Anyways, the workshop was scheduled for the last weekend in August, starting with a Friday night class, then two on Saturday, then one Sunday morning followed by the Batizado in the afternoon. Simple enough schedule. But as it was designed, implemented and attended by capoeiraistas, it was bound to go off the rails and fuck up in a big way somewhere during the weekend. And that train wreck would be Friday night. Hehe.
The Friday night workshop was scheduled to start at 5pm at some performance hall not too far north of my apartment. The maps were posted, and everything seemed to be pretty straight forward. Take "X" subway line until "Y" stop, disembark, then walk a couple of blocks to the performance hall, which was supposed to be attached to some community center or something. Should be a very noticeable and hard to miss building. Easy, nothing to it. Well, it wasn't. I arrived at the requested subway station and exited via the suggested exit, but from there the map was useless. For starters, the location of the subway exit in relation to the roads/alleys around it was way off. So I really wasn't exactly sure which way to go from that particular area. After choosing one direction (I believe following where the directions said to go) and realizing after a few hundred feet that it wasn't the right direction, I called up Andy, one of the other foreign folks that would be attending. He arrived shortly thereafter with a different map of the area that he had printed from Google Maps and actually had the area laid out properly. Silly me, of course I should have gotten another map. Of course the map that the group gave was wrong.
Well, we set off and quickly found the library that the map showed as being connected to the hall/studio we were looking for. However, we didn't find where exactly we were supposed to enter this hall. Do we go through the library and enter that way? Do we need to go around? Is the hall even attached to this library? More questions. Good. Well, we wandered around for a bit and didn't happen to run into anybody from the group (not a good sign) and then finally gave up and decided to call Zumbi the instructor for Cordao de Ouro. To our dismay, we were at completely the wrong place. Surprisingly, it wasn't our fault. We had gone to the correct place as according to the directions given. Sadly, the directions posted were absolutely wrong and the location we would be practicing at were not anywhere near us. Shit, shit, shit. So much for showing up on time....we are gonna have to do a fuck ton of pushups or whatever for coming late to a workshop. So after exchanging several text message directions with the korean members of the group, we were able to give the taxi driver a concrete location and we were off. That's not to say it wasn't difficult to get there anyways. Turns out the group reserved a performance hall on the top of a freaking mountain. At least that's what it felt like. One small little road that keep going up and up, which was very hard to navigate and even harder to find in the first place on the taxi driver's GPS.
But in time, we did arrive, prepared for a not so nice reception, given our tardy nature. Cept, we arrived about 30 minutes late and we were one of the first ones there. There were about 5 other people there already but none of them were the instructors. Big FAIL. 2 of the instructors coming in from the San Francisco area were either still on their way from the airport, Zumbi the local instructor was still working, and the Mestre was on route (we thought). So the few of us that were there just kinda wandered around, stretched a bit and generally vegged. We also weren't 100% sure we were even at the right venue this time around. What a mess.
But after a considerable amount of time waiting, the mestre did arrive and we were able to start the workshop 1 hour to 1.5 hours late. And it was good. Very good. I just wish Cordao de Ouro didn't play so much on the ground. My old grandpa knees and general large size make getting down low really difficult and uncomfortable. Although there really isn't any martial art where you try and get really tall and touch the ceiling or get the cookie jar on the top shelf or something....too bad, I would be incredible at that martial art.
When the workshop finished was really when things got interesting. All 20 or so of us left as a group and it made for quite the sight. For starters, the high ranking instructors and mestres featured a dread locked, darker complexioned Brazilian, a dread locked Jamaican, a dread locked African-American, and a very big, very tall African-American. Just right there would be enough to have women gasping in the street, mothers shielding their children, and an air of shock, awe and terror. But you have to add to that a few tall white guys (myself included), a few white girls, and then a bunch of Koreans that are actually interacting with these foreign ingrates (that's probably the most shocking thing to some locals, that anybody would interact with these unsavory foreign characters). To top it all off, we were singing. And banging on drums. Pretty much the whole time. Did I mention that the locals wouldn't understand a word of what we were singing (quite loudly, I should add) or why we were dressed so strangely? Yeah, so we made a bit of a scene. And it was good. Sooooo good.
And those poor bastards that got on the bus while we were riding only to see 3/4's of the bus taken up with these same tall, scary people that look nothing like them singing in some sort of demon tongue for all they knew? Yeah, I'm surprised they didn't just get off the bus.
With workshops over, it was time for dinner. Thankfully the presiding mestre, Mestre Chicote from Cordao de Our Paris, was not a vegetarian. God damn that would have been difficult to find food for him. I mean, the vegetarian food is here, but finding the quantities needed to satisfy post-workshop appetites. So we found one of your standard meat restaurants (I really have no idea what meat we are eating most of the time, nor do I really care....but it was probably pork). The meal was good. There was eating. There was more singing. Actually come to think of it Mestre never really stops singing. But mostly there was this:
And a little of this:
Which I presume, lead to this:
That's the presiding Mestre for the workshops, Mestre Chicote from CDO Paris, modeling one of the super classy chef's aprons. Or is a monstrous bib? I don't know. Generally though, the group hung around eating and drinking for several hours (the pics above can attest to that). Good thing they seated us all alone on the top floor, cuz we were making a bit of a ruckus (at least by Korean standards....meaning we were talking at more than a whisper in a public place). The problem with all this merriment is that there were workshops starting at 8 or 9am the next morning. So at some point the fun had to stop and the sleep had to start. However, I underestimated the capoeirista's will to live it up, so to speak. I finally called it a night at 1am, thus getting home and in bed by 2am (for a solid 5 hours of sleep). From what I'm told, the instructors and high-ranking guests stayed out till 3am. Yeah, professionals.
So for Saturday morning's workshops, I was understandably tired and goggy and fatigued. But it was okay, cuz in the end capoeiristas were capoeiristas and we didn't start on time. Late, late, late. The capoeirista's way. But eventually the workshops got underway and everybody learned some stuff. And discovered new places in which to ache. Here's a pic of me hanging my head in exhaustion or shame after f'ing up the combination again. Could be both really.
I'm the one in blue. With the dreadlocks.
After the workshop we headed out for lunch before moving to a new venue for the afternoon workshop. Here we are eating.
Did you find me? I'm in the last picture. Yup, the one with the glasses. Yeah, the Asian one. That's me.
For the afternoon entertainment we had a workshop, plus a performance by a samba/percussion group who are friends of the group or something. Either way, we got a free performance and everybody got up and was dancing around. Well, I wasn't obviously. I'm a white male. When I dance, kittens die. Would you dance if this little guys life was in your hands? I think not.
Anyways, here's a shot or two of the performers. They were no Handphibians when it comes to percussion but they were pretty good.
As for the workshop, I can't remember what they did, as I sat out on account of being an old, crotchety, sore, old man. So while the other folks worked out, I stretched out, sat around, ate prunes, complained about how things were better back in "my day", and other old man activities.
Some more shots of the afternoons workshop.
Those were the two visiting profesors from CDO Bay Area in California, Xango (on the left) and Berinjela. Also, don't laugh. Berinjela's face is always like that. It was a horrible debilitating accident when he was just a lad. No, its not funny.
That evening the group reconvened for more food, good times and drinks. This time we took the visting instructors to Hongdae to see all the pretty woman and all the ridiculous outfits. The instructors wanted burgers, so we searched around until we could find an acceptable place. After sandwiches, it was off to the Reggae hookah bar/club. Yes, Seoul does actually have one. I'm not lying. It does exist. It is small, and unknown to most, but it does exist. Even more shocking there are Korean rasta-wannabes. You know those white kids from school that grew dreads (or tried), talked about smoking reefer all the time (and maybe did actually smoke it from time to time), worshipped Bob Marley (and probably wore a Bob Marley shirt 3-5 times a week), and wore the crazy multi-color parachute pants? Now imagine that guy is Korean. Boom, now you've got the weirdo dude dancing all by himself in the corner at the Rasta bar. I'd laugh at his goofy ass more if I wasn't busy applauding him for doing something different from the rest of the crowd. Doesn't even matter what it is. It's different. For that you earn my respect goofy dancing rasta guy.
Sunday had another morning workshop, but it was more of the same. More aches, more pains, more, more, more.
Then it was time for the batizado. So we all traveled back to the performing arts hall on the mountain where we trained on Friday. This time everybody made it. Hooray! Not too many visitors made it up, but we did have some big wig from SK come up and give a speech as well as a representative from the Brazilian embassy (that was pretty cool). First up, was the Afro dance performance by the CDO members. As I am not part of their group, I didn't have to perform. Which was okay with me, as the ladies had to wear small little skirts, while the guys had to perform shirtless while wearing grass skirts. Seeing some of the guys dance around in grass skirts was funny enough, but one of the guys had too big of a waist, so the skirt only went about 3/4's of the way around. The rest? Just his underwear hanging out. Because I'm still 12 years old on the inside, I found the whole thing very entertaining.
Otherwise, the batizado was just as you would expect. The mestre and instructors had some fun at the newbies expense when baptizing them. Everybody got to get up and play (though not as much as I would have liked). Twas good.
Here's the sweet batizado shirts.
And all the newly baptized CDO Seoul members. Great work guys!
With the batizado finished, there was time for one last meal together before parting. As you might have expected, there was more drinking and merriment.
And Andy wants to show you his really great dental work. Or something like that. I really have no idea what was going on in this pic.
And so ended the CDO batizado weekend. Capoeira and fun for the whole family. Ohhh, wait, then there was this. No idea when or where this was taken during the weekend but it makes me smile. Humorous and possibly blasphemous (are the Hindus against people imitating the holy symbols?). A perfect combination. Till next time folks.
All photos from Aide and Eunmi. Thanks ladies.
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