Vietnam - Conversations - Martial arts

My trip to Vietnam was transformed into a voyage of discovery through Miss Kim and her colleagues who practice Tai-Chi is the early hours of the morning by the Saigon River. Like every Vietnamese town of any size at 5.00 am daily, residents of Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) congregate at the local waterfront to exercise together.

“I hate the color red” she said quietly, her dark eyes looking at me sideways, “Do you know what I mean?”. We were squatting on low plastic stools at a sidewalk cafe in Ho Chi Minh City after a Tai-Chi session by the river. The morning air was thick with carbon monoxide fumes from the ubiquitous small motorbikes that throng the city. Miss Kim and I were sipping drinks made from fresh pressed sugarcane and were deep in conversation about the current regime in Vietnam, her life, her future, and the American pen pal who wanted to marry her. “ He told me that I can’t divorce him after we get married” said Miss Kim pulling a note and photo from her wallet. ‘Bob relaxing at home’ said the caption below the photograph. He looked like a decent enough fellow, lived in Vermont and had met Miss Kim’s aunt who was promoting the idea of a marriage in order for Miss Kim to emigrate to the United States. I tried to explain gently that even in the United States a marriage between a rural auto mechanic and a city-bred well-educated young lady planning to be a physician was not the norm. After a while it dawned on Miss Kim that even in America, many men still wanted a traditional stay-at-home wife. I explained that we even have a term called ‘Mail Order Wife’, that usually applied to women who come from third world countries to become traditional wives for lonely American men.

Before the sun is up thousands of people gather to play badminton, soccer, jog and practice Tai-Chi. For three weeks In Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) and in the towns of Me To and Can To in the Mekong Delta I participated in this morning ritual. The one and a half hour Tai-Chi workout is led by group leaders who chant instructions to a cadence that helps the movements flow and calms the mind. After forty five minutes of stretching and breathing exercises ebony staffs approximately five feet in length are used to facilitate extreme positioning of our warmed up bodies. Half way through the workout the sun would rise across the river, gently illuminating the bobbing boats and our waterfront activity . It is a perfect beginning for the day.

My discovery of Vietnamese Tai-Chi led me to investigate other martial arts in Ho Chi Minh City. The local Yellow Pages proved useful, and the staff at the Giant Dragon Hotel on Pham Ngu Lao Street were very helpful in my quest by telephoning to various health clubs and government agencies. Finally I was directed to the Cultural Center on Mac-Dinh Chi Street where I was told a certain martial art was taught to children. The cyclo ( pedal driven taxi) ride there was a somewhat disquieting. The driver of the cyclo, was an older man with a slightly hang-dog demeanor. We chatted a little and it became apparent that he was an educated man who was obviously working below his capabilities. Some gentle probing elicited the information that he had spent a year in the USA in 1967 training as a helicopter mechanic, and worked with the US Armed Forces during the American War in Vietnam. After the communist victory he was sent to a re-education camp for twelve years and his present job is his final ‘reward’ for his former activities. His life now revolves around helping his children adjust to the current regime and ‘making do’ with his new life. Like most Vietnamese he is very friendly to foreigners and seems to bear no animosity from the devastation that the American War brought to his country.

Riding a cyclo in a Ho-Chi-Minh City is an experience to remember. My guide book had warned that Vietnam has one of the highest road accident rates in the world. The Vietnamese have an interesting attitude to stop lights and cross traffic. They ignore them. At intersections the traffic proceeds at a slightly slower pace and the bicycles, motorbikes, buses and occasional cars weave through each other in a vehicular dance that is both terrifying and practical. The city would probably be in permanent gridlock if the traffic lights were obeyed. The terror strikes you the first time your cyclo moves through a six way intersection into a seemingly solid wall of traffic coming at you. Your peripheral vision has signaled a similar onslaught coming from both sides. A bus thunders down while your cyclo driver blithely points out the Post Office and ignores the impending doom. You pray for a miracle. It is granted and you reach the other side.

Half way to the Cultural Center a motorbike passed with an arm outstretched. My small daypack was grabbed in a brief tug-of -war that I won. The would-be thief sped off empty-handed. I had been warned about the motorbike thieves and always had the straps of my pack wrapped around my wrist. My embarrassed cyclo driver apologized profusely, explaining that Vietnam was still a poor country and some people were moved to extreme behavior. He did emphasize though, that the majority of Vietnamese were honest and law abiding. I blew off the experience with a shrug. There was nothing personal in the attack, just business.

The next morning after Tai-Chi I met Miss Kim again, who told me that after a sleepless night she had decided to write to her Aunt and Bob in Vermont, and cancel the marriage arrangement. She understood fully what I had been trying to convey. “If I were your younger sister what would you advise me to do?” she asked. “I can’t stay here forever”. I felt bad. I had shattered her bubble of hope. I looked around at the bustling street, at the chic Caio Cafe and the new Hotels. I saw the busy cyclo drivers and motorcycle taxis, the well dressed school children, street vendors and the packed cafe where we sat. “Stay and become a doctor here” I said slowly, “Your country is changing and needs forward thinking people to help the reforms and move them ahead”. I explained that most of the other communist regimes in the world had fallen to the inexorable tides of history. Some of them had moved too far, too fast and were foundering in a mire of misunderstood free enterprise and hokey democracy. Vietnam was taking a cautious path to reform, perhaps wisely. “Red can give way to pink” I said, “.......and perhaps eventually to a spectrum of color. She understood but was not convinced. “I don’t know, I don’t know. Are you talking about my life or is this new life only for my children” she said. I had no answer. It was easy for me to glibly espouse my cafe philosophy while her life was rooted in a communist ethos day after day. I fell silent. We moved on to other topics.

Until the recent reforms in Vietnam, Ho-Chi-Minh City was a uniform four to five stories high. With the newly reformed economy and influx of foreign capital the skyline has changed in recent years. Now a few high rises poke up above the mass of the city and new construction projects abound. Across from our hotel a massive multi-billion dollar cultural and business project is in the early stages of development. The noisy pile drivers mingle with Temple gongs at 4 am. since the hundred degree heat is prohibitive for productive work later in the day. One wonders at the personal dislocation experienced by the people who used to live in the several acres of prime urban real estate that has been vacated for the project. Hopefully their government has helped them find new homes. With the revival of (limited) free enterprise, small businesses are everywhere in stark contrast to a decade ago when the government was the nation’s only employer. Everywhere are small shops selling everything from hardware to silk to Tet (New Year) decorations. There are several markets in the city where vendors sell produce, dry goods, hardware, clothing, and military surplus goods. The cafe culture has spawned a wide spectrum of culinary offerings. From upscale coffee shops with Vietnamese style espresso and baguettes ( a legacy of the French colonial era), to a variety of restaurants. I love the street restaurants. With low (or no) rent, enterprising families set up a small kiosk on wheels, a few low plastic tables and stools and offer everything from a cold drink to and entire stir fried meal, cooked on the sidewalk in front of you. Other street vendors are selling cigarettes, books, postcards, new and used clothing, tools etc. In many neighborhoods the streetscapes are all colorful ad hoc street markets. You can even buy gasoline in one liter plastic bottles at the side of the road, often from an urchin that only has a two or three bottles to sell. Try that on Nicolet Mall and see how benevolent The Minneapolis City Government is in comparison to the communists. Since unemployment is illegal in Vietnam, their small scale enterprise system seems to fill a need. Everybody is working and nowhere did I see the malnourished or starving children found in many southeast Asian countries. However over 60% of the population of Vietnam is under 25 years old, a potential time bomb for a poor country.

After asking my cyclo driver to wait for me, I walked into the corner of the parking lot where the black clad martial artists were warming up. I noticed a small lithe figure who seemed to be in charge. He must be the instructor, I thought and gave him a small bow when he glanced in my direction. His casual glance became more curious and he signaled one of his students to accompany him to where I stood. We bowed and shook hands, and with his student Pham Thi Bi´th Huyên interpreting, we were able to communicate quite effectively. I was the first Westerner they had seen at their training sessions. After I explained my interest in Martial Arts and my student status in the Shotokan style of Japanese Karate that I practice, the Thå`y (master) Dhan Vãn Trung clapped his hands, stopped the class, and had three chairs placed at the side of the training area. I was to be honored with a demonstration by the senior students with the Thå`y seated on one side and Pham the interpreter on the other. It was a humbling experience. I felt like I was in the middle of a first class Kung Fu movie. However their style of martial art is called Võ Lâm Tân Kha´n Bá Trà. Not only were they proficient in devastating blocks and striking techniques but were also accomplished in gymnastic maneuvers that I could only dream about. They trained in full contact mode on a concrete surface. I saw people lifted bodily several feet in the air as the result of a kick to the groin, then they crashed to the ground and lay there groaning for a few moments before springing to their feet for another round of punishment. Their spirit and speed was impressive. One combatant would rush in with a flying kick only to find that his opponent had somersaulted over his head and was delivering a thrust into his body even before the first technique was complete. It was explained to me that these athletes were trained for full combat with a thorough knowledge of all the killing points on the body. I was observing a restrained version of their capabilities. After all they were colleagues and didn’t want to put each other in hospital, or worse. Apparently the Vietnamese Government had banned all martial arts for ten years after the American war, and even now only permitted certain styles to be taught within bureaucratic controls. However the notion of practicing martial arts as a sport was alien to them. Võ Lâm Tân Kha´n Bá Trà is practiced exclusively for health, self defense and combat. They occasionally have demonstration bouts or tournaments with other styles. However the tournaments are mainly for the purpose of refining the art than for the elevation of champions.

I returned by invitation the following evening to participate in a class. It was my last night in Vietnam. On arrival I was presented with the uniform of the style, a black shirt and loose pants similar in design to my white karate uniform. There were two colored patches. One on the chest designating the ‘official’ nature of the art, and one on the left arm denoting the style, Võ Lâm Tân Kha´n Bá Trà. I was also presented with a black belt by the Thå`y. Unlike Japanese styles the beginners start with a black belt and work their way up to a white belt, with various colors in between. Several of the advanced students also presented me with their old colored belts. I felt deeply honored and touched by their generosity. After all I was only a purple belt karate student, not some visiting master. I had hoped to participate in the beginners class and start learning the rudiments of their art. However I soon found myself in a private seminar with the Thå`y and Pham. We compared their style and training method with my style of karate, acknowledging similarities and differences. I was impressed that the Thå`y considered my style to be very dangerous. He explained that because Traditional Japanese Karate training is non-contact, with an emphasis on muscle contraction and body dynamics, his students have found karate strikes to be particularly devastating in a full contact tournament. The Thå`y showed me over 20 killing points on the body, cautioning me never to strike these points in training. Because they use full contact training methods it is important for beginning students to know which areas and points on the body to avoid striking. Then we went over various stances, and blocking and striking techniques. It was too much for me to assimilate in such a short time. All too soon I had to leave for the airport. We assembled for a photograph and I was off, this time by taxi. What a luxury after three weeks of walking and cyclo rides. It felt good. I was ready to go home.

And now Miss Kim, Thå`y Dhan Vãn Trung, Pham Thi Bi´th Huyên, my cyclo drivers and all the other friendly Vietnamese are memories for my scrap book, topics of conversation, items to be included in articles, and personalized as my experience. How do I retain a connection to these relationships that become so fleeting when outside my normal daily regime? Will I write to Miss Kim as promised? Will I look into the possibility of bringing a demonstration troupe of Võ Lâm Tân Kha´n Bá Trà martial artists to the USA? Will I occasionally ponder the plight of my cyclo driver and his life that has been forced into such a narrow channel. I hope so.

Vietnam is accessible from the Twin Cities via Aisiana Airlines from Los Angeles with connections at Seoul or Singapore. The Grand Dragon Hotel in Ho-Chi-Minh City has comfortable, modern accommodations at a reasonable price. Double rooms are $40-$50/night complete with twin beds, private bathroom, stocked refrigerator and television with CNN. For reservations telephone: (84-8)836-4759 or fax: (84-8) 836-7279. In the same neighborhood of Ho-Chi-Minh City there are also many $10-$20/night smaller hotels. For recommended hotels consult the Lonely Planet Vietnam Guide, by far the best budget travelers bible and available at any bookstore.

 1997 Fred Schlomka

Fred Schlomka is an incurable globetrotter who occasionally
spends time attending to his businesses in St. Paul and Jerusalem.