An uncle who fishes with cormorants: Tan from Bangkok, Thailand learns quiet hands on a bamboo raft on the Li River

Tan is eleven and lives in Bangkok, Thailand, in a family whose roots stretch back to Guangxi in southern China. His great-uncle Wei still lives there, near the town of Yangshuo, where limestone peaks rise like green fingers from rice paddies. Last October, Tan's mother and father brought him along to visit, the first time he had met any relatives from that side of the family.

Uncle Wei is one of the last cormorant fishermen on the Li River. For centuries, men like him have floated on narrow bamboo rafts at dusk, guided by a single lantern, with sleek black birds perched along the poles. The cormorants dive into the dark water and return with fish, which their keeper gently retrieves before rewarding them with smaller ones.

One evening Uncle Wei invited Tan onto a raft. It was barely wider than a bench, made of five thick bamboo poles lashed together. The moment Tan stepped aboard, it rocked alarmingly, and he grabbed his uncle's sleeve. Uncle Wei laughed, steadied him and showed him how to stand with knees soft and weight centred.

As the sun sank behind the karst peaks, Uncle Wei pushed the raft forward with a long pole, his movements so smooth that the water barely rippled. He whistled softly, and the birds slipped into the river one by one. Tan noticed that his uncle never made sudden motions. Every gesture was deliberate, calm and balanced.

Later, sitting by a small fire on the riverbank, Uncle Wei played a bamboo flute. The tune used only five notes, the pentatonic scale common in Chinese folk music. Tan recognised the sound; it resembled melodies he had heard in Thai temple music. He hummed along, and his uncle smiled, nodding approval.

Frequently asked questions

Q: What is cormorant fishing? A: It is an ancient technique in southern China and Japan where fishermen on rafts work with trained cormorant birds that dive for fish, often at night by lantern light.

Q: Why does cormorant fishing require calm movement? A: The narrow bamboo rafts tip easily, and the birds respond to quiet signals, so fishermen move slowly and balance carefully.

Q: How does a coin on the hand help with piano? A: It reveals any wobble in the wrist. If the coin stays in place, the fingers are doing the work while the hand stays relaxed and balanced.

When Tan returned home, he told his parents he wanted piano lessons so he could play his uncle's melody. They enrolled him with a teacher near their neighbourhood, and he brought a recording of the flute tune. His teacher found that the pentatonic notes matched the black keys of the piano almost exactly, perfect for a beginner.

However, Tan's playing felt wobbly, like his first step onto the raft. His wrist dipped and rose with every note, and the melody sounded unsteady. His teacher listened to his story about the bamboo raft and had an idea. If balance mattered on the river, it could matter at the keyboard too.

So began the coin challenge. Tan settles a coin on the back of his right hand and plays the pentatonic opening, keeping his wrist as level as a bamboo raft so it does not slide off. On the first day he managed only three attempts out of fifteen. After fourteen days, he rarely lost it at all.

Birds that listen to a lantern

His melody became smooth and flowing, like a raft gliding across calm water. Tan sent a video to Uncle Wei via a cousin, and Uncle Wei answered with a voice message: a short burst of laughter, then a few words in dialect that his mother translated as you are standing well now.

Weekday practice happens with TiGA AI on a family tablet. This AI piano teacher listens to each attempt and shows a balance chart comparing the loudness of each note. Tan pictures the chart as the surface of the Li River and aims for gentle ripples rather than splashes.

His father values online piano learning because his restaurant keeps him busy late into the night. Tan completes short sessions after school, and the app builds them into a patient piano course that introduces new pentatonic tunes from across Asia. He recently learned a Japanese harvest tune and a Mongolian herding song.

The visit showed Tan that music lessons can connect him with family history. He made a school presentation about cormorant fishing, showing photographs of Uncle Wei and playing the flute melody on piano. Classmates were fascinated, and several asked how to learn piano so they could play songs from their own grandparents' homelands.

Tan also discovered that his grandmother knew the same melody from her childhood. She had not heard it in decades and wept quietly when he played it. Now she joins him every Sunday, humming along while he practises, sometimes adding words she remembers from village festivals.

Coin balanced, knees soft, lungs filled slowly: Tan begins every session this way. When it rides through the opening untouched, he is ready to play music with the calm of his uncle's lantern-lit evenings.

Uncle Wei is getting older, and few young people continue his craft. Tan hopes to visit again soon and play his melody on a keyboard by the river. Steady balance, his uncle once told him, keeps you dry on a raft, and Tan believes it also helps any child play piano gracefully.

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