8Views 0Comments
Tea & Chi ☕️🥋 Nam Yang Kung Fu Retreat in Pai, Thailand
“Good tea has good Chi and can be used to set our energy and emotion. It is also a very much more constructive social focus than alcohol or drugs. We are creating a Kung fu lifestyle through which we hope to empower our members for life in an increasingly challenging future. I see this as the way forward.” – Sifu, Iain Armstrong
Traveller Alle Hall spent a week as a student (or Shaolin warrior 🤺) at Nam Yang Kung Fu Retreat in Pai, Northern Thailand. The following is her personal account of her time there and what she learned from the experience.
Disclaimer: Traveller stories published on this website do not necessarily reflect the opinion of South East Asia Backpacker.
Related: (opens in a new tab)
A Short History of Kung Fu
The origin story of Chinese martial arts (Kung fu or Wushu) varies in its telling, generally going something like this: about 520 AD, the monk Bodhidharma travelled from India to China, spreading teachings as he went. Reaching the town of Shaolin, China, the Bodhidharma found the temple full of lazy monks. He retreated to a cave for nine years, where he developed a series of movements based on yoga. He called it The Followers’ Form, or Lohan gung (pronounced not like Lyndsey Lohan, but rather: low-haan).
Over the years, as monks left Shaolin, they took their practice with them. Lohan gung evolved into many martial arts, including Kung fu and its less aggressive cousin, Qigong (pronounced “chee gong”) – similar to Tai chi but with no martial application. Believe it or not, in ancient China, the Emperor’s guards used the allegedly slow-moving Tai chi to protect him. Done quickly, Tai chi can be lethal. Qigong is done strictly for health.
A Student of Kung Fu: The Makings of a Shaolin Warrior
My practice began in 1989. No one mentioned nine years in a cave. This juicy nugget was revealed to me in the fall of 2019 by English Dave, at the time, the most senior student at Nam Yang Kung Fu Retreat. The immersive martial arts and meditation training center just outside the charming valley town of Pai, in northwest Thailand, is the manifestation of a long-held vision of Iain Armstrong, a muscled Englishman and world-champion martial artist.
I’ve studied wushu in Tokyo, Bangkok, on the Thai island of Koh Phangan, as well as in my home city, Seattle. Nam Yang is the finest facility I’ve found for non-Chinese speakers to learn Kung fu taught old-school and in English.
In establishing Nam Yang, Armstrong strove to re-create his experience studying martial arts under Chinese masters in Singapore from the time he was in his twenties – right down to having students call him “Master.” (I got around calling a white man “master” by using the Mandarin word for the same: sifu). We waited to eat until Sifu had his first bite, held off on tea until after he sipped.
The center, however, was far from strict or cultish. I was struck immediately by the lack of pretension in the unvarnished accommodations, each with an outstanding mountain view; by the feng shui in the architecture and placement of buildings. Nam Yang’s integrity stemmed from Sifu, with his accurate sense of his value but no discernable ego. His face held the preparedness of a lion’s until he winked or showed his delightful sense of humor. His corrections came without machismo: gentle comments before, you know, demonstrations of pure ass-kicking.
Every kwoon (Madarin for “martial arts training hall”; in Cantonese: guǎn ) I’ve been a part of demands wu de (virtues of the warrior): respect, humility, discipline, and compassion. In an email Sifu returned six years after leaving Nam Yang – when I checked in with him, as I do every few months – he wrote: “We are looking to unite the conscious and subconscious minds, the left brain and the right brain, the head brain and the gut brain and the body brain to facilitate a raised consciousness and greater mind power.”
Nam Yang is a place for those who want to get real about Kung fu—no matter their level of experience. Students come from all over the world. Dave of nine-in-a-cave fame stayed for three years, completing the teacher training program in its entirety, hard and soft Kung Fu and Qigong: culture and traditions, ethos, and philosophy; weapons as well as learning how to teach, how to lead.
Others come for shorter long-times: for German Andreas’ first training, in August of 2018, he gave himself three weeks. He returned at the end of October to stay through February 2019, when I met him, trained with him, shoved him. As so many told me, Andreas found the best elements of Nam Yang to be the other students, the location, “and of course, Master Iain.” Nam Yang feels a bit like going back to the roots—finding joy in the things you do, even if it is as simple as touching your toes as you stretch.”
At 6am on my first morning of the Qigong and Meditation for Life Balance course, it was pitch black when I entered the largest of three, mist-shrouded octagons: fifty feet across, with shoulder-height yellow walls and a cement floor. The still-starry sky was our ceiling. Two additional practice areas were pavilion-like, with roofs of brick red. All told, the practice area emanated the respect and appreciation found in a temple.
Several figures warmed up quietly: shaking legs and arms, stretching, using palms to tap across torsos and down legs. I knew this: Do Yin, the Chinese medicinal practice of light self-whapping to stimulate Chi, personal power that goes deeper than muscle-strength.
A man came over, Scott, a Canadian at Nam Yang for his second stint – this one, four months. Scott resembled a younger Kevin Spacey, with no “Eeww” factor. He introduced me to Sophia, a slim but strong-looking Polish woman in her twenties. Both were senior students. More people joined the warm-up. As sunrise approached, we were a group of twenty six Northern- and Southern-hemisphere nationals, Eastern and Western races.
The fog was beginning to clear when Sifu arrived. He led us through an easy-to-follow form (string of movements) called Shuang Yang (“Frost Sun”): fifteen or so minutes of slow, steady, full body stretches, two-footed balances, more Do Yin, and lots of deep breathing.
As we worked our Frost Sun, the real one peeked over the mountains and into the valley. Students separated into groups based on their Shuang Yang skills. Senior students corrected the newer and then taught the next movement (a posture).
The Kung fu students (called Shaolin Warriors) began the first of the day’s two or three physically intense workouts: forms (internal and external); weapons (freehand and partner) defense drills (control and restraint); a technique called Sticky Hands sparring; and body toughening (meditation and using hands and heads to break—yes, break— various things made of wood or cement).
Sophia took me to a corner of an octagon, along with the other newbie, François, an engaging Quebecois with the sense of an absent-minded professor about him. (Over the week, François would reveal himself to be always misplacing his shoes.) Layers of hats and shirts were coming off when Sophia handed us over to Sue-Yin, a Swiss-Australian woman who “spent 22 years in each culture and now wants nothing to do with either. I live at Nam Yang.”
Many at Nam Yang were at a place in their lives where the future depended on what happened in the present. Perhaps we all are. At Nam Yang, people owned it.
Sue-Yin instructed François and me in walking meditation. After another half hour, students gathered on the red-tiled porch of the armory, which stored a 50-piece assortment of wood-and-steel swords, axes, and staffs. Now was the time when a senior student was given the honor of brewing fresh tea from just-picked herbs as Master answered questions. Over the week, we discussed a range of topics, from martial applications of various postures to “How old is Shuang Yang?” (“Difficult to say, as we have no written records. But it seems to have been practiced in China in the late 1800s. It is part of the evolution of the white crane art, which dates back maybe 500 years.”)
Then, back to training! The Shaolin Warriors commenced with weapons and some intense-looking pushing. We of the Qigong variety learned a self-massage to strengthen veins and tendons.
“I still feel like I am a baby in the practice. But I see some changes. Especially when I meditate. I feel healthy and relaxed.” François, Student at Nam Yang Kung Fu Retreat
On a different morning, we caravaned on motor scooters to visit a local temple – Thai Buddhist – for a meditation. On my final morning at Nam Yang, before dawn, the entire school visited the nearby Wat Phra That Mae Yen, known as Pai’s Big Buddha or White Buddha—so named because of its 27-meter height of alabaster-colored stone. Stately on a clifftop, the White Buddha requires 353 stone steps. Some Shaolin Warriors jogged up. I did not; alongside the young woman Sifu whimpered to, “Stay with Alle,” I was last in reaching a brick-floored viewing platform. We arrived at sunrise and embarked on Shuang Yang. The other visitors at the Buddha watched in respectful silence. The moment was magical.
Most mornings, however, “back to practicing!” was followed by breakfast. Plentiful and yummy. My first morning’s turned out to be representative: Thai-style noodles and tofu with freshly pulled vegetables. (Nam Yang maintains extensive all-organic gardens.) Next, we had a two-hour break. That first morning, I Skyped with my kids and husband then conked out.
That afternoon the Qigong contingent joined Shaolin Warriors for 45 minutes of calisthenics and deep stretching. After, François and I worked on a different form than the morning had brought us; this one, Tong Ling. Next, two Shaolin warriors joined us in active meditation. We struck four postures for five minutes at a time, each designed to be more relaxing that the previous to deepen into.
Finally, more tea—this, a Chinese green—and Kung fu talk and questions, then dinner: coconut rice with red beans, yellow curry with kidney beans, and vegetable stir fry. After dinner, I crashed.
The Path to Progress
As the week progressed, I needed my afternoon nap less and less. I felt invigorated, and stronger than I’d felt in a post-partum decade. My belly definitely firmed up. Though only able to spend one week at Nam Yang, I was able to complete one form and learn the opening section of a second.
My Qigong compatriot, François, spent the same single week at Nam Yang. He left to travel through Cambodia and Vietnam, emailing me later that he returned to Nam Yang to complete the month-long Qigong teacher training. “I still feel like I am a baby in the practice. But I see some changes. Especially when I meditate, and after a suspicious dinner, once, for abdominal pain. The pain went away in minutes. I feel healthy and relaxed. Also, more able to concentrate and more confident.”
I know that Sifu Iain would be thrilled at François’ progress. Nam Yang survived the difficult years of the pandemic, to re-emerge with new programs and vibrant ideas. Currently, they are building a culture around Chinese tea. Recently, Sifu emailed me, “Good tea has good Chi and can be used to set our energy and emotion. It is also a very much more constructive social focus than alcohol or drugs. We are creating a Kung fu lifestyle through which we hope to empower our members for life in an increasingly challenging future. I see this as the way forward.”
Alle C. Hall
Alle C. Hall is an author, speaker, and writing instructor whose work focuses on joy and creativity resulting from trauma recovery. Her novel, As Far as You Can Go Before You Have to Come Back, has been honoured sixteen times, including two #1 Kindle spots: “Literary Fiction” and “Coming-of-Age”; first place in The National League of American Pen Women’s Mary Kennedy Eastham Prize for an excerpt; and winner of Book Viral’s Golden Quill Award. Alle lived in Japan 1988-1991 and travels extensively through Asia. She calls Seattle home.
