by Loïc Delalande
I knew what awaited me there, having already gone through the Godan exam experience. A long journey across Japan, often traveling alone, with nothing but an overly heavy suitcase to drag along, sometimes cumbersome naginata to carry on public transport, juggling all of it with a phone serving as my compass. That’s the life of any traveler who loves adventure—discovering new landscapes, cities, and people. Many encounters, some quite significant, punctuated my journey.
This time, the teachers I met were Sensui Sensei, Suzuki Sensei, Yasui Sensei, Narita Sensei, Yogo Sensei, Masuda Sensei, Masae Sensei, and Bucsis Sensei. I met them the traditional way, visiting several dojos across Japan, regularly taking trains, embracing the daily rhythm of the Japanese people heading to work in the morning and returning in the evening, often dozing off on the bench, exhausted from a long day of work.
During Golden Week, the country is buzzing. Most people go on vacation with their families, to the countryside or seaside. Cities are vibrant and crowded, public transport is packed, but the atmosphere remains calm, even joyful. The mild weather forecast for the week was a blessing.
For the first five days, I settled into a comfortable hotel near a lively district of Yokohama’s port. This allowed me to recover from the long journey and also to visit friends who were delighted to host me. Megumi, a fellow Naginata practitioner with whom I took the Godan exam six years earlier, helped me meet Sensui Sensei from Yokosuka. After a good dinner, we found ourselves in a dojo kindly shared with some kendoka. We trained for two hours, revisiting the fundamental techniques of shikake oji. I still hear our Sensei’s words, “Takai!” She was right—I had a tendency to be too high on Do strikes.
The next day, Sensui Sensei and Suzuki Sensei welcomed us at the Yokosuka sports complex. They decided to have us work on the Zen Nihon Kata techniques with others preparing for the Renshi exam. It was an ideal opportunity to adapt to the technical level of different practitioners.
The training halls were large, clean, and well-lit, though the floor could become sticky depending on the time of day, sometimes causing balance issues. The Zen Nihon Kata has an elegant, supple, and fluid form that sets it apart from shikake oji. Suzuki Sensei impressed me with her graceful and refined way of handling the naginata, especially during the reiho. Precise and decisive in executing techniques, she used no physical strength—her movements were confident, her presence powerful and determined. I tried to adapt my practice based on her advice. Her encouraging smile gave me hope—I felt I was on the right path.
Toyooka is a small town in western Japan nestled at the foot of small mountains cloaked in trees and towering bamboo. Following this valley leads to the sea. It’s known for its onsen, a popular spot for peace and relaxation.
Narita Sensei had organized her session in two parts: an afternoon class with Naoko Iguchi Sensei from Kobe, who was preparing for her Kyoshi shogo, and an evening class. The evening session was a real delight as it included enthusiastic young practitioners—boys and girls—curious to train with a foreigner from so far away. I appreciated the warm connection Narita Sensei had with these youngsters. She was like a caring mother, energetically encouraging her young protégés. It was heartwarming to see. During an armored exchange with Narita Sensei, the score was a kote against a tsuki. We had a lot of fun regardless.
With a bit of free time, I explored a remarkable site in the village of Kinosaki Onsen. Visitors, dressed in yukata and wearing geta sandals, strolled leisurely through narrow streets, enjoying ice cream, going from one onsen to another to soak in the hot waters.
Later, Narita Sensei kindly invited me to participate in a seminar in Himeji, a workshop she was running for middle school students from the Hyōgo prefecture. Some very young participants had come with their families for a day of training. It was also a chance to meet other experts helping supervise the event. Warm-ups were led by the advanced students, followed by suburi. Groups formed in armor, themed kihon followed one after the other in successive attacks under the guidance of Naoko Iguchi Sensei. Improvised shiai matches took place as well as kata practice groups. That’s when I met Nishioka Masae Sensei, a formidable fighter with a piercing gaze. I greatly enjoyed practicing Zen Nihon Kata with her—she gave me very insightful technical feedback.
Young Abe Mayu, the Japanese high school champion, warmly invited me to a friendly shiai. She didn’t go easy on me, but I held my ground during that intense few-minute exchange. “Hikiwake!” I heard. The sparring session with this talented warrior ended with grateful thanks.
It was a lovely day of training, filled with kindness and camaraderie. For many of the children, it might have been the first time meeting a Westerner. Gradually, they came closer, offering candies and cookies that piled up like a little pyramid in front of me, while a proud 86-year-old grandma chatted with me freely. The seminar concluded, and photos captured this moment of sharing. I remembered the saying “Ichi-go ichi-e,” which could be translated as “one time, one meeting,” for we likely won’t see each other again any time soon.
As Budo practice must be approached through its history and culture, visiting the magnificent white castle of Himeji and its Koko-en garden was a true revelation—a feast for the eyes. The exposed beams of the castle reminded me of the forest-like interior of Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris before the fire.
My journey continued in Nagoya, where I met another well-known Sensei in Europe and beyond: Yasui Sensei. Her expertise and emphasis on posture made me reflect deeply on using the hips in both attack and defense. During these training sessions, I was no longer alone—three Americans, an Australian, and a Belgian joined me. Karen, Ellery, Kei, and Yolanda were committed partners, each doing their best to apply the technical instructions given. Everything was analyzed, dissected, with strengths and weaknesses identified. Sadly, after a bad fall, Karen had to withdraw due to injury. It was heartbreaking for her and for us, as it ended her plan to take the Renshi exam.
In Nagoya, we also trained with Yogo Sensei and Masuda Sensei. They were attentive to our progress in both shikake oji and Zen Nihon Kata. Their feedback, advice, and corrections helped us deepen our technical understanding. It was reassuring, as the exam date was fast approaching. Conrad Sensei was a great support, always available, opening training halls, and even lending equipment when needed.
The Aichi Budokan is a vast building dedicated to Budo. On the day of the exam, practitioners of Kyudo, Judo, and Naginata gathered, waiting for the doors to open at 9 AM. The tension was palpable, but the welcome was warm. The examination hall was the same one where I had trained for my Godan exam six years earlier. The wooden floor is beautiful but tends to become sticky as stress builds.
We found our exam partners listed on a display board.
We were given 15 minutes to warm up and coordinate with our partner. We were called to the center of the hall for a quick briefing on the examination protocol. Pairs were arranged by age—the older candidates went first. My partner and I were in the third group. First, we performed shikake oji in both roles. Each pair passed one after another. It went quickly—there were only 27 candidates. The second part was the demonstration of the Zen Nihon Kata. The techniques—nayashi, makiage, makiotoshi—had to be executed flawlessly the first time, with complete fluidity and no hesitation, in the true spirit of the kata, following the concept dear to Yasui Sensei: Nato. Nato—a mindset that stretches time like those fermented soybeans with their distinctive smell and stringy texture—represents the bond between the two practitioners. It’s a meaningful image.
I did my best to respect all the recommendations and corrections I had received throughout my training: body posture, technical precision, rhythm tied to breathing, kihaku—the spirit of the fighter acting with sincerity and determination—the kimochi. Above all, not going too fast, but taking time to show zanshin after attacking or counterattacking. That’s what brings the kata to life.
Strangely, I could hear the sound of my voice echoing through the hall. Forgotten were the shoulder, foot, and knee injuries. All that mattered was the moment of action. My eyes never left my partner’s. We were in sync—I was fully living my kata, nothing more. Yet, for a brief moment, we lost contact during the sune attack in the 7th kata. Without letting it affect me, without showing any worry, the makiage that followed was performed beautifully. Mistakes can happen at any time in kata—the key is knowing how to respond. You must handle it calmly and correct it without hesitation, in the spirit of the kata.
After just an hour of demonstrating our skills to the panel—dressed in elegant navy suits embroidered with the AJNF crest—we left the hall, relieved to have delivered a solid performance. A taxi waited at the Budokan entrance. A visit to Nagoya Castle and a delicious eel dish were the closing notes of a very special day.