A rotina em Kunyu Shan

"Vais estudar kung-fu?" Dizia a minha tia. "Olha que eu vi o Kill Bill, sabes quantas escadas vais ter de subir?" 
Quando contei às minhas tias acerca do meu novo plano de ir para a China aprender artes marciais, o seu plano de referência foi o episódio em que a personagem principal do Kill Bill, no segundo filme, tem de subir escada acima, escada abaixo com baldes de água aos ombros. 

A sua preocupação era legítima. Nas artes marciais tradicionais - e quando digo tradicionais, quero dizer há uns tempos atrás quando este tipo de artes era praticado por monges no templo de Shaolin, um tipo de Meca para qualquer entusiasta de Kung-fu (em Dengfeng, Província Henan) - era comum ver os monges a carregar os baldes de água durante o treino. Hoje em dia, ainda temos as escadas uma vez por semana, mas felizmente temos os ombros livres.

O terceiro relato d'As Crónicas de Shaolin.

Expressões faciais - Olhos

Esta publicação foi transferida para o meu site novo: www.patricia-morais.com

Podes ler aqui.

Shaolin ou Wingchun?

A aventura continua... e como não podia deixar de ser, tenho de continuar a partilhar esta aventura convosco.

Na academia nem tudo parece fácil e, principalmente no inicio existem decisões a ser tomadas e novos hábitos a adquirir. Afinal de contas, ir à China não é o mesmo que ir a Chinatown!

Descobre também como esta experiência me ajudou a entrar na pele de Lilly, em "Sombras"

O segundo relato. 

Crónicas de Shaolin

Se andam ansiosos por saber mais sobre esta aventura na China ou não, pouco sei. Mas a verdade é que já há muito ando a prometer novidades e até agora nada! Pois é! Para quem não sabe existe menos websites a funcionar na China do que originalmente pensara.

Instragram? Népia... Blogspot? Apanhei um grande choque quando descobri que não funcionava, porque tinha prometido dar notícias por aqui. Até mesmo alguns servidores de mails não funcionam (como gmail). 

Resultado? Sem a ajuda de um VPN pouco posso fazer, e o único dispositivo para o qual consegui arranjar um foi para o iPad. Mas tentar escrever um post de blog no iPad é um pouco desorganizado e cansativo, é por isso que, com mil e uma desculpas, lamento não ter dado notícias.

O meu conselho? Se forem para a China, arranjem um VPN para o computador antes de lá entrar, porque, sem ser pago, arranjar um quando já lá estão é praticamente impossível.

Mas o momento para o qual temos esperado chegou e a Coolbooks iniciou As Crónicas de Shaolin, mantém-te atento à sua página do Facebook e à minha página oficial para descobrires mais como esta experiência e as artes marciais me estam a mudar (fisicamente e mentalmente).

Portanto, aqui fica o link deste primeiro relato.

"Até que tomei a decisão: tirar um ano inteiro para aprender artes marciais. Mas não só aprender como quem vai para o trabalho e depois tem uma hora de aula no final do dia para desanuviar. Aulas numa verdadeira academia de artes marciais. Onde? Porque não na China? "

Pick Up A Weirdo - Lost in China... And Pandas!!

Day 11: Because of jetlag and different time zones (8 hours difference) I ended up wasting one and a half days in Beijing, not very important for me when I’ll have a lot of time to explore, but mildly concerning for those who want to fit a lot of activities on a tight schedule. 

So what to do when I only had half a day left to enjoy? Visit the Beijing Zoo and finally see Pandas for the very first time. The Giant Panda Bear is my absolute favourite animal since as far as I can remember so it was a very important mark in the history of my life to finally see them upfront. And an  opportunity to cross something off of my bucket list. I expected them to be bigger, but wasn’t disappointed. 

Going there was quite easy, the subway system is similar to London’s and the stations have the Pinyin translation underneath. But when I went back to the hostel things turned out mildly sour. 

Most tube stations in Beijing have four exits, something I didn’t know so I didn’t pay attention to which exit I got in. So after getting out at a random exit and walking a little, I realised I didn’t recognise the place I was in and turned back to enter the subway again and exit through another.

I was still lost!

Finally, I started asking people that didn’t know where my street was, or didn’t speak English, or simply didn’t want to help, because everyone just shook their heads and repeatedly told me “bu”! A nice gentleman agreed to help me and put the address on maps. The map indicated I was very close but none of us knew which direction it head towards. He ended up telling me “it must be that way”.

Ahead I asked another man and this one seemed more certain but didn’t speak a word of English, I only understood from his crossed fingers that he meant to say a crossroad and turn right.

I kept walking and when the crossroad arrived I still didn’t recognise the street and asked again. A guy from a hairdresser gave me some directions, that ended up being wrong and caused me to get lost again. So when I got to the end of the road, saw there were no more alleys and still no sign of my hostel, I tried again.

"It's backwards," pointed a lady at a pharmacy. "Backwards," pointed another boy.

HOW CAN IT BE BACKWARDS? I JUST DID THAT STREET AND SAW NOTHING!  I was starting to get really furious!!! And for those of you who know me, you know it's not pretty when I start getting furious over being lost (maps get torned and thrown into the garbage).

The maps on the streets of China don’t have the Pinyin translation, so that feeling that you might be saved by those beautiful murals full of roads that tell "you are here", are rendered completely useless… 

I started getting desperate and stopping the taxi drivers and showing my address that I had saved on the iPad, both in English and Chinese, but the taxi drivers refused to take me for some reason I didn’t understand because they only spoke Chinese...

The fourth taxi driver I stopped seemed to recognise it but didn’t want to take me, he kept gesturing number 2 and pointing backwards. Still, I sat on the front seat, closed the door and pointed at the road. "Let's go!" He started yelling at me in Mandarin what I can only assume that meant he didn't want to take me cause he continued to gesture backwards and signaling 2. "Some say forward, other say backwards, I am tired of being lost!" I yelled in English. He must have understood I was stubborn cause he put down the taximeter and drove.

After driving the same road I had walked on foot twice, turning and stopping in an alley he pointed forward. I still couldn’t see my hostel and there was no chance I was going to pay and keep on being lost. So I pointed forward too and told him to keep going. He started arguing with me again in Mandarin and I argued back with him in English that I was tired of being lost. I ended up winning the argument again cause the car, which he was afraid was not going to fit in the tight space, did fit, and I found my hostel.

The point is: had I payed attention to the exit I entered at the subway, the way to my hostel would have taken me 2 minutes instead of 2 hours... And, I finally saw Pandas!!

Perdida numa cidade onde não falam a língua

           

Dia 11: Ontem cheguei ao hostel e disse a mim própria que só ia dormir umas 3 horinhas (visto que ainda eram 22h30 em Portugal quando aterrámos em Pequim). "Yah, pois!" Disse o corpo ao cérebro. Acabei por dormir até às 18h da tarde. O que fez com que não conseguisse dormir à noite, o que fez com que hoje acordasse à 13h e desperdiçasse grande parte do meu dia.

Decidi, então passar pelo Jardim zoológico de Beijing onde iria ver Pandas pela primeira vez!!! Pandas! Finalmente, o meu número não sei quantos da minha Bucket-List pode ser riscado.

Para lá, não houve problemas, fui dar com a estação na perfeição. O sistema de linhas é bastante semelhante ao metro de Londres e os nomes têm o Pinyin (fonética do Mandarim) por baixo.

Foi à vinda que as coisas se complicaram.

As estações de Beijing têm quatro saídas (ou pelo menos a de Zhangzizhonglu tem). E depois de andar perdida durante uns tempos, voltei a entrar na estação e sair por outra saída. Continuei perdida!

Finalmente, comecei a perguntar, mas as pessoas ou não sabiam ou não queriam ajudar por não saberem falar inglês, porque todos me respondiam que "não, não." Um senhor, que falava inglês, acabou por colocar a morada no GPS do telemóvel e pode ver que estava perto, mas não sabia qual era a direção do mapa. Acabou por apontar a dizer que devia ser para ali.

Mas quando ali chegou e eu continuava sem ver a outra saída do metro da estação, voltei a perguntar. Este senhor já parecia mais seguro, mas não falava uma palavra de inglês, e apontou-me para a frente, fez o sinal de cruzamento com os dedos e apontou para a direita.

Continuei a andar em frente (passando por aquela rua uma segunda vez) Cheguei ao cruzamento no final da rua e ainda não via nada que fosse familiar e decidi perguntar a um rapaz no cabeleireiro que me apontou na mesma rua que o senhor anterior. No final da rua ainda não havia sinal dos becos onde fica o meu hostel. 

Voltei a perguntar.

"É para trás," assinalou uma senhora em mandarim numa farmácia. ´"É para trás," assinalou outro rapaz.

Como é para trás? Acabei de fazer esta rua e não vi nada!

Comecei a desesperar e a parar os táxis. Parei 3 táxis, mas sempre que lhes mostrava a morada todos abanavam as mãos negativamente. Não sei se não sabiam ou se recusavam-se a levar-me por ser tão perto, porque nenhum falava inglês.

Finalmente, o taxista pareceu reconhecer a morada e apontou para trás. Eu fechei a porta do carro e disse: "Ok, então vamos." O senhor começou aos berros comigo em mandarim e a fazer o sinal de dois e para trás. "E uns dizem para a frente, outros para trás e eu estou cansada de estar perdida," berrei também, em inglês. Ele lá deve ter percebido que eu não ia sair porque pôs o taxímetro a contar.

Ele percorreu toda aquela rua que eu fizera a pé, virou na direção da rua onde eu perguntara ao primeiro homem do GPS e voltou para trás na outra faixa da estrada. De seguida, parou num beco e apontou-me para a frente, mas eu ainda não conseguia ver o meu hostel e não havia hipótese nenhuma de continuar perdida e ainda assim pagar por isso. Também eu apontei para a frente dizendo que seguisse. Ele voltou a reclamar comigo em mandarim e a gesticular e percebi que tinha algo a ver com o carro não caber. "E eu estou cansada de estar perdida," reclamei mais alto que ele.

Ele acabou por ceder, o carro acabou por caber e eu acabei por encontrar o meu hostel depois de ter estado duas horas perdida nas mesmas ruas. "Don't follow me. I'm lost too!"

Pick Up A Weirdo - Auschwitz

When I found out that there were direct flights to Beijing from Europe, my immediate thought was to visit a city I had never been before. But the cheapest flights I could find were from Helsinki, Warsaw, and Copenhagen (all cities I have already visited). That’s how a new idea emerged: I’ve always wanted to see Auschwitz and last time I went to Warsaw, almost eight years ago, I promised myself I would go back to Poland just to see the concentration camp.

And when my sister wanted to spend her Carnival break in Amsterdam, we decided to put two  and two together and visit Anne Frank’s House ---» Concentration Camp.

Beds in Bikernau

                                    

The first thing I thought when I got to the camp was: “I’m wearing a jumper and a shirt, two jackets, a beanie and a scarf, and Timberland boots and I’m freezing. How did those people survive with just stripped pyjamas?” While we were walking to the entrance it started snowing. The blood I my veins seemed so tick and soon enough the places where the flow was slower were beginning to burn. It didn’t take long till the simple act of taking my gloveless hands out of my pockets to take pictures was restrained to what was absolutely necessary.

Auschwitz I is divided in blocks, and some of these blocks are open for exhibitions about the life in the concentration camps. The story in some of the signs are atrocious: “the bodies of the prisoners trying to flee were displaced here as a warning”, “here is a site of mass murder, please keep silent to show respect”, among others… 

But those are not the stories that make my throat throb and force me to swallow hard, the solidarity stories do. The one that tells the story of a mother separated from her daughter who later, after the camps' release, was reunited with her, due to the kindness of strangers that took care of the little girl and protected her. The stories of surviving children in Auschwitz telling how adults made them toys out of rags, stones and wood. The story of a priest who volunteered to die in the starvation cells to save a family man. The horrors that those people were subjected to do not surprise me, but seeing that protective instinct that characterises our species does. Seeing that there were people that never abandoned hope, kindness, and solidarity while suffering cruel acts? Those are the times I discover the true meaning of “humanity”.

The museum was full despite the cold and the occasional snow. Some people carried bouquets of flowers, perhaps people that empathised with what had happened or relatives of someone who had been forced to live there. But those people, with those flowers serve as reminders that these stories aren’t made up, that what happened there doesn’t come from a horror book. Those were real human beings with real families. How did things like fear, hate, thirst for power and abstinence allowed for such stories to become a reality?

        

      

The museum is not harshly severe for the faint of heart that might believe they could never visit it. We see more gruesome things on television on our daily lives. But there are some things less merciful. Rooms showing from one end to the other the two tons of women hair that were retrieved from sacks the Germans intended to sell as textile.Thousands and thousands of dusted and ratty shoes, taken from the people on their arrival when they were delivered wooden clogs. In the middle of so many shoes it is almost a miracle when you find one with a pair.

When we visited the gas chamber in Auschwitz I was waiting to feel that distinguished smell of burnt that so many people talk about when visiting the camp but it didn’t happen. It was only after we caught the free shuttle that takes us to Birkenau (Auschwitz II) that such smell became present. Dozens (maybe hundreds) of crematoriums are displaced in one side of the camp, broken and burnt. On the other side are the prisoners’ barracks, where they were force to sleep in three levelled bunks, squeezing against one another because of the lack of space.  Some even wrote their names on the walls, afraid that someone will forget they were there, afraid that history will mark them as just another number that died in the holocaust. 

            

For those who wish to know: from Warsaw’s train station (Warszawa Centralna) there are direct trains to Krakow (Kraków Glowny). The price ranges from 60-200 zloty (15-50 euros), depending on days and time (my advice is to go to the information centre and ask which one is the cheapest train). The journey takes 3 hours.

When in Krakow it is possible to stay in a hostel for one or two nights. Krakow is a beautiful city and there are some Free Walking Tours that tell the story of the city and guide you through the most important monuments (this works specially well if you’re anything like me and suck with directions and are constantly getting lost with maps).

It is possible to catch the train to go to Auschwitz (the stop is 2km away from the museum and they are less frequent than buses). My advice is to take the bus (the bus station is in the same shopping centre as the train station). The tickets are more or less 12-14 zloty (+/- 3 euros) and the buses stop in the museum. You don’t need to buy a return ticket, there are a lot of companies with buses at different times so you don’t need to depend on the same one. The Polish name for Auschwitz is Oswiecim so this is the name you should be on the lookout when trying to find the bus.

The entrance to the museum without guide is free.