Dicing with dragons
(Dragon Dance in front of a bar: Singapore)
Ying and I met Grace, his cousin (who I stayed with in London last year) and her boyfriend for drinks one night in Singapore. New Year there is most comparable to Christmas for westerners – there are decorations in everybody’s homes for fifteen days after new year, as well as a surfeit of seasonal foodstuffs on every table; I surely ate double figures of pineapple tarts and crispy ‘love letters’. To top it off, there are festive lights, containing a warren of bunnies running the entire length of Chinatown. To accompany these elements, there is the incessant drumming of lion dance troupes driving along every road in their open trucks, but even more excitingly for me, the completely new dragon dance.
I could watch lion dances all day, their caricatured catlike, doggish charm wins me over instantly every time. So when the four of us turned in the taxi and spotted an elaborately acrobatic troupe performing, Grace immediately stopped the car, handed the fare over and leapt out of the door. She had flicked the lens cap off her camera before the rest of us had freed ourselves, but there was no argument from me. We must have stood there, entranced for about half an hour before the real treat arrived. I had noticed the papery lizard tucked away at the side of a colossal troupe, many of them heavily tattooed along their arms and legs, with some ink creeping up their necks. Ying pointed out that large tattoos can be taboo in Singapore and often indicate an affiliation with the triads (Chinese mafia) and that lion dancers are often involved in gang culture. I’m sure this applies to a small proportion of participants, although after hearing that, I began to observe some rather shady characters in Singapore. One boy with multiple leg tattoos and thick rimmed sunglasses was sitting on a kerb, watching al the passersby with a cool, but intense gaze. When we passed by an hour later, he was still there, with the same placid, but taut expression on his face.
After the lions had been put to bed, Ying and I had a brief but complicated discussion about how deaf we had become from the beating of drums and the constant clanging of the musicians. It consisted mainly of “WHAT?” “PARDON” “I DIDN’T QUITE CATCH… COULD YOU SAY THAT AGAIN?” We were interrupted by shouts of instruction from members of the troupe; the great dragon was awakened. It was unfortunate for photographers that it was moving so fast, but I managed to take one picture with the head in focus – I’m very proud. They began. One person runs forward, twirling a sphere on a stick; the ‘pearl of wisdom’, it is always spinning, like a furious fiery globe. The dragon’s head is close behind and the entire dance is a choreographed chase which the dragon never wins. He has the fluidity of a snake and the ghastly appearance of a demon, yet it was difficult to believe he was not made of paper – I had the impression of a huge impish Christmas decoration on the rampage, writhing on the ground and rising again, snapping at the air with a quivering beard and monstrous jaws. The acrobatics and timing involved were impressive, especially since I had no expectations. When I showed Ying’s father my footage, he told me that dragons can be forty men long, (this one is only seven) so I suppose this is merely a pocket sized dragon for city outings. Part of me is relieved! The lions seem much more trustworthy and playful, whereas I couldn’t trust the dragon not to chomp into my head, mistaking it for a pearl.
I’m taking this post to a whole new level (hopefully) with a more immersive experience. Don’t hold your breath, but if you click this link , you should be redirected to a youtube video I made of a portion of this dragon dance. The quality isn’t amazing, but the sound is intact and you can experience how it looked. Apologies to readers in China and elsewhere where youtube isn’t available just now.
– Today Rosie is drawing drawing drawing in Glasgow, Scotland –
