The Monk From Brooklyn
...an American at the Shaolin Temple
(From the book, The Monk from Brooklyn)
by Antonio Graceffo
The Shaolin Temple, the birthplace of Kung Fu and modern Chinese Buddhism, is the oldest and most mysterious Kung Fu school in the world. It is an exotic and mythical destination of daydreams to millions of people. In the history of the temple, very few foreigners have ever had a chance to study there. Foreigners have been allowed to study in many of the Shaolin schools, near the temple, which have taken the Shaolin name as a marketing ploy, but less than fifty foreigners have studied at the original Shaolin Temple.
Antonio was lucky enough to be one of the few. He has twenty-five years of experience with martial arts, so it is with a knowing eye that he observed the training at the temple. But it is his background that gives him a very unique perspective. An Italian American from Brooklyn, New York, and a former investment banker, he was educated in some of the best universities, which Europe and Asia have to offer.
The title says it all. Put a Chinese-speaking Italian-American from Brooklyn in the holiest of Buddhist temples and watch the racial harmony flow. One reviewer of his articles said, "Now I know why there are no ambassadors from Brooklyn."
Antonio, The Monk from Brooklyn
03/02/2003
Deng Feng Village, Shaolin Temple
I stared out the window of the taxi and took in the sights of the rural Chinese countryside. For hours I saw nothing but primitive houses, mud and brick huts, and people toiling in fields. It was like the opening scene in Monty Python and the Holly Grail:
"Denis, there is some lovely filth over here."
A horse-drawn wagon went by with three or four poorly-dressed passengers, and I suddenly realized I wasn't in Brooklyn anymore. I wasn't even in Taiwan, my home for the last two years. I was in China, Big China, Communist China, and it was a little scary. Spending time in Taiwan first gave me a chance to acclimatize and learn the language. No one spoke English here at all. The shock of moving directly from New York to rural China would have killed me. It would have been like flying from base camp to the summit of Mount Everest. I'd be dead within seconds of landing. On the way to the train station, the taxi driver asked me why I was in China. I told him I wanted to study Kung Fu and showed him the information I had grabbed off the web. I was planning to go to the Shaolin Wu Su and Civil Institute in the Shaolin village in Deng Feng. He said that he would take me all the way to Shaolin village for 300 RMB (about $36 US). This seemed easier than taking a train so I agreed. Next, he said. "My brother is a Kung Fu teacher. Let's go get him."
Against my protestations, we drove an hour out of the way and picked up his brother. The brother had two other friends who were Kung Fu teachers and they wanted to come with us too. Our twosome became a fivesome and we pressed on. When I saw healthy-looking boys limping, I knew we were close. It reminded me of my Kung Fu team back in Taiwan. They were some of the most gifted athletes I had ever seen, but they were always injured. As we drove through Deng Feng village, I could not believe how many Kung Fu schools there were. I learned later that there were nearly 40,000 Kung Fu students living at the 40 or so schools.
By the time we got to the temple, it was after 8:00 pm and the temple was closed. I figured that they just wanted to show it to me before they took me to the Kung Fu school I had found on the Internet.
Antonio
