JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi (11 page)

Arne is a giant Viking and thank God he is my friend. He has absolutely no respect for me. He abuses me just like he does everyone else. He treats me like any guy he knows and couldn’t care less about aikido. Arne is a man in the capitol M sense of the word. He is my friend. The only thing I can do that makes him crazy is to out-fish him. And he makes up for that with his dead-eye shots with his Browning rifle.

Bangor is not an easy terminal to fly from as this was one of the departure points that launched the September 11, 2001 attacks. Still the airport is small and it is easy to arrive and depart. It is only difficult once you stand in line for the scans, the body searches and the constant surveillance. I survived both that and the short flight to Kennedy and made my way to the international terminal. I checked in at the overseas hub and waited the interminable stretch of time necessary for overseas flights. They all leave in the evening so that you arrive in Europe in the morning. I rarely carry anything aboard a flight anymore. An IPOD and a wallet with my passport is all that I can stand to carry through the personally invasive tactics of the airport Gestapo. I check everything and have never had a problem.

So I waited to be called to board. I am a big man, over six feet tall and weigh anywhere between 220 and 240 depending on which side of the holidays you might catch me. I am never comfortable in an airplane seat unless I fly first class and my wife, god bless her, has given me this gift a few times when I have gone to Europe to teach aikido seminars. Tonight I was not flying first class, I was going to be crammed into the Air France flight with 400 strangers and knew I would be spending the majority of the trip hanging out near the galley where others of my size and disinclination to sleep prematurely usually gather. I kept looking around the departure lounge for Curtis and the rest of the group and finally gave up and wandered down to the bar.

The first person I saw after walking in was Celine. She was laughing and Christian was trying to appear cool and suave, but was failing miserably. He was developing a serious infatuation with her and I was mildly curious how long she would flatter him into thinking he had a chance. Chris was smiling and Curtis was watching the television in the corner and not paying any attention to whatever they were carrying on about. They saw me and waved. I should have thought of this earlier. Chris plus Curtis equals conviviality and that means a bar. I hadn’t been worried; we have a lot of days built into the travel part of the trip to handle small glitches and side wanderings.

***

I love Singapore Airlines. This is the way to fly if you are going to go overseas and they are anywhere near your destination or you can route with them. It seems like there is a beautiful (or handsome) flight attendant at hand whenever you merely think you might need something and the accommodations, food, entertainment, liquor, wine and fluff are the very best imaginable. And I’m talking about the cheap seats. I can’t even imagine what goes on up in first class.

Unfortunately we were flying Air France, and nearly the opposite is true of everything I just said. The French are not small people. Some are quite large. Why do they cram every possible inch of room out of the distance between rows and seats? I get to the point I just have to stand up and walk the aisles. Or drink myself to sleep, which makes for a miserable next day since we arrive in Paris at 1:00 A.M., New York time. In Paris it is 7:00 AM, still too early for croissant and cafe au lait. A hangover lasts all day, so it is best not to get too carried away.

When we arrived in Paris we were groggy, tired, and caffeine wired, with irritable stomachs and jet lag headaches. The process of clearing customs is an ordeal, but eventually you manage it and find yourself wandering around looking for exits and wondering what to do with your luggage until it is time to check into your hotel, which is, usually after 3:00PM.

“
Sensei, is Oscar going to meet us at outside or the luggage carousel?” asked Christian.

“
I don’t know.” I said.

“
Really?” he asked.

“
Yeah, he’s always found me, somehow. I don’t know how he does it. I’ve always meant to ask him.”

“
Christian, I think Sensei is pulling your leg,” said Curtis.

“
No, I’m not.” I said. “Every time I come over here it’s the same thing. I arrive, get off the plane and there’s no Oscar. But somehow, before I get to the weird point, you know, when we’re standing around and my wife is wondering if we should just get a cab…? Somehow, there he is. He shows up. Have faith.”

We wound our way down the long aisles. While we moved I watched how my four companions (I still think of them as students) moved along. They were observant and not intimidated at all. I thought that this was a good thing as this was about the least strange place we would encounter along our path to Tengboche Monastery and then to Gokyo Ri. I stopped beside a large pile of broke concrete that had iron bars embedded in it and sticking out at all angles. I motioned that I needed a moment and then began to rearrange my duffle, suitcase and other encumbrances. Chris and Curtis helped me get a better grip on everything and I thanked them. We continued on.

The whole experience reminded me of Hurricane Charley and the wreckage left in its wake. It slammed into the dojo at 9:00 PM Friday August 13th, 2004. I doubt if I will ever forget that date. Charley had one hundred mile an hour winds with gusts much stronger. It had come ashore a category four storm. Its first victim was the small town of Punta Gorda about one hundred fifty miles southwest of Orlando and it had raced across the state in four hours. When it reached us it was still a category two hurricane and it rolled over us like we were mere blades of grass. At the dojo, my home, we lost over a dozen major trees and about thirty smaller ones. My house and the dojo sustained much damage as the trees landed on the building roofs and were then tossed around like matchsticks.

In truth I was little worried that we were in danger of our lives even though over twenty people died in that storm. My house was built back in the nineteen twenties and it has survived hurricanes for going-on a century. I had boarded the windows and taken all the precautions that I could prior to its arrival. A couple students had helped and barely left before the first squalls hit.

Afterward the devastation was amazing. It looked as if bombs had gone off all over the city. Everywhere you looked there were huge trees down in the streets and on houses and automobiles. My own cars were buried under several trees but under the carport and were, amazingly, not even scratched. The building roofs were covered in trees that had to be cleared with chainsaws, deadfalls and a backbreaking amount of labor. By Sunday morning I had succeeded in clearing the greater part of the debris from the roof, but was almost immobile with the amount of work ahead of me. Then a student came up the driveway and asked if he could help. I almost wept. Soon another and then another and by ten o’clock there were eight pairs of hands doing the hard work.

They kept it up for four days, coming in shifts and staying until darkness or rain or exhaustion made them quit. Finally, by Thursday we were able to look around and see we were closing in on it. We still had five big trees to cut up and clear, but there was more grass than debris and I made the decision to cut the grass. It would act as a mulching engine to help get rid of the smaller debris that made everything look so terrible. It really helped and from there it became a systematic labor until it was finally done.

Two weeks later we were slammed by another hurricane and two weeks after that by Hurricane Jeanne. Three major hurricanes in six weeks hit Florida and no matter how much we tried to overcome the feelings of powerlessness and depression, the whole state reeled in shock and despair. The doctors called it Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.

My students came to the aid of the dojo and their Sensei and I will always be grateful and proud that I have been able to create a place that inspires this kind of dedication and loyalty. I have always tried to instill a sense of community about everything associated with the dojo and when times get very bad we see how inspired and inspiring that kind of community can be. They are still helping me.

***

I was thinking about this when I saw Oscar standing against the far wall in his very red jacket. He is an imposing figure. Both tall and wide shouldered, he is hard to miss. And he had seen us.

“
Sensei! Curtis and Chris! You must be Christian? Welcome, welcome. Hello Celine!” He kissed her on both cheeks.

“
Hello Oscar,” I said.

“
Was it a good flight?” he asked.

I grimaced. Curtis shrugged. Christian slipped between Oscar and Celine and Chris said, “You know, back in Orlando the bars are still open…”

***

Paris is such a remarkable place that it is easy to write about. It is so easy in fact that you can get carried away. First you describe the monuments and the museums and then start to explain it by giving a little history, and the next thing you know you have written 90 pages. Or you try to keep it simple and easy and just talk about day to day things, the food, wine, and bread; only then, how can you not talk about the shops and the cafes and restaurants, the street life and joi de vivre? Another 90 pages…

No, trust me, it is much better if I just say that a few days later we arrived back at the airport for our flight to Istanbul. And when we arrived…

Chapter 9

One Step Closer

Curtis and Chris were shocked at the size of the Istanbul airport and even more so by the sheer immensity of the city itself. Celine’s father had sent a van to pick us up and I was impressed by that. We drove at a stately speed for an hour and then the driver pulled up to the entrance to a small hotel.

“
I thought we were going to Celine’s place?” I said to the driver. “I was under the impression that we had been invited to stay.”

The driver looked a little uncomfortable and then the look on his face changed to one of amusement.

“
You see,” he said, “She told her father that it was her teacher coming. Turks honor education and teachers. But then he learned of these..!” He pointed his chin to Chris and Curtis and Christian. “He arranged for rooms for you.” He leaned toward me over the front seat and said, “He has three daughters, all single, all beautiful…” He arched his eyebrows and grinned.

I couldn’t help but shake my head and smile. I got out and indicated for the others to join me. The driver got out and unloaded our luggage, which was formidable. He said, “I am supposed to wait until you get checked in and unpack and do whatever you feel you need to do and then you are invited to dinner at the family home. I will park the van over there.” He pointed.

We met in the lobby after everyone had showered and changed. The driver was nowhere to be found and we looked up and down the street for him. When we eventually found him I asked the driver his name. “I am Mustafa,” he said.

“
Okay, Mustafa, we’re ready to go.”

“
Oh,” he said. “You are much too early. Not until after five o’clock.”

I looked at my old watch and tried to do the math. “Anybody know what time it is?”

Christian muttered, “Istanbul is an hour later than Paris.” He looked up at the sky and then continued, “Paris is five hours later than Eastern Standard Time unless you are in Daylight Saving Time when it is six hours later.” He seemed dazed.

“
So…” I did the switch. My watch showed 8 o’clock. “Is it still daylight savings?”

“
It is 3:00 PM,” said Mustafa.

Chris said. “If it’s 3:00 PM, then it has to still be DST. And it also means we have two hours to kill. See you later.” He nodded to Curtis and they took off.

“
Mustafa, did Mr.
Demiroglu say what you are supposed to be doing?”

“
No. I am at your disposal.”

“
Well, Mustafa, let’s go for a ride.”

Christian and I climbed into the big van and Mustafa asked where we wanted to go.

“
The old city?” I looked at Christian in question. “Down by the Topkapi Palace, that area. That is very near the Grand Bazaar, isn’t it?”

“
Yes, sure,” he said. He drove off and we settled back to look at this strange and ancient city. After a bit he dropped us off at the Grand Bazaar and we wandered around for an hour fending off shop keepers and hawkers of everything from leather coats to carpet bags and rugs. The leather merchants would step up to you and thrust out their wares and snap a bic lighter into flame and lay it against the leather to show you it wasn’t plastic, I guess. It was disconcerting, but I found the rugs and the amazing hand woven carpets to be thrilling. I love textiles and to me the finest textiles in the world are oriental carpets. Some have 600 or more individual threads in a single square inch. It is an amazing art form.

We met Mustafa by the entrance and arrived back at the hotel a few minutes before five o’clock. Curtis and Chris climbed in and we were off. Then we were there. Just like that. We could have easily walked. Celine and her family lived about four blocks from the hotel.