Why do we go to training camps nowadays? From invisible work to inner experience

• 19 August 2026.
• Ferenc Németh

When talking about martial arts, training camps are traditionally the primary arenas for development, community building, and meeting with masters. But what do we expect from a camp today in exchange for our money and free time? Why do we often return home feeling something is missing, and what is the difference between genuine teaching and a self-serving demonstration? It is worth taking an honest look behind the scenes.

1. Opening the gates: The invisible organizational work

Many think a training camp begins the moment the master steps onto the tatami. To dispel the illusions: behind the creation of the space lies months of invisible work. Writing NEA grant applications, official accounting, bilingual communication with foreign guests, booking the venue, and continuously updating the web backend and JSON data structures – all of this is the organizer's job, so the participant only has to focus on practicing.

The organizer's job is to create the opportunity, and the decision belongs to the practitioner. As an organizer, I actually appreciate it and value it highly when someone simply tells me directly why they cannot attend. But at the end of the day, the ones who truly matter are those on the tatami. We must let go of those who stay away with fabricated excuses; the focus is on the practitioners who are willing to cross boundaries, literally and figuratively, for inner development (like the international core group who regularly travel from 4-5 countries for a good seminar).

2. Why do we go to camps at all? (Clarifying camp types and expectations)

Most disappointments stem from participants not being clear about the type of event they paid for. We should distinguish between two main categories:

• The "workshop" (The arena of real learning): Think of Master Kuroki's domestic camps, for instance. We go here to take the technique apart, get into the details, the angles, and the micromechanics. This is deep work where the practitioner receives real knowledge, which can mostly be realized in focused, smaller groups.
• The "celebration" or "anniversary" (The community event): A classic example is Mitsuteru Ueshiba's upcoming camp in Budapest. We must be clear: in a crowd this size, we are not looking for fine mechanics. We go here to connect with traditions, pay respect to the Hombu Dojo, and demonstrate the strength of the domestic base.

Alongside these events, however, it is worth discussing a very real challenge. Due to dan examinations and major celebratory events, there is often an unspoken pressure on dojo leaders. It can be a heavy burden for an instructor when the system almost expects them to bring a large team, while they see exactly that their students' financial resources are limited. Let's be honest: not every dojo is filled with 4th-5th dan advanced students for whom only an international training camp of this caliber can provide meaningful development. For lower-ranking or newly promoted dan practitioners, their technical development would often be much better served by a smaller, more focused domestic training than a mandatory protocol event.

3. Stepping out of the dojo's comfort zone: The teachings of the unknown partner

In our own dojo, after a while, we inevitably get to know our peers. A camp, however, is a massive laboratory where we face a wide variety of body types and temperaments. It requires completely different biomechanics, distance, and entry angles to work with a more solidly built, 182-centimeter-tall partner like myself, than when attacked by a shorter, more compact, and nimble person. Against a completely unknown uke, it truly becomes clear: is our technique based on universal principles, or is our usual partner just assisting with it?

4. Demonstration or education: The "greatest hits" and a sustainable pace

It often happens that we pay the expensive entrance fee and feel like we just dropped a token into a martial arts jukebox. The master arriving from abroad often goes through their mandatory greatest hits. Of course, it is impressive to see a high-level master execute these movements so skillfully. One can draw inspiration from this. But just because they do it brilliantly doesn't mean we will be able to execute the form better if the "extra information" is missing from the teaching.

This extra information can mean a very simple, empty-handed biomechanical explanation: understanding how my body twists when I step, how my hand initiates, and how I open a gate with it for a safe entry. But an equally important layer can be the presentation of the weapons context behind the movement—when the sword or staff is brought out, and the correct entry angle or proper distance suddenly makes sense. Without understanding these underlying contents, aikido often just feels like empty, exhausting choreography.

At the same time, let's be fair: fast and dynamic practice absolutely has its place in a training camp. However, a multi-day seminar cannot be built exclusively on an endless grind. The goal of quality education should be that the practitioner doesn't just "survive" a weekend by depleting their body, but learns to move sustainably, so they can step onto the tatami healthily even decades later.

5. The "Made in Japan" premium and domestic alternatives

We must ask the question: what exactly are we paying for in a camp? The name, the tradition, or the knowledge that can be transferred and integrated at our own level? For a beginner, the patient, foundational work of a dedicated domestic master is, in most cases, orders of magnitude more useful. Understandably, the focus of a high-ranking instructor coming from afar in a large camp is often different: they rarely go back to step-by-step teaching; instead, they demonstrate the higher principles of aikido. Moreover, the system of large, sometimes impersonal mass camps often doesn't favor young people at all.

Why do we undervalue domestic professional capital? The recent appointment of six new Hungarian shihans would provide an excellent occasion for a shift in perspective. In reality, it is these affordable, domestic training camps that primarily build true solidarity, team spirit, and community. We should have much more of this kind of organic building. After all, if these smaller, domestic events strengthen the base, then when a major event really needs the "crowd," there will be a strong, dedicated community to count on.

6. Invisible practice: What does the master do off the tatami?

The authenticity of a martial art isn't decided on the tatami. The form quickly becomes empty if there isn't an open, continuous inner search behind it. There are also wonderful, direct forms of teaching off the tatami. During one of his training camps in Hungary, for example, Master Kuroki created a unique opportunity: on Friday, he held a two-hour informal discussion. Those who attended were enriched with real value that would have been impossible to pass on through physical practice. We managed to clarify Japanese terms that many people at home like to use but use completely incorrectly, or we jointly deciphered kanjis that proudly hung on the walls of various dojos, while their meaning had nothing to do with what the person who put them there thought they meant. :-)

Fortunately, this kind of cultural openness and demand for quality is also present in domestic communities. There is a dojo, for example, where they regularly practice calligraphy after training, involving even the children. Anyone who truly wants to teach gives space and time for this kind of deep, cultural understanding as well.

7. Mental retreat: The value of presence

Martial arts camps have another, equally important psychological side. In today's world, a training camp is not only physical development but also a kind of mental retreat. For example, when we go to a training camp in the Czech Republic, I feel exactly this magic. Beyond the training itself, the entire process—the preparation, the travel, being there, and finally arriving home—is an incredibly complete experience. Massive, world-changing things don't necessarily happen on the tatami, but because of the break from routine, the honest community, and the presence, the whole thing is still an extremely pleasant, recharging feeling. For those few days, external pressure ceases, and nothing remains but the tatami, the focus, and the inner silence.

8. The Monday integration

Going to a camp is a serious commitment. There is only one true measure of this sacrifice: that upon returning to our own dojo from the camp, our practice changes qualitatively. The true benchmark of a camp is the "Monday integration". Many tend to leave the acquired workshop secrets and enthusiasm at the event and continue everything at home on Monday exactly as before.

Upon returning to our dojo, are we willing to consciously integrate the correction of recognized mistakes and the new movement principles into our daily routine? Because real development doesn't end at the camp; it truly begins there!