Although weakened by the 8 hours jetlag and a chaotic journey in San Diego's public transports that was worth of a Michael Palin documentary, I finally enter the doors of the dojo. A good hour before the training was due to start; I meet the uchi deshi busy working on the dojo's garden. My thick French accent got my instantly identified as the bloke who bothered the club's secretary with quantity of emails concerning my arrival. After a quick presentation; I end up on the mat, ready for some serious practice. Mr Chiba's students in Brimingham were powerful but this lot brought the word to a brand new meaning. The initial question I had been asked by one of the students "how's your ukemi?" suddenly makes a lot of sense.

On the mat, the atmosphere is quite serious severe and the practice very rigorous. The incredible heat makes me lack oxygen sometimes as the jetlag kicks back in. After the first one hour class, the break is very welcome. The next hour will be dedicated to Zazen. I thought that would be a wonderful opportunity to get a bit of rest and since I had never practiced Zazen before, I appreciated the offer they lade me to give it a go. For those of you (like me) who are unfamiliar with Zazen, it is basically about sitting still for one hour or so after reciting a few mantras. I know that besides covering myself in shame if I move an inch, I might get serious punishment in the subsequent training if I break my fellow student's concentration. I therefore do my best to ignore the pain running through my legs and hips, the pins and needles in my arse and this annoying drop of sweat tickling the extremity of my nose. I have one hour to meditate; that is in my case trying hard not to think about my life, my PhD thesis that is seriously starting to be overdue and all these kind of capital thinking... As the final sound of bell rings, everybody quietly gets up. Having lost the use of my lower extremities, I do my best to no appear like a drunken sailor while I walk to put my pillow back in the closet.

As the class finishes, I almost feel like the mop used for cleaning the dojo; exhausted and without any shape. I am already seeing myself in my hotel room, crashed on my king size bed, looking forward to one of these huge pizzas they've got here in America falling asleep in front of a "Law and Order" episode on telly. Things did not end up as expected as I got kindly invited to stay and share dinner with the students in the living quarters of the dojo. Since we had had very little time to discuss and get to know each other before training, I was glad to accept the invitation and also quite touched by the attention.

Things started extremely well as I got offered a chilled can of Kirin. As if sitting down during Zazen was not enough, we take place around the Japanese style dining table. As the discussions start to kick in, the atmosphere becomes very friendly I am informed that tonight's dinner will be a traditional Mexican recipe of chicken in chocolate and spices sauce... oh boy...