Aikido

'Try to bend my arm,' my teacher said. He stood a stride away from me, and his wrist rested on my shoulder. 'My arm is tensed, so , try to bend my arm.'

Locking my fingers, I pushed down at his elbow. It gave way, and my ego preened itself as the black belt staggered for balance.

'Now my arm will be relaxed,' he said, returning to the same position. 'Push down again.'

I locked my fingers in the same way, convinced it would be easy.

His arm locked under my pressure, and the more I grimaced, the more it felt like a steel bar.

'See,' he concluded, 'technique is important. Not power.'


I'm not very good at Aikido. Each lesson consists of impressive, effortless demonstrations, followed by students practising in pairs. At this point I normally make a few clumsy steps and fall over, despite it being my turn to throw.

But the serene, strong atmosphere of the dojo breaks my day with interest. Following the typical expat lifestyle you can find yourself surprised when you hear Korean spoken . With the swords on the walls, the bearded masters framed by the door, I feel like I'm Asia.

Most of the students are Korean men, though there are one or two girls who send me effortlessly to the floor. One Canadian student, Richard, has dark, concentrating eyes.

'You need to relax alot more,' he told me, as I practised a basic throw. 'You don't need to tense your arms and use your strength. If you're in the correct position I can't move at all.'

There's something fascinating in every Eastern discipline I can think of. Similar philosophies stretch from yoga into kung fu, kicking into tae kwon do and Chinese medicine.

The link between mind and body seems a recent concept in the west; the subject of irritating articles in Sunday supplements. Eating raw carrots can fight depression. Just 3 starjumps a weeks could boost circulation. Exclusive: why sitting on your arse all Sunday reading shite could be bad for your health.

Asia is no wonderland. Philosophies are incapable of preventing people from being human. I've heard stories of Buddhist monks beating a muslim boy, seen knife fights outside temples.

Though everything is the same, something is different here. Perhaps it's the slight chaos that gives life more options than in overly ordered England. Or the image of some ancient wisdom, lingering in the backstreets and the temples.

Whatever it is, there are moments, moments when the sun catches the smile of a woman selling vegetables by the road. Cinnamon from a stall, a cackling tramp obstructing seriously suited businessman. Billboards for martial arts and Chinese medicine clutter the sky, and I feel I could stay here, learning forever.