus to prevent students from buying a bus ticket to get the F*%! out of Dodge.  Laoshi said that when he was at Shaolin, some students would sell their blood to get money for bus tickets to escape.  Laoshi does not make this shit up.  I asked about the fate of students who are terrible at Kung Fu.  Do they get sent home?  "Nope." Says Laoshi. They have to repeat and keep repeating with younger and younger students.  The shame is terrible.

Between Training we hiked many steps to many temples.

The Shaolin way might seem cruel or traumatizing to a pampered, coddled American.  I myself couldn't decide whether I was awed or disturbed watching small children drill in perfect form.  The kids seemed happy enough, though; and nobody was trying to escape on our watch.  I kept waiting for someone to tug on my sleeve, begging me to rescue them.  No tugs, no pleading eyes.

Just smiles, plenty of oggles, and the occasional dropped-jaw.  Regular tourists are not allowed into the school so many children were curious and starstruck.  The students loved to laugh and joke with us.  They even let Finn Kung Fu chop an already broken stick.  They carefully held it together so Finn would not see the crack and wildly cheered his "amazing" power.

The older students who taught our classes were so surprisingly sweet and gentle.  One little girl in the group was terrified so the teacher held her hand and stayed by her side for the entire four days.

I hoped to divine our teachers' internal musings.  I mean seriously, put yourself in their shoes and observe our small group of 7 families.  One word immediately comes to mind:  UNDISCIPLINED.  This applies to both the adults and the children.  They assigned me and the boys a full-time assistant just to corral us to and fro. Between the 3 daily training sessions, Laoshi had us off discovering the lesser known temples of Shaolin.   Yes, the Sheppards had a sheppard to sheppard us.  Eli was always off finding "secret passageways" and climbing everything.  Finn was in perpetual Finnland, preferring to study ants and patterns in the pavement along the way.  I myself have this habit of bolting off course to get a good picture.  Add to our free-spirited ways, the regular nuisance of having to pose in a photo every 5 feet.  You can't really blame us for lagging far behind, can you?  (Our Kung Fu "sheppard" saw to it that nobody brought a camera near us.  I asked if he could come back to Beijing with us.  Bad joke.  Really bad joke come to think of it.  Uh, he's not allowed to leave.) 

As far as Kung Fu goes, we made every last 5:00 a.m. training.  We were the first ones in line!  I've discovered that in two years I might learn the 24-pattern Tai Ji but I will certainly look like troll performing it.  In two years, I might be able to do those things in Kung Fu--you know, what are those moves called?  Probably not.

I also learned that I probably should read the fine print in life.  (I won't).   As for the kids.  Well, Finn has already appointed himself Kung-Fu Master in training. 

Finn took immediately to the sword.