Why Are Left-Handed Fighters Called Southpaws?

Spoiler:  It's not baseball.

There's a popular story--and it IS just a story--that the term "southpaw" originated in baseball.  According to the story, old baseball diamonds were built with home plate to the west, so that a pitcher's right hand was on the north side and the left hand faced the south.  So any left-handed pitcher used his southern "paw" to throw the ball.  

This idea has been thoroughly debunked, but if you ever heard it and believed it, don't feel bad.  This myth has been around since at least 1908 when baseball writer Tim Murnane had to explain that he used the term "southpaw" because players were left-handed, not because their left hands sometimes faced the south.  To say nothing of the fact that baseball diamonds didn't all face the same direction in the first place!  Moreover, in the mid 1800's when the term started to appear in baseball, it was used to refer to any left-handed player, not just the pitchers.

There are slightly older accounts of the term being used in boxing than in baseball, and that may very well be where the term "southpaw" began to be used to refer to a person. But before that, the term was more widely used to refer to a person's left hand, with the first recorded usage being in 1813.

No one is really sure why a person's left hand became known as a south paw.  The best guess out there is that it's because south and left were associated with the devil and/or general badness.  Traces of this remain today when we might describe a person's uncharacteristic poor decision as having their judgment go south, or refer to the devil on our left shoulder when we're not proud of our motivations in a particular decision.  

The stockiest of stock images.

For us as martial artists, the difference between left-handed and right-handed students tends to be small.  A right-handed student may have an advantage when it comes to forms, because most of them were created by and for right-handed practitioners.  In a similar vein, there is this disturbing suggestion that being left-handed significantly increases your chances of dying in combat, because the tools that can save your life are made for right-handed users.

On the other hand (no pun intended but I'll go with it), a left-handed student may have an advantage in sparring other martial artists because both lefties and righties tend to get more practice against right-handed sparring partners.  Left-handed people only make up about 10% of the population, so statistically speaking, 90% of the partners and 90% of the practice will be against right-handed opponents.  Which explains why left-handed fighters are so dramatically over-represented at the professional levels in combat sports.  17% of professional boxers and almost 19% of professional MMA fighters are left-handed--they're almost twice as common as they are in the general public.

So being left-handed can make a fighter just a little bit more dangerous than their right-handed counterparts.  For combat sports like boxing where the term may have originated, more dramatic language can translate into ticket sales.  All those devilish connotations could have been to a fighter's advantage.  It's not hard to imagine a clever wordsmith playing up a left-handed fighter's devastating and maybe even diabolical "southpaw" power shot.

But imagination aside, we know that calling an athlete a "southpaw" didn't come from baseball but rather from a term for an actual left hand.  And if you thought otherwise, well, that myth has been duping people for over a century, so I guess we're in good company.  But let's not propagate it!

How to Make and Train With a Jegi

A jegi (roughly pronounced "jay" like the bird and "gi" like the karate uniform) is a traditional Korean toy, similar to a shuttlecock.  It's used to play a game called jegichagi (literally, "jegi kicking").  Legend has it that the game was developed from martial arts training.  No one knows if that is actually true, but there's some evidence for it.  Either way, there's no reason it can't be part of your training today.

Traditionally, the jegi was made with a 100 mun coin and hanji, handmade Korean paper.

100 mun Korean coin (photo credit)

Even though 100 mun might sound like a lot, this coin had so little value that in order to buy anything, you needed a lot of them.  People would thread them onto strings like beads and tie off the ends, then they could drape the strings over their shoulders to carry them around.  So even poor people had a lot of these coins lying around.

To make a jegi, the coin would be placed in the middle of a folded sheet of hanji paper.  By poking a hole though the paper to match the hole in the coin, the paper could be torn into strips and pushed through the hole in the coin, resulting in a paper-wrapped coin with feathered paper strips coming out of the hole.

Making a Jegi

In the spirit of the people who played jegichagi so long ago, we're going to make them out of whatever materials that we have at hand.  I like to use plastic bags, coins and string, but you do you.  Like a Jedi's lightsaber, you will design your jegi to be one-of-a-kind, perfectly in tune with your connection to the Force, from only the purest Kyber crystals... wait, where was I?  Oh, right, making a jegi.

If you don't have a cat but want a similar challenge level, you can toss your plastic bag into the air and cut your squares with a samurai sword before it lands.

1.  Cut squares.

You want two squares of plastic, each about one square foot.  For those who live in parts of the world that use a reasonable system of measurement, you get to make your squares 30 cm x 30 cm.  You don't have to be exact, and in fact I encourage you to experiment with bigger or smaller squares and see what you like.  Bigger squares means longer strips, and more air resistance, so the jegi will move more slowly through the air.

2.  Pick your coin(s).

You can use any coin you like, or really any small object that has a little weight to it.  You can also use multiple coins.  The important thing is that you get the weight right.  Too much weight, and your jegi will fall really fast and be difficult to use.  Too little, and it won't move easily through the air and it will be difficult to kick it high.  You can experiment to find your personal sweet spot.

I'm using a single penny.  I like the weight it gives my jegi, and also we should get rid of pennies whenever we can.  I should mention that this makes for a very light jegi, which will be difficult for traditional play but easier for martial arts training.


3.  Fold everything.

There are easier ways to do this, but if your art is usually practiced barefoot, it's nice to have a little extra padding.  If you want even more, you can wrap your coin in a tissue before following these steps.

a) Fold your squares in half and place the coin in the center.

b) Fold your coin into its own little strip along the folded edge.

c) Fold the strip a second time.

d) Roll it up.

4.  Tie it off.

Take your string and tie the plastic down near the coin, so the coin is secure and can't slide out.

5.  Cut the plastic into strips.

If you've been careful with your folding, it should be easy and quick to cut the plastic into strips, about 1 cm (half an inch for my fellow Americans) wide.  If, like myself, you have the craft skills of a drunk toddler, you'll probably have to cut each strip individually.  But success is a journey not a destination (or something) and eventually you will have a jegi.

Qapla'!

6.  Feather out the strips.

You've got it!  Even if you skip all this arts and crafts nonsense and just buy a jegi, you will have to do this step, which is to separate the strips from each other so that they can catch the air individually.  Wait, you can just buy these things?  And I'm here with my scissors and string like a sucker?

At this point, most humans would also identify this thing as a cat toy.

Let's Play!

So you have your own jegi!  Now what do you do with it?  Traditionally, jegichagi was played by kicking the jegi with the instep of the foot, trying to keep it from touching the ground, with the winner being the player who kicked it the most times before it finally fell.

I play it a little differently.  My method is picking it up, kicking it once, chasing it to wherever it fell, and trying again while some old Korean guy starts laughing on the sidelines, proceeding to demonstrate how easy it is and offering some advice that is beyond my language skills to understand.  Anyway.

Certainly you can play the traditional version of the game and use it to develop your hip muscles (or you can do that without the jegi).

There are also variations where you have to keep the jegi in the air using only a specific kick, or where you can't put your foot down between kicks, or where the jegi is kicked between players in a group.  Have fun with it!

Let's Train!

If you're training barefoot, I recommend doing a few light practice kicks so you know how your jegi feels before you go nuts (or before handing off your jegi to a young student).

Pick a striking technique.  Any punch or kick will work.  Toss your jegi into the air and try to hit it with the technique you chose.  Don't worry about where it lands, just try to make your hand or foot connect with the jegi.  If this is your first time playing with a jegi, you will probably find this plenty challenging.  Experiment with which techniques are easy and which are difficult.

Here are a few ideas, in order of difficulty:

Reverse punch
Front kick
Roundhouse kick
Side kick
Spin hook kick

I've never met a student who can reliably hit a jegi with all of those techniques.  Even so, it's great for developing fast and accurate strikes.

Here are a couple of my younger students working their kicks on a jegi:

Lets Play AND Train!

Ever played a basketball game called Horse?  You can modify the rules to play with a jegi.

One player issues a challenge.  It can be anything from "I am going to punch it and not miss," to "I am going to kick it with a flying spinning roundhouse kick with my eyes closed and make it land perfectly balanced on your head while reciting Funakoshi's 19th precept in Klingon."  The player then attempts whatever challenge they issued.

If they succeed, the jegi goes to the second player, who must attempt the same challenge.

If they fail, the second player does not have to attempt the challenge and instead creates their own challenge.

If you fail a challenge you didn't create, you get a letter.  Your first letter is H, then O, then R, and so forth.  Once you spell HORSE, you are out of the game.  The last player in the game is the winner.

Happy training!

Happy Times with Grandmaster Park Chull Hee

Many of you in my martial arts family already know that Grandmaster Park has passed away.  Today I am skipping work to write this post about happier times, because it's all I can do in the face of profound loss.  There's no way I can go to the funeral in Korea.  I want to do the normal things that people do when they mourn, but that involves friends, instructors, and training partners on the other side of a language barrier, and the world itself.

A wallet certificate for a martial arts master in taekwondo's formative years,
before they even nailed down exactly what to call the art.

While the world is a little bit less today for not having him in it, this is a post about happier times.

In fact, I'll start off with a Fish Story, which I wrote before I started this blog, at a time when a Guardians of the Galaxy reference was somewhat timely.

Fish Story

I have a fish story for you.

I wanted to take Grandmaster Park out to a nice restaurant before I leave Korea.  Being unfamiliar with restaurants in the area, I asked the taekyun staff for a recommendation. They suggested an oddly-named restaurant that translated to, "My mother cooked me fish."

So when I offered to take Grandmaster Park there, he absolutely could not understand why I kept telling him that my mother cooked me fish.  He was too polite to say, "Listen you crazy foreigner, I know for a fact that your mother didn't cook you fish, because your mother isn't even on this continent, and even if she did cook you fish, why do you keep telling me that?"  But eventually I got him to the restaurant and pointed at the sign, and perhaps he no longer worried that he needed to report me for some mental health screening.

When we got there, I saw that the pictures were not what I expected.  The taekyun staff told me it was "fried fish," so I imagined breaded and fried fish pieces, like you would get at a fish fry in America.  But no.  They served up whole fish.  I have a personal rule to not eat anything that looks like it did when it was alive.  Why?  Because I'm a wuss.  But Grandmaster Park seemed happy to be there, so I decided to suck it up and face my impending doom.

I get squeamish when I can't tell if it's a meal or a pet.

I was thankful when Grandmaster Park selected a dish that was served without a head or a tail.  I wouldn't have to worry that my meal would start screaming as soon as I poked at it with chop sticks.  And even more importantly, I wouldn't have to go all Yondu on Grandmaster Park's fish and save it from being eaten.  After a sigh of relief, I ordered two of them.

When the meal arrived, I had no idea how to eat it.  I'm pretty good with chop sticks at this point, but I couldn't imagine how to cut a fish with them.  So I focused on my soup until I could see Grandmaster Park do it.  He basically scooped the meat out like he was using a spoon.  I watched and copied, and managed to eat.  It was pretty good.

Using magical powers that I can only assume come somewhere around 9th degree, Grandmaster Park was able to turn his fish into two neat rows of bones that looked like they had been cleaned in a chemistry lab.  Mine looked like somebody had scraped some of the meat out, gotten frustrated, and decided to smash the rest with a hammer.

When I finally gave up, Grandmaster Park teased me.  He said that when it's time to pay, I should get a discount because there's still enough fish there that they can sell it again.

I wonder if in Korea, they put soy sauce in the wound instead of salt.

A Story About His Character

The first time I went to Korea, I knew that Grandmaster Park was in Seoul somewhere.  I didn't even try to look him up.  I was only a first degree back then, and I figured the founder of our kwan had better things to do than hang out with the likes of me.  I would have loved to meet him, but I didn't want to inconvenience him.  So you can imagine my surprise when he was the one to reach out to me.

I've told the story before, but I'll tell it again in a little more detail now.  I had been training in a Kukkiwon school under Master Jang.  It was valuable, certainly, but it was a more modern experience than I expected.  So one day after my Korean language skills had developed enough, I spent some quality time with Google and found a Korean website detailing the beginning of taekwondo through the original nine kwans.  On that page, I found the correct hangeul spelling of Park Chull Hee.  Then I was able to search for his name in Korean.

Spoiler:  I found him and trained with him.

Automatic translators between English and Korean are not very helpful, but back then they were even worse.  Google returned a myriad of results, but I understood almost none of their contents.  However, there was one result that included a picture--a map of an area in Seoul that I recognized.  It said there was a taekyun school there, which was surprising to me because I had been there and never noticed any martial arts school in that area.  Still, it was more to go on than I'd ever had before.  If these people were talking about Grandmaster Park on their website, they must certainly know how to find more traditional martial arts schools in Korea.  So as soon as the weekend came, I went to Seoul and followed the map, all so I could ask if there was a Kang Duk Won school near where I lived.

The school was closed when I arrived, but there were two people in the office.  I must have looked like a lost tourist.  But I did get to ask about traditional martial arts near my town.  Neither of them knew, but they took down my phone number and promised to find out.  The next day, Grandmaster Park called me.  I have always wondered about how that conversation went.  "Hello, sir.  How are you today?  There was a lost white lady asking about you today.  Her name is unpronounceable but here's her phone number."

When he called me, we arranged to meet at the taekyun school.  I had to wait until the weekend so I could travel to Seoul again, but it turned out that he traveled just as far.  He chose the place not because it was convenient, but because he knew that I could find it. When I met him, I bowed, because that is how you greet someone in Korea, but he shook my hand because that's how you greet someone in America.  We went to a restaurant and got to know each other a little bit.

Communication was difficult.  No one whose Korean is as terrible as mine has any right to complain about anyone's English, but we did not always understand each other. Moreover, he had some hearing loss, making it even more difficult.  I desperately wanted him to tell me stories.  I knew he had been deeply involved in the origins of taekwondo, and he must have so much to tell.  So at one point I asked him to tell me about his instructor.  He misunderstood and said something about the buses.  So I said, "No, I mean your instructor, Yoon Byungin."

He was surprised that I knew that name, and he lit up like a little kid on Christmas.  I've seen that smile from him exactly three times.  The first was on that day.  The second was when he learned that I was training in taekyun.  And the third was when I told him I was starting a school.

And a Very Personal Note

My strongest visceral memory of Grandmaster Park was during my first trip to Korea, on the day I told him I was going back to America soon.  It was a phrase he said in passing after training that day.  He said, "...when you start your school."

I loved martial arts and teaching too, but I understood that certain doors were closed to me, and that was one of them.  Even if it wasn't, it was dramatically premature to talk about that sort of thing.  I was only a first degree when this conversation took place.

He said, "When you start your school."  Not, "If you start a school," or even, "Hey, Jinyeong, have you ever thought of starting a school someday?"  He was so confident that I would persevere, that I would get there, that I would make this impossible thing a reality someday.  I didn't have the heart to tell him that I planned to give up on martial arts when I went back home.

That night was torture.  I barely slept.  I kept thinking how awful it was that I had this incredible instructor--one who could teach me so much, who was so happy to work with me, who never charged me a dime but demanded my utmost effort, who went out of his way to help me at every turn, and who even really, truly believed in me--and I was losing him because it was time to go home.

Well, I didn't lose him that day.  I went back to Korea every chance I could to train with him.  Each time I would show him the progress I had made by practicing what he had shown me last time, and he would smile and say, "Very improve!"  He didn't do email and phone conversations became increasingly difficult as his hearing worsened, so I communicated with him through snail mail.  I didn't lose him that day.  I lost him today.

But I'll always keep alive the things that he taught me.  I'll forever be a better person because of the things he did for me, and I'm more successful because of the ways he inspired me.  I'll do my very best to be worthy of the confidence he had in me, and I'll do everything I can to make sure my students carry the torch as well.  I'm sure many other people he touched will do exactly the same.

The world is a little bit less today for not having him in it, but the world is so much more because of the many years he was here.

Grandmaster Park and myself in front of the place where he took his first lessons.
Carrying on the tradition is all up to us now.

Thanks for listening.

Interview with Master Do Kihyun Part 2

Master Do Kihyun is the President of the Kyulyun Taekyun Association and a published author on taekyun.  He has trained in martial arts for over 40 years including taekwondo, kung fu, kendo, karate, aikido, hapkido, and others.  He started taekyun in 1982 and has trained in it continuously ever since.  He has a masters degree in Sports and Leisure and is working toward his PhD.  He now teaches taekyun in Seoul, Korea, at a small school where people (including myself) come from all over the world to train.

Despite his impressive resume, he insists that his most noteworthy accomplishment is having achieved confidence, happiness, and peace of mind through martial arts.  I sat down with Master Do to discuss taekyun and his experiences in the martial arts.

This is Part 2 of a two-part series.  Part 1 of the interview is here.

Martial Journeys:  What prompted you to switch from training in taekwondo to taekyun?

Master Do:  I read in taekwondo books that taekwondo came from taekyun, so I wanted to know what taekyun is.  I wasn't serious, I was just curious.  Fortunately, Master Song lived near my University.  I found him and I started to learn taekyun in 1982.

Martial Journeys:  How did you find him?  Did he run a school?

Master Do:  No, I found his address by luck.  I read about him in a magazine in a shop. The magazine mentioned the general area where he lived, but not the exact address.  So I went there and asked around at the village, "Do you know Master Song?"

Song Deokgi (left) was depicted in taekwondo magazines
well before 1982.

Martial Journeys:  Master Song is very famous in taekyun circles.  What was it like to train with him?

Master Do:  I was happy to learn a new style of martial art.  When I visited my master for the first time, I imagined that since taekyun is an old style martial art, taekyun's movement must be very slow and very graceful with deep stances.  But my teacher taught me that taekyun doesn't have that kind of technique.  When I saw what he showed me, I thought, "What is this?!"  I was very surprised the first time.  I was very happy to learn something so different.  Also, he never said, "practice taekyun."  He would just say, "play taekyun," or "enjoy taekyun."  Having fun was important.  I love that.  Also since he was born in 1893, he could tell me what Korea was like 100 years ago.  I often asked about the Joseon Dynasty, and he told me many things about that time.

A postcard depicting life in the Joseon Dynasty.  Thanks to koreanet for making the
image available for reuse.

Martial Journeys:  What was the most difficult thing about switching to taekyun?

Master Do:  Taekwondo is a very tense martial art with strong, hard movements.  I practiced taekwondo for a long time before starting taekyun, so my body was very tense. My taekyun master taught me soft movements.  He would tell me, "You're too tense. Relax."

Martial Journeys:  Have you ever learned something outside of martial arts that helped you improve at martial arts?

Master Do:  I lived in America from August of 1985 to May of 1988.  When I came back to Korea, my teacher, Master Song, had died.  At that time I had many questions because when I was in America I would demonstrate taekyun, and Americans often asked me, "Why do you move like that?"  I didn't know.  I was just doing it the way my teacher taught me.  I said when I got back to my country I would ask my teacher, but I was too late.  My challenge when I came back to Korea was figuring out how I could understand my movement.  I tried to find movement very similar to taekyun so I learned Korean mask dance.  I also wanted to have beautiful hand techniques so I learned Korean traditional dance.  Mask dance is very dynamic and powerful and Korean dance is beautiful.  I gained the confidence to perform a very beautiful martial art.  I can do very beautiful forms because I learned so much Korean mask dance and Korean traditional dance.  I adapted Korean traditional dance form to Korean martial arts.  My teacher didn't teach me these aesthetic details, but I still want to improve my forms' beauty, and I did it through Korean traditional dance.

Martial Journeys:  What's the most important thing you've learned in martial arts?

Master Do:  I've developed a sound body and sound mind through martial arts.  If you have those things you will be happy.  That's my entire purpose.  If you watch me, I am always very happy and always smiling.  I'm always thinking about how I can be happy. Why do I practice?  I want to be healthy and happy.  It's that simple.  I don't have a complicated philosophy.

Martial Journeys:  What advice do you have for someone who wants to be good at martial arts?

Master Do:  Two things.  First, practice very hard.  Very hard.  Second, you have to study and read a lot of books.  Read martial arts books, philosophical books, art books--anything.  The more knowledge you have, the better you can understand your martial art. So practice very hard and read.

I forgot to ask if reading blogs counts.

Martial Journeys:  How has taekyun changed over time?  How is it different today than in the past?

Master Do:  Taekyun hasn't changed very much, but there are some differences because of two things.  First, people are taller today than they were in the past.  Second, today we have too much information.  We're exposed to other styles of martial arts, so we can introduce various kicks and hand techniques that weren't originally part of taekyun.  This is happening all the time with other styles.  For example, even though similar kicks existed before, taekwondo invented the spin hook kick around 1970.  Now everybody uses it--Japanese martial artists, Chinese martial artists, Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan...  Everyone can use it because we've seen it in movies and on the Internet.  In taekyun competition, young students incorporate other techniques to their fighting.  The rules allow it, so taekyun changes as fighters mix in techniques.  It goes both ways.  Taekwondo has incorporated some kicking techniques from taekyun.

Martial Journeys:  What do you think taekyun will be like in the future?

Master Do:  Taekyun techniques are very good, but other martial arts' techniques are just as good, so specific techniques are not important.  I just want to give to the other martial arts the philosophy of practicing for the sake of a sound body and a happy mind.  We practice taekyun not for fighting, but to be happy.  But if I want to be happy, I need the people around me to be happy.  So when I practice martial arts, I want everyone to enjoy themselves and be happy, to achieve a sound body and ultimately a happy community. Technique is not important.  Any style is okay--just choose for yourself which one you like. You asked me why I switched from taekwondo to taekyun.  It's just because I love these techniques!  I was happy, so I switched.  No special reason, no high-level philosophy, just pursuing happiness.

Sweaty, smiling taekyun students.

Interview with Master Do Kihyun Part 1

Master Do Kihyun is the President of the Kyulyun Taekyun Association and a published author on taekyun.  He has trained in martial arts for over 40 years including taekwondo, kung fu, kendo, karate, aikido, hapkido, and others.  He started taekyun in 1982 and has trained in it continuously ever since.  He has a masters degree in Sports and Leisure and is working toward his PhD.  He now teaches taekyun in Seoul, Korea, at a small school where people (including myself) come from all over the world to train.

Despite his impressive resume, he insists that his most noteworthy accomplishment is having achieved confidence, happiness, and peace of mind through martial arts.  I sat down with Master Do to discuss taekyun and his experiences in the martial arts.

This is Part 1 of a two-part series, and will be continued next week.

Interviewer and interviewee.

Martial Journeys:  What is taekyun?

Master Do:  Taekyun is a traditional Korean martial art.  There are many martial arts in Korea but taekyun is the only one the Korean government recognizes as a Korean cultural treasure.  It is also recognized as a UNESCO world cultural heritage.  Other martial arts like Shaolin kung fu, tai chi and muay thai applied, but they were all rejected. Taekyun is the only one.

Martial Journeys:  Why do you think that is, that it's the only one?

Master Do:  This is just my opinion, but I think it's because taekyun has changed less than the other arts.  I think Shaolin kung fu is a very good martial art, but it might be too commercialized.  It is not an exact tradition because it has changed so much.  Tai chi was also changed by the Chinese government.  But taekyun never changed like that and still maintains its traditional form.  During the Japanese Occupation, the Japanese government prohibited taekyun practice.  Only a few people continued to practice taekyun in secret.  After Korea gained its independence, Korean people weren't interested in taekyun.  Since there were so few taekyun practitioners, taekyun couldn't develop.  But it also couldn't change.

Martial Journeys:  Why should someone who practices another martial art be interested in taekyun?

Master Do:  Almost all East Asian martial arts like karate, kung fu, taekwondo and hapkido, are based on Chinese philosophy and Chinese traditional movement.  China is a big country and they have a long history so when cultures collided almost all East Asian martial arts were influenced by Chinese styles.  But taekyun is absolutely uniquely Korean.  It has no horse riding stance and no punches from the waist like most styles do, and taekyun moves according to a unique 3 beat rhythm.  The techniques have a very different flavor compared with other East Asian martial arts.  But it's more than that. Usually Chinese martial arts are very mysterious, Japanese martial arts are very serious, but the Korean martial art of taekyun is just fun.  When you attend my classes, it is not serious or mysterious.  My students are smiling and in good spirits.  That is why I think taekyun is a very good martial art system.  I hope in the future, all the other martial arts will want to change to foster a happy mind, to relax, help each other, and practice to enjoy themselves.

Taekyun students being neither serious nor mysterious.

Martial Journeys:  How old is taekyun?

Master Do:  Nobody knows.  There are historical records from the Joseon Dynasty that depict taekyun, but that's all we know.  Some martial arts have a single founder who created their style, but taekyun developed as a folk activity, so no one knows who originally invented it.  It's possible it didn't even have a founder, and developed as neighboring villages fought each other according to their folk fighting systems.

A historical depiction of traditional Korean martial arts.  

Martial Journeys:  Why is taekyun less popular than it used to be?

Master Do:  During the Japanese Occupation almost all of the taekyun masters died. After Independence Day, Korean people didn't want to learn traditional culture, which had gone out of style.  Major sports like judo and wrestling were popular.  Korea was very quickly modernized and nobody wanted to understand Korean traditional movement.

Martial Journeys:  Why does taekyun include elements of dance?

Master Do:  It's not dance.  Almost all martial arts--not just taekyun--reflect the dance of the culture that created them.  If you watch very carefully, Chinese martial arts are very similar to Chinese dance.  Japanese styles also have a relationship with their national dance system.  It's the same in Africa.  By the same token, taekyun has similarities with Korean mask dance.  The purpose of dance is to express beautiful form, and the purpose of martial arts is to kill.  They have different purposes but they have a similar movement because the people are the same.

Korean mask dance.  Thanks to koreanet for making the image available for reuse.

Martial Journeys:  Which is better for a beginning taekyun student, a dance background or martial arts background?

Master Do:  Either will be helpful but martial arts is better because all martial arts have a common philosophy.  Technique is not important.  The most important thing is to get a sense of how to avoid or how to hit.  It is very difficult.  If I am attacked, I need to be able to avoid the attacking technique, be able to block, and be able to hit.  If someone has a lot of taekwondo fighting experience, it's very helpful.  He already knows how to avoid and how to hit, so just learning taekyun technique is easy.  Of course if his taekwondo practice consists entirely of forms, he won't have that benefit.  But if he develops to a high level of skill in fighting technique and competition, how to avoid and how to hit, he can learn taekyun techniques very quickly.  It's just like if someone is very good at swordplay, he can learn another sword very quickly.

This interview will be concluded in Part 2.

In the Forbidden Garden

Changdeokgung, the Palace of Prospering Virtue, is the most picturesque of Seoul's five palaces.  The traditional right angles are often eschewed in favor of aesthetic merit. There's plenty to appreciate in the palace itself, but the gem of the site is Huwon, the garden behind it.

Some architecture in Changdeokgung Palace.

"Huwon" literally means the "Rear Garden," but it is also called the Forbidden Garden, the Inner Garden, or the Secret Garden.  It takes its more dramatic names from the rule that no one could enter it without the king's permission.  Today the names are still somewhat applicable because of how hard it is to get tickets.  This was my first visit to the garden, and it wasn't for lack of trying on previous trips to Korea.

Getting here is easy.  Getting further is hard.

The garden itself sprawls across 78 acres.  Much of it is a pleasant walk through wooded landscapes, but the garden also holds a number of pavilions and structures.  One of the first points of interest is this two-story pavilion.  The first floor was the royal library and the second floor was a reading room.

Juhamnu Pavilion behind Eosumun Gate.

A little deeper into the garden is Bulromun Gate, a simple stone archway carved from a single rock.  It is said to confer longevity and health to anyone passing through.

Health and long life?  Yes, please.  But two days later I caught a cold.

There are many beautiful ponds and pools in Korea's palaces.  Traditionally they are square to represent the Earth, in line with the beliefs of their architects.  This pond takes a smaller view.  It is the shape of Korea.

A pond in the shape of what is now North Korea and South Korea.

Deep in this garden created for the royal family's relaxation and amusement is the most unlikely addition--a rice paddy and a pavilion with a thatched roof.  This was created for a yearly ceremony in which the king would personally harvest the rice and rethatch the roof. By the king doing the work himself, the royal family could understand the hard work of the people he ruled.  This was no publicity stunt.  It was hidden away in the most private grounds of the palace where no ordinary farmer could ever see it.

Cheongeuijeong and the king's rice paddy.

The ceremony is still performed to this day, but since Korea hasn't had a king in over a century, the ceremony is now a historical reenactment.  

On the way out of the gardens, I snapped this picture of one of the main palace buildings. This was where the king would perform formal ceremonies and meet with dignitaries. Day-to-day ruling happened elsewhere.  But I always thought the most interesting thing about it was that these buildings are constructed entirely without nails.  Nails were only used to hang something on a wall.  This entire structure was built by cleverly interlocking tight-fitting pieces of wood.

Building this would be challenging even with the aid of nails.

Like many traditional Korean buildings, the corners in Changdeokgung palace have clay figurines called japsang.  There can be anywhere from three to eleven of them, but they always appear in odd numbers.  They are decorations, but they also were intended to ward off evil spirits.

So, Joseon Dynasty ghostbusters?

Changdeokgung Palace is over 600 years old.  It was burnt down partially or completely no less than three times over the course of Korea's turbulent history, each time being rebuilt according to the original design.  It has seen generations of kings come and go. But the palace grounds hold a living thing that has survived all this and more.

When 750 years old you reach, look as good you will not.

This is a Chinese Juniper tree planted here before the palace was built.  Its wood was used to make incense for rituals at a nearby shrine.

Downtown Seoul is only a few steps away, and the thick of the modern world with it.  On some level it seems absurd that these ancient sights can exist in the same space as high speed trains, free WiFi and skinny vanilla lattes.  But that is Seoul--a city that has enthusiastically embraced modern technology while still being very proud of its 6000 year history.