A Go Player's Guide to Japan:
Playing Go at Ben's Café

Ben's Café
1-29-21
Takadanobaba
Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo, Japan
Ph: 03-3202-2445

Link to Ben's Café website: http://www.benscafe.com/en/index.html
Link to Kaz's website: http://www.joot.com/kaz/index.php?lang=en
Link to Rob van Zeijst's Daily Yomiuri column: http://www.yomiuri.co.jp/dy/columns/0001/

Teachers: Rob van Zeijst, "Kaz" Kazunari, and Remko Popma
Free lessons each Sunday, 11:00 a.m. – 1:00 p.m.

Sunday 26 June 2005

While there are no lack of Go clubs around Tokyo (there are at least a dozen igo salons, or go-kaisho, in each of Tokyo's 23 wards), perhaps none are quite as unique, or as English-friendly, as Ben's Café in Takadanobaba.

Ben's Café sits on a quiet backstreet near Waseda University, a college district just north of downtown Tokyo. With poetry readings at night, amateur art on the walls, and a diverse array of young student faces in the crowd, Ben's Café looks like a coffee house you'd see in any American urban setting, until you notice that the art on the walls are actually drafts of an upcoming manga series, the poetry is all being read in Japanese, and tucked underneath the stereo equipment is a large stack of Go boards.

I arrive at the Sunday morning lesson 30 minutes late, having gotten lost on my way from the train station. In all fairness, this is an affliction common to native Japanese as well as foreigners, as most of the streets in Tokyo do not have names. When I arrive, "Kaz" Kazunari is in the middle of a Go lesson in one corner of the café.

Kaz is a former insei (or "Go apprentice," as he prefers to describe it) who has been giving free Go lessons every Sunday morning at Ben's Café along with Rob van Zeijst, another former insei. Rob began teaching Go at Ben's Café in 2000, the same week he began writing his weekly Go column for the English newspaper, The Daily Yomiuri. Kaz joined on about a year ago, and the two divide the teaching duties along with Rob's brother-in-law, Remko Popma. Kaz writes original works on Go theory for his website, targeted specifically for amateur players. He submits these highly popular pieces on a regular basis to the AGA E-journal under the title "Important Fundamental Matters", and they form the basis for his weekly lessons at Ben's Café, as well.

Dressed in white slacks and an Oxford shirt, Kaz appears focused but relaxed as he speaks to the crowd of eight who have gathered around him. The students are looking intently at a handout Kaz has made for them. Four of the onlookers are Japanese, the rest are Westerners. The Japanese are all better dressed, particularly the women. Kaz alternates his explanations in Japanese and English. As I arrive, trying to remember how to order an iced tea in Japanese, Kaz asks me my Go strength, and then hands me two pages of handouts. I find a seat, and as I sip from my drink, I join the crowd in their intense concentration.

The handouts are Go problems that Kaz has composed himself. They consist of tesuji for making life and good shape. In each one, Black is to respond to a move by White to avoid a snapback and subsequent atari. At first, looking through the handouts, I am confused, because it appears as if the same set of problems are on both pages. Then, I notice that on one page, the initial moves by White are different. "The first page consists of kyu-level problems," Kaz explains to me later over lunch. "The second page shows dan-level problems." I must still be looking puzzled, because Kaz tries again. He points to the dan-level problems first: "If I had the position as Black that you see in the handout, I would play here, at A, the tesuji, because that is the best move in response to White's approach. It's so natural, a dan-level player wouldn't even think twice about it. But when I try to explain to kyu players, especially beginners, why this is Black's best move, many don't see the reasoning behind it. They don't see the shortage of liberties which can occur if Black makes the wrong move.

"So, first, in the kyu-level problems, I show my students a basic shape that Black can make, and I run them through this sequence about half a dozen times, in different applications, all over the board. This way they learn how to create the shape and also how to maintain it if White comes in and tries to cut it up. In the kyu-level problems, White's approach moves are vulgar, in fact they're often the wrong move, but beginners can understand it, and they can understand how to respond to it as Black. Once beginners are familiar with that shape, I take them through the dan-level problems, and now they see it why this move by Black becomes a tesuji. It's like with mathematics, you can't solve the more difficult problems without first understanding how the easier ones work. That kind of analysis took a long time for me to realize, but I think it's best for players of any level. Though, maybe next year I'll have an even better approach!"

I nod with deep understanding and a newfound respect for Kaz's teaching style. He is a master teacher. The late Kageyama Toshiro, 7-dan, took a similar approach in his book Lessons in the Fundamentals of Go and what Kaz has done is here is to expand these fundamentals to specific shapes for cutting, connecting, and fighting in Go.

Back at the café, Kaz shows some common mistakes kyu-level players make when in tesuji. It also affords him the chance to show off his wonderful sense of humor. Kaz builds a shape on the board and plays it out. White ends up with a strong position between two weak, disconnected Black groups, all because of a simple error black made early on in the tesuji. "I call this the ‘Romeo & Juliet’ shape for Black, because both sides for Black end in tragedy."

Kaz's fingers blur as he creates another shape.

"This tesuji for White is what I call a ‘chopping-onions tesuji’, because after White ataris, you cry and cry and cry." He translates this, too, for the Japanese students, and they laugh with him.

To further his point, Kaz shows applications of his theory on different parts of the board. In a corner joseki. In a fight along the side. In a shortage of liberties contest in the center. The application is the same throughout. I nod, hoping the lesson has sunk in.

After the hour long session is over, we break up into groups to play. Kaz hands out record sheets so we can record our games and he can comment upon them afterwards. I am secretly excited because I get to test out a kitchy multi-colored recording pen I bought as a souvenir from the Nihon Ki'in earlier in the week. My opponent is Arakaki Yoshitsugu, a 2-kyu particle accelerator engineer who is visiting from Ibaraki, nearly 2 hours outside Tokyo. We play two even games, switching colors in between. Over the course of the next hour, another dozen students arrive, a mix of Japanese and non-Japanese, beginners and experts. Kaz and the café staff handle the chaos of shuffling chairs and Go boards as if they deal with it every day, while Yoshi and I continue with our game. I lose both games by resignation, but I don't mind. I have learned a lot, and it feels good just being here.

Afterwards, Kaz comes over to our table and reviews our first game. He is kind and encouraging throughout as he shows us where we might have been able to make stronger moves. Then, he shows us more tesuji applications, which might be rather unique, since most Go teachers and pros (at least in Japan) don't show applications. In fact, this is one of Kaz's strengths, which is to show a simple example and then show various applications to make you recognize how simple shape or tesuji can be useful to various situations. Yoshi and I try to work through them under Kaz's tutelage. "Excellent," he tells us as he quickly sets up another application on a different part of the board, and we try again, emboldened by his lessons and his positive encouragement of our progress.

"Schools in Japan force you to learn or force you to memorize, but they don't teach you to love learning," Kaz also tells me later. "What I wanted to do was teach in a way that would allow people to enjoy what they were doing." When I leave the café later that afternoon, I look back and see that there are still dozens of people playing Go. It appears that Kaz's labors have more than paid off.