The roar of drums and the clash of cymbals fill the air, echoing across the temple's parking lot. It's a night of intense preparation for the lion dancers of Sydney's Qing Fong Dragon and Lion Dance team.
In the scorching heat, these dancers are gearing up for their most important time of year - Lunar New Year. Sydney's celebrations are among the largest in the Southern Hemisphere, and this year, it's an even more special occasion as it marks the Year of the Fire Horse, a rare occurrence that happens only once every six decades.
Long Huynh, a seasoned lion dancer, shares the team's motto: "Rain, hail, or shine, we still train." And train they do, with rigorous sessions at least twice a week, lasting three hours each.
The newer students get a break from the heat, practicing inside an air-conditioned hall. Kelvin Tran, co-founder and team leader, guides them with a unique teaching method. "I tell my kids to embody the lion, to feel its spirit within themselves," he explains.
The training is intense. It begins with conditioning exercises - running laps, dynamic stretches, and circuit training. Then, the students divide into groups to rehearse their routines. Each group consists of six members - four musicians playing drums and cymbals, and a pair of lion dancers, fully costumed, with one controlling the head and the other, the tail.
While the head dancer gets the limelight, the tail dancer plays an equally vital role. "We get lots of pats on the bum from audience members," the tail dancers reveal. Adelene Pham, the team instructor, adds, "People see the lion, not the people beneath."
The choreography is intricate. Dancers must synchronize the lion's head movements with their own, creating facial expressions by manipulating strings inside the head, all while keeping in rhythm with the music.
The tail dancer follows the head's lead, mirroring its movements. "If the head has a joyful interaction with an audience member, we tails wag our tails," Huynh explains. Inside the costume, vision is limited, with only a small gap at the lion's mouth for the head dancer, and the tail dancer mostly in a squat position.
Tran emphasizes the importance of trust and reliance between partners: "For a performance to succeed, you must trust and rely on each other."
This bond is evident in the students' comments. Most describe the lion dance troupe as a family, with members ranging from 12 to 40 years old. "You watch each other grow up," Tran says.
Music is an integral part of lion dancing, with students learning specific phrases to correspond with movements. One student describes it as a "synergy" between the lion and the music. Nicky Phan, a seven-year veteran lion dancer, says the music is the "heartbeat of the lion."
Lion dance performances are culturally significant to Chinese communities worldwide, believed to ward off evil spirits and bring prosperity and good luck. Tran shares that many of his students have grown closer to their heritage through lion dancing.
For Nicky Phan, lion dancing has been a journey of self-discovery. She describes her relationship with her Vietnamese-Chinese ethnicity as "broken" before becoming a lion dancer. But learning the history and significance of lion dancing has helped her reconnect with her family's heritage. "Being a lion brings back a sense of belonging that I felt lost for a long time."
While Lunar New Year is the peak season, the training continues long after. The Moon Festival in September is another busy month, but the team also performs weekly for weddings and business openings.
Tran acknowledges that performances can be challenging, with potential mishaps like missed moves or dropped partners. But through it all, the team's bond remains strong. "Whether it's a small or big performance, we always make sure we feed each other," Pham says.
As their training session concludes, the 30 dancers gather in the hall, sharing a box of doughnuts. The energy is electric, a mix of nerves and excitement. For some, it's their first full dress rehearsal before the Lunar New Year showcase.
"It has become a significant and positive part of my life," Pham reflects.
