Down Under

Australia. 

I arrived just over a week ago, after having skipped a day. My flight left California on a Wednesday evening, and after flying over the international date line, we arrived in Sydney airport one hour ahead of schedule on a Friday morning. It had been less than seven years since my previous visit, but I didn’t recognise the airport. If they told me we’d landed in Melbourne instead, I could have believed them. Either I have a very poor memory when it comes to Sydney airport or then they’ve changed everything. I’m really not sure which. 

I’m not really fond of the sea. What on earth are you doing in the land of surfers, then?! I hear you ask. Well, I decided to come to Australia properly, that is, for at least six months, those seven years ago. There’s plenty to see besides the ocean (all of the outback, for example. With the kangaroos) and lots to do besides surfing (tramping, camping, barbecuing, skydiving, horseback riding, et cetera). What I’m doing though, is studying. I’m an exchange student for 5 months, then staying around for some time on a Working Holiday.

Arrival was made easy. The University sent me emails about enrolment, info on Australia, Wollongong and surf safety, and checklists on travel preparations (still need to work on "I can sing the Australian national anthem” and "I know the name of the Australian Prime Minister”, but scored points on "I know what Vegemite is” and "I can draw freehand a reasonable map of Australia and surrounding countries”). I didn’t read all the info packages. Plenty of time later.

The University offered a free airport pickup. Myself, two Indians and two Americans climbed onboard the minibus. The Americans and the Indians immediately paired off, so I chatted with the driver. I have this idea of a typical Aussie in my head, and he obligingly conformed to it: funny, friendly, talkative. Ready to go the extra mile. We stopped at a viewpoint above the Illawarra coast and had a view of the ocean and surrounding country. I was dropped off at accommodation reception and after receiving my key, I got a lift from one of the guys behind the desk to my accommodation, a few km away. 

View of the Illawarra region's coast. On the right: Mt Keira. The uni's main campus is at its foot.

The best thing about my accommodation is that it’s graduate accommodation. Someone might say that the best thing is that it’s about 300 metres from the beach, but I don’t really like the sea and I dislike sand. Fortunately, though, there’s a part of the beach that’s rocky. There’s even a man-made pool, for safe swimming. And in this climate I might even grow to like the sea. Thongs at the ready! (That’s flip flops for you.)

The rocky part of the beach.

The accommodation itself is typical student housing. There’s that particular smell: a little bit musty (full-floor carpets), dirt from years gone by in the corners and inaccessible places (which no one cleans because it isn’t exactly mould), and lots of strong chemicals (for some reason people seem to think that if you clean the tabletop with really strong chemicals, it also cleans the cupboard). We ourselves are responsible for cleaning and the house is inspected every two weeks. 

Views in a student kitchen.

I’ve found that it’s worth getting as much done in the first few days as possible. On my first day, I opened a bank account. I’d looked at different options online before I arrived, but in the end the matter was decided by which bank had an open branch near me and no queue. It’s worth checking carefully to get an account with no monthly or annual fees and no fees for normal debit card transactions (this is not self-evident in Australia). The network of fee-free ATM’s is also an issue to be considered. The bank I walked into is probably not the best in that respect, but I can withdraw money when I shop, so I should be able to get cash fee-free if I need it. 

Getting internet and an Australian sim-card was more of a challenge than I expected. There’s only a cable connection in my room. This has meant buying an ethernet-to-USB adaptor in order to plug my Mac in. My tablet is currently on holiday. However, more pressing still is the fact that the internet is not working correctly. I’m still not sure whether it’s an actual problem or just the accommodation IT services being dim. At the very least, their communication skills are close to 0.

The lack of internet in turn had an impact on what kind of a phone plan to get: how much data would I need if I didn’t get proper internet at home? Data plans, which would allow me to share wireless, are not cheap. Australia is a continent sparsely populated, so building and maintaining networks is not cheap. There was also the issue of coverage to consider; Telstra has the best coverage geographically - about half the country. However, I won’t even have time to travel around that half of the country which is covered, so maybe I won’t have to worry about visiting the other half. I settled for more limited coverage with a cheaper and more convenient payment setup. Lucky I’m not the type to be attached to a smart phone - I spent a whole week deliberating, during which time I both had no phone connection and limited internet. This is my first time having a smart phone; up till now I’ve been using an old Nokia. (Yes, I could access the internet on it - no wifi though - and yes, it does have a camera.) I’m determined to give the smart phone up when I return to Europe - to prove wrong those people who say that once you start, you can’t stop. We’ll see how it goes.

Getting a library card was easy. I’m not talking about a University library card, but a city library card. I went into the library to use the wireless and decided that I wanted to read something other than law books. I asked if I could get a library card as an exchange student and the answer was yes. 10 minutes later I loaned my first books: two novels by Australian authors and the history of Australia in a nutshell. I finished the first novel in two days - Mallee Sky by Kerry McGinnis, a story set in Southern Australia - but the history in a nutshell is proving to be tedious. I guess that’s what happens to history when you try to reduce it to basics.

I’m determined to make this place feel like home, despite mine being only a temporary sojourn. Home is where I sleep tonight.  

 

The sandy part of the beach.

Aikido like I've never seen before

They often say that aikido is a martial art that anyone can do, whatever their age and condition. It's much rarer to actually see this put into practice. In San Leandro, I encountered such a rare occurrence.

This is John. He had a problem with his leg, so he was doing aikido sitting on a stool. Sensei fully supported him and John did a demo at kagami biraki, when I'd first arrived in California. I had the honour and good fortune to be his uke, together with Noah.

John put this demo together with the theme of "Aikido is fun". It was so much fun. Here are a few clips for you to enjoy. The first one is basic stuff, starting with weapons handling. The second one is tantodori, then kaeshiwaza. The last video is randori. By the end of that, you wouldn't believe John's leg was not up to scratch.

As John is about to give the jo to Noah, he goes into jo waza. The jowaza was not planned. Or rather, John had planned it but didn't tell us. That made the demo fun for us as well. You can also see how John needs to modify his shihonage; in the first one he makes Noah run around him rather than turning under the arm. As it should be, really - make the uke do the work!

 

At the end of the tantodori in the second clip, John amuses both us and his audience by calling in a few unsuspecting extra ukes...

 

 

Kaeshiwaza. I managed to push John off the stool doing a shomen uchi ikkyo... John was completely unflustered and executed his subsequent kaeshi with great ki.

The randori was the greatest thing ever. Make sure to watch till the end. You can hear Brett, who was filming, laughing. I've possibly never been so surprised in my life.

The uchideshi in soto

What does an uchideshi get up to when not in the dojo?

Among other things, I went to San Francisco several times, walked around lake Chabot, saw 4th Street in Berkeley, watched movies with sensei and Noah, ate sushi, visited Chabot Space and Science Center and enjoyed the sunshine. 

Berkeley

On my first Sunday, sensei, Noah and I went to 4th Street in Berkeley. “It looks like Europe,” sensei said. Which was sort of true. The europeness was created by the little boutiques and the atmosphere of promenading along the street. The traffic was rather too heavy for me to really picture a central European shopping street. Though that also depends on where in Europe you go. My view of Europe is skewed towards such historical places as Brussels, Cambridge and Cologne. We went into a kitchenware shop called Sur la table (with an American pronunciation) and I bought a souvenir: a coyote cookie cutter, $0.43. Two Japanese shops, one with all things Japanese, one with paper and calligraphy tools. And the cherry on the cake: a watch shop. Not just any watch shop, though, a watch shop with Star Wars watches in the window. To the amusement of sensei and Noah (and yours, too, I hope), I whisked out my mug. The mug. The mug my aikido friends gave me and told me to bring with me everywhere to take mug shots with.  

 

The mug shot.

 

We went to Berkeley several other times too. We visited a chocolate shop selling mostly amusing things (funny books, cups with a twist and clothing with a jest), as well as some hand-made pralines. I still slightly regret not buying a climate change mug - sea levels rise, coastlines disappear and deserts spread when you pour your tea. Bad tea. We hiked up a big hill for a nice view, then turned off the steep track onto a slippery path that skirted the mountainside. It had rained for weeks, an El Nino gift for the parched Bay Area. As we slid along, someone said, “And we chose this path because we didn’t want steep?” We had a look in the Claremont hotel, a pompous thing that is situated mostly in Oakland (Wikipedia tells me), but overlooks Berkeley and the Bay. Doshu stayed there when he taught a seminar in California. Other notable guests include Hollywood stars, but who cares about that when you could ask for the room where Doshu stayed.

San Francisco

On my first Monday after morning class sensei called us to say that the day was going to turn out nice (after a rainy start) and that she was happy for me to go explore. I took the dojo bike, cycled to the BART station and got on a train to San Francisco. I got off at Embarcadero, cycled down to the waterfront and took some photos of the Bay Bridge. Although it was rather cool, I felt like having ice cream. I cycled along the waterfront. I spotted a Ben&Jerry’s near Fisherman’s Wharf, but their prices put me off. I continued on my way. 

I cycled to the Golden Gate Bridge. A super-iconic landmark, a masterful feat of engineering, and all the other wow-words you can think of. Except that it’s a bridge. I never quite got the whole thing with bridges. The Bay Bridge is really more important, because it connects San Francisco to the continent, without having to go all the way around south. The town on the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge is not exactly the economic powerhouse of the region. And the Golden Gate Bridge is not even golden. It’s red. I wondered how many people look at the view around. They might be too mesmerised by the redness to notice the mysterious haze over the ocean, the ruggedness of the hills or the way the city nestles in the land. 

 

A view from the Bridge. The view from a bridge.

 

I cycled over the bridge. One edge of the bridge is open to cyclists and the other to pedestrians. The middle is car territory. When I got to the other side, I could feel my legs. I had already cycled about 20 km, and although I’d missed the biggest hills following the shoreline, it hadn’t been completely flat. The question was whether I should labour up the hill on the other side to get a picture of the GGB from higher up. Well, I couldn’t really just turn around and go back over the bridge. I had a hunch that I wouldn’t come there again on this trip, so up I went. Slowly. Thinking about the joy of riding down that hill on the way back.  

After hurtling back down the hill and over the GGB, I cycled through Paradisio. Sorry, Paradisio? I meant Presidio. The park on the southern end of the GGB. The park that smells like a rainforest. The park with a warning sign for drivers saying, “Coyote crossing”. Don’t run them over. The park that really doesn’t feel like it’s within an 800 000 inhabitant city. That was the most enjoyable part of my ride.  

 

Don't run them over.

 

I headed to the Castro. As I looked at the rainbow flags, I thought about a course I’d done when studying geography: the historical geography of the AIDS pandemic. The Castro is an area thick with history. Some of it is engraved on the street itself. I also marvelled at the pedestrian crossing painted as a rainbow. In Finland that would not be possible - the law tells you what colours a pedestrian crossing has to be, you know. I sat down for a hot drink in a local café, when a HERE Maps car stopped just outside. You never know, but I might be forever sitting in a streetview caption on HERE Maps. Caught redhanded in the Castro. The café was great though; I had neglected to replenish my cash reserves and they didn’t take card, so I got my coffee 31 cents cheaper than the rest of the clientele. 

Be careful: don't let the pedestrian crossing dazzle you.

 

 

When I got back to the dojo I tallied up my cycle ride. About 30 miles or 45 kilometres. No wonder the evening class was a bit tough. 

Enjoying the outdoors

Two longer hikes deserve a mention here. First, there was the walk around lake Chabot. Rob accompanied me, which was nice because he’s great company. And because the noticeboard at the park entrance warns you of mountain lions and rattlesnakes. Not that we saw either those. It’s very rare to meet a mountain lion, especially at that end of the park. If, however, you were to meet one, here’s the deal: look large, make noise and back away slowly. If attacked, fight back. With a mountain lion. We also failed to spot the bald eagles that are now nesting near the lake. Have to look out for them again next time. And take a picnic with me.  

 

Lake Chabot.

 

On my last Sunday we drove up to Mount Diablo. After some windy views from the top, we headed back down to Rock City, a place full of wind-carved sandstone. That was also a gorgeous place. Noah climbed up (or into) every rock I saw him see. I climbed into the nook of a tree and was happy. Many trails on Mt Diablo await my next visit.

Aikido World Family

The world is so small. Rob came to San Leandro for a few days from his non-Iwama style dojo in Canada. As soon as he heard I was from Finland, he said, “I have a student who went to Finland to study.” I asked for the student’s name. “You wouldn’t know her,” Rob said. “Try me,” I replied. So Rob told me her name and showed me a photo of her.

Turned out I do know her. I trained with her over the summer.

This gave rise to the idea of an aikido world family. When you go somewhere as an aikidoka, you can find someone who knows someone you know. You can get help if you need it. You can find a place to stay, a local guide or a dojo to train at. You won’t get lonely. 

But being part of the aikido world family is not self-evident. I am grateful to have been accepted at every dojo where I’ve trained. It hasn’t mattered that I’ve come from a different style or that I’ve followed a different teacher. I was allowed to keep wearing my hakama and white belt in a dojo where hakama was for black belts only and even adults used colour belts. I’ve heard about a dojo where they don’t bow even to each other let alone to a picture of O'Sensei - in order to accommodate Muslim aikidoka. At seminars in Sweden, I’ve had people doggedly speak Swedish to me, which has allowed me to overcome my fear of speaking a language I’m not fluent in. That feeling of acceptance and inclusion is the key to aikido world family. It’s unfortunate when aikido politics gets in the way of aikido or aikido world family. 

Once when I had just switched styles I complained how hard it was to do the teacher’s aikido. Another aikidoka told me to just “do your own aikido”. But then I would never learn anything new. I can only learn by attempting to absorb what I’m being taught. The aikido world family that Rob was thinking of consists of such aikidoka: those who respect each others’ styles and who try to learn what they’re being taught rather than stubbornly sticking with the things they already know. This applies within styles as well as between them; during my time as uchideshi sensei told me that I was making her nostalgic because I was doing “old style” Iwama form. I came to San Leandro to learn as much of the new style as I could absorb in a month.

It has certainly been an intense month. But it has also been inspiring, both in terms of the “form” of aikido and the “social organisation” of aikido. I’ve learnt or relearnt Iwama form and got new ideas for teaching methods. I’ve seen how a permanent dojo functions and the challenges and delights that accompany that. In a permanent dojo such as Aikido of San Leandro, the personal relationships between the sensei, the sempai (highly ranked students) and other students are a gateway to aikido. Making sure those relationships are good takes huge effort and determination. As I said in my first post, there are plenty of horror stories about uchideshi life. I’ve heard one where uchideshis had to wash the tatami - with toothbrushes. In San Leandro, the feeling is more of wanting to do things in the dojo and for sensei. The uchideshi get a lot from sensei, both within and outside the dojo, as well as from the sotodeshi, who are welcoming and appreciative of the uchideshi's efforts. Dusting altars, making coffee for sensei and patching sensei’s gi trousers (pants, if you’re American) is not even “repayment” - it is a pleasure.

I went to San Leandro because I had a feeling that trying out uchideshi life would be the right thing to do. And I was right.