- Antonio Graceffo
- Jan 9
- 3 min read
Vo co truyen is a blanket term for the traditional Vietnamese martial arts. It encompasses kicking, punching, forms and weapons skills, as well as animal styles like the tiger and dragon.
Through the research I conducted in country, I learned that vo co truyen contains elements derived from three “religious” disciplines — Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism — but because Vietnam is a communist country, being overtly religious can be problematic.
Perhaps that’s why, when I asked my friend Linh Le Trung, an instructor in Hanoi, he said, “I think vo co truyen is not related to religions. Some masters can use the knowledge of religion in the martial arts because they believe it, but most masters of vo co truyen do not.”
Within vo co truyen exist numerous schools called mon phai, and one of them, according to Trung, is vovinam, the Vietnamese art most Westerners know. (He also said, “In China, Shaolin is a mon phai, and wing chun is a mon phai.”) All the mon phai have different origins ranging from indigenous Vietnamese styles to systems imported from China, he said.
In my opinion, vo co truyen looks a lot like kung fu, and in fact, it dates back to the period of Chinese domination of Vietnam. During that time, many aspects of Chinese culture were incorporated into the local culture. So it seems fairly certain that at least part of vo co truyen comes from China.
I learned that Trung, despite being only 29, possesses a broad knowledge of the Vietnamese fighting arts. He started training at age 6 under a master named Bui Dang Van, who still teaches students in Hanoi’s Quan Thanh Temple.
When Trung was 12, his family moved to Saigon for two years. In the new city, he trained under Nguyen Huu Phuoc. Now he teaches in Hanoi under Van. Part of his workload is running vo co truyen competitions at the district, city, regional and national levels.
As you’d expect, he’s quite familiar with how the tournaments operate, his knowledge no doubt augmented by the fact that he won gold medals at the North Vietnam Championships in 2008, 2009, 2010 and 2012, along with silver medals at the National Championships in 2009 and 2010.
Back in 2009, I trained with Trung at Quan Thanh Temple, where he was a senior student. On this trip, I followed Trung the teacher to his classes, where he was seeing to the needs of his own students. Their training took place in the courtyard of a community center.
Surrounded by a high wall and sporting a floor made of stone, the center had an oddly medieval feel — it was like being on the grounds of an ancient palace. The uniforms, which consisted of black loose-fitting traditional tops and trousers, made the students look like apprentice monks.
At Trung’s signal, roughly 50 students jogged onto the field and assembled in military-like ranks. When he was satisfied they were standing straight and sufficiently aligned, he began running them through their forms.
The routines appeared similar to kung fu forms, with movements reminiscent of the horse stance and bow stance. At certain points, the students would shout in unison. At other points, they’d stomp their feet or slap their fists into their palms.
The forms included leaps and high kicks that, when Trung executed them, left observers thinking that he deserved his championship wins. I was impressed by the general athleticism of Trung and his followers, their ease of movement, grace and ability to kick above head height.
When the training ended, Trung put me on the back of his scooter, and we rode across town to his next class. This one was much smaller, with only six students, and took place indoors. Once the students were warmed up, Trung had me teach them. I went over some kick-catching techniques from san da and a couple of basic takedowns.
Time and time again during my martial arts odyssey in Asia, which now spans 15 years, I’ve been pleasantly surprised at the kindness of the students and teachers I’ve met. Although we often lack a common language, we’re able to become good friends. Living the martial life is a unique experience in that you dedicate yourself to constantly training to fight — yet you don’t fight. You meet new people and share techniques.
People like Trung, a student when I first met him and now a teacher passing his self-defense art to a new generation, represent the pinnacle of the martial way. In my view, they embody the real beauty of the martial arts.
