Risky Business...

Today the joys of nomadic flaneurie have brought me to a quiet and pleasant little guest house in the Northern Thai city of Chang Mai. Sarah's Guest House lies just a couple of hundred metres from the the moat and city wall of the old town. The place has a pleasant, although slightly run-down ambience of the sort that one often comes across in Thai cities. In such a hot country, the architectural emphasis is often on maximising air-flow and coolness and so it is that I find myself sitting beneath the stilted verandah listening to the sounds of water trickling from a small fountain whilst enjoying the first bowl of porridge that I have had the pleasure of consuming for many a month.

Chiang Mai is Thailand's second city and lies in the extreme North of the country. At the time of writing there are still some uncertainties as to how the current political turmoil here will pan out and the future looks somewhat uncertain for this beautiful land. One of the possibilities that has been mooted is the division of the country between the North and the South. If this did indeed come to pass then the city of Chiang Mai could, one day, find itself the capital of Siam. Oddly, the name Siam was originally used to denote people with dark brown skin (from Sanskrit) and was meant in a slightly derogatory sense. The people of the north are indeed slightly darker than those further south. Present day Thailand is a curious mixture of various ethnic groups held together by the oft asserted notion of 'Thainess'. Much work is done in schools to reinforce the idea of this identity but there still exists tensions between the different groups that all too often flare up in political strife and sometimes even violence.

Thailand does, at times, feel like a dangerous place to be, despite its undeniable beauty. Not only do the politics appear to be potentially problematic but day to day life in Thailand can be risky in itself. I read only last week of the very common practice here of injecting formalin (a form of formaldehyde) into fruits and vegetables to maintain their freshness longer. It does indeed have that effect, but unfortunately also leads to health problems of various sorts, some relatively minor such as skin irritation or sneezing, but long term ingestion can lead to consequences the details of which are far too gruesome to go into here.

There is a fairly loose and patchy application of the law in this land, an attitude that permeates life from the highest social strata to the lowest. An obvious example would be the law requiring the wearing of crash helmets. This was passed in 1979 in view of the high number of fatalities in motor cycle accidents suffered by the people of Thailand. Standing on any street in a major city in this country one will mostly notice crash helmets by their absence. In a very short time hoards of motor cyclists will pass by but only about one in four will actually be complying. You may even notice a nearby police checkpoint but very little actual in the way of a response from the policemen inside. I originally heard that the law only applied to foreign nationals. An understandable misunderstanding as they seem to be the only ones who are stopped; there normally follows a stealthy financial transaction quite costly for the poor tourist involved but more profitable for the representative of the local constabulary.

One would think that travelling by bus would be a safer option in Thailand, and one would be right but... it is merely a relative safety; buses in Thailand cannot be considered safe per se. The drivers, particularly of the mini-buses, have to work long hours to make a living. Rumour has it that they often imbibe yaba, a substance that enables them to keep going for extended periods but also produces a certain psychological intensity that leads to feelings of being 'bullet-proof', perhaps not the ideal state to be driving buses in...

My own personal experiences of travelling by this mode of transport in Thailand has lead me to revise much what I thought I knew about the laws of physics. Certainly it would seem that buses can get around sharp bends at far higher speeds than I had previously considered possible. Also, my perception of space would seem to be somewhat awry as often these self-same buses manage to squeeze through gaps that appeared to be almost narrower than the bus itself (at speed, naturally). Such driving does indeed take minutes off the journey but one feels it may be a pyrrhic victory as it feels as if it may also take years off of one's life in terms of the stress entailed.

Before I was privy to much of this knowledge I rather naively hired a motor bike from one of the numerous shops supplying this service in Kanchanaburi. The day itself proved to be an excellent adventure whilst I rode around the hills and mountains of West Central Thailand near the border with Myanmar. Unfortunately, the return to the city lead to a change in my relationship to surface of the planet from the vertical to the horizontal when a white van (some things never change) pulled out from the side across two lanes and into yours truly.

Nursing eleven abrasions, three large bruises, two egg-shaped contusions and a bump on my head (luckily I had insisted on having a crash helmet) later that evening, I could not help but notice similar casualties amongst my fellow travellers in Kanchanaburi. One chap was so swathed in bandages that he looked almost mummified. Understandably, he was moving with the slowness one associates with the role; one could almost feel his pain just by looking at him.

Many years ago a very famous Greek mathematician who went by the name of Pythagoras, although at the time he was known as much for his philosophy as for his mathematics, pointed out the shortcomings in our approach to risk when he said: “Self chosen are the woes that befall man.”

We are indeed all too often the architects of our own downfall. A more modern quote, oft cited by my brother in regards to his flying activities, seems apt: “There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are not many old, bold pilots!”

The avoidance of risk is often decried in our modern world but, as one matures, one begins to understand that brash risk taking is better left to the brash. Again, Pythagoras had something to say on the subject, advising that it would be better to avoid such misadventures and instead to “live quietly in the constant light of truth.” Deeply unfashionable maybe, but then again so many of the best things in life are.

Truth itself, of course, is often hard to come by. When faced with the truly alarming road traffic fatality rate in Thailand the politicians decided to do something about it. The measure taken did indeed lead to a halving of the fatality rate in just one year. I hear you ask 'what could they have possibly done to lead to so successful an outcome?' The measure they employed to reduce the appalling figures entailed changing the way they collected the statistics. Now in Thailand if you leave the scene with a semblance of a pulse you are not considered a fatality. No matter if you die thirty seconds later in the ambulance you are no longer deemed to be a road traffic fatality but are lumped into some other, less controversial, statistical category instead. This solution, if one may call it that, did indeed work but one cannot help but feel that it rather misses the point...

 Back at Sarah's Guest House I seem to have been befriended a couple of wandering felines. Such debates about the nature of risk taking are of no interest to them it seems, but a soft scratch behind the ears or a full length stroke to the tip of the tail is far more to their liking. Soft Thai music is playing in the background and this place remains agreeably cool and pleasant despite its proximity to the centre of Chiang Mai. 

Shortly, I will have to head out into the frenetic chaos and mechanised madness that typifies the roads around the old city. Beyond that though, there are areas of surprising calm inside the walls themselves. Within these precincts a local Wat (Buddhist Temple) offers massages for the princely sum of 140 baht ($3) for an hour. So far on this trip I have forsaken the temptations of such therapeutic interventions due to some of the more compromising aspects that are involved in some of the commercial establishments. This injured body though would appreciate some tender loving care at this point, so I think that a visit to the temple would indeed be in order. So, without further ado, I think I will take my leave for another week with a final, apposite thought... take care out there!

A short and rather sad addendum to this post. Following my massage I was strolling around the old town when I came across today's Bangkok Post. It told of yet another bus accident, this time leading to the loss of 15 passengers, mostly children, with 45 more injured. The driver of the bus was unlicensed and fled the scene. The unpleasant details can be seen here: 

http://www.bangkokpost.com/news/local/397583/school-bus-tragedy-kills-15-injures-45

What the tortoise taught us...

This evening finds a very relaxed nomadic flaneur sitting on the balcony of the Sugar Cane guest house overlooking the River Kwai in Kanchanaburi, Thailand. The structure is somewhat disconcertingly simple but seems to be solid enough. Various gaps in the floorboards, up to about four inches, allow an uninterrupted view down to the river below. The floorboards themselves seem to be simply nailed into place. The superstructure is of bamboo bound together with a hemp rope of some sort. It all holds together somehow though I am not completely certain how.

The view to the South is quite breathtakingly romantic. In the foreground are large rafts onto which ramshackle rooms have been built, cheap accommodation for the itinerant backpackers. Beyond that the river flows Southwards on its journey down to the Gulf of Thailand. On the banks are pagoda style temples and, beyond them, a range of forest-clad mountains. Every now and again the sound of a fish leaping to catch a low flying insect breaks the stillness. If you are lucky, you may occasionally see a water monitor slithering down the banks before disappearing beneath the waves. If you are unlucky, you may have a much closer encounter with one. They are extreme carnivores who will eat just about anything that crosses their path.

The pace of life is slow here. Sometimes, in the mid day heat, so slow that it almost comes to a stop. Even on the main road leading up to the River Kwai Bridge midday brings a time of quietness, many of the traders will take a very long lunch break, some you will even see resting in hammocks slung in the shade of a palm tree or a convenient lean-to. The Thais, at least away from the madness of Bangkok, seem to have mastered the art of enjoying their lives slowly.

This attitude fits in well with the role of a nomadic flaneur. The original flaneurs were to be found 19th century Paris. They were often to be seen frequenting the shops and arcades that were, in those days, newly-built. Often, the more extreme followers of this lifestyle could be observed very slowly perusing the displayed fineries of these covered arcades whilst walking a tortoise on a lead. Even for your correspondent this may be taking things a tad too far!

As a companion for those given to the slow but seductive pleasures of flaneury, tortoises would seem to have been a very appropriate choice. They are the very epitome of economising effort. They don't speed, they never rush, yet they seem to live very long and very contentedly and, somehow or other, to get the things done that they need to get done. Interestingly, tortoises have a very long life-expectancy; it is not uncommon for them to live over five score years.

Aesop, that great writer of metaphorical tales, was not unaware of the paradox here. Perhaps his most famous fable is that of the hare and the tortoise. The hare, for all his rushing, for all the urgency of his speed, ends up losing the race to the slow and steady tortoise. I remember hearing this story as a child and being quite dismissive of its message. Strange how, the older one becomes the more the story appeals. One increasingly values the qualities of consistency and persistency, unfashionable though they be may, and realises how effective they are in the long term.

Increasingly in our modern world the call is for speed, for the dramatic, for instantaneous gratification. Interestingly, even when that gratification is achieved it is invariably short-lived and less than satisfying. The young in particular find themselves bombarded with imagery and information, advertising and date. So much so that it creates a certain impatience, a certain need for speed in all things. Over recent years this has led to steadily decreasing attention spans and problems such as ADD and ADHD.

Several years ago, in anyone guise, I co-wrote a paper on the challenges for teachers coping with pupils afflicted with these conditions. My fellow author had suffered from ADHD throughout her teenage years and still displayed some of these tendencies on occasions. As I remember, she started with an intense burst of enthusiasm but as the weeks rolled by found it increasingly difficult to maintain the effort. The paper was completed eventually but not without a certain amount of gentle cajoling to keep my well-meaning but sometimes errant colleague on track.

Our modern world has become ever more obsessed with speed, with the need to get things done quickly, with schedules and timetables. Taking the time for lunch is only apparently for wimps (in these matters I consider myself very much a wimp!), hot-desking is all the rage and all seem obsessed with ways to 'save time'. Oddly, there seems to be some kind of paradox at work here: the more time we seemingly save, the more rushed we seem to become.

Fortunately, there are people who think differently, though they are still in a very small minority. Carl Honore is one such person suggesting that there may indeed be another way. In his best-selling book 'In Praise of Slowness' he examines some of the normally unchallenged assumptions of the modern world and its headlong rush to... who knows where? It is something of a reaction against the notion that faster is always better. He is not alone in adopting these attitudes although, for the present, it seems that the cacophonous roar of modern life is drowning out the soft but persistent voice telling us that there is another way. Much like the hare and the tortoise though, it may turn out that the soft but persistent voice wins through in the end, despite all appearances to the contrary.

Back in the Sugar Cane I thoughtfully sip at my watermelon shake; strange how when one takes the time to savour the flavour one realises just how delicious such things are. I have a friend who finishes all meals in seconds flat. I often wonder if it actually matters what is put in front of him. For my part, I prefer both eating and drinking slowly, taking the time to enjoy the flavours and textures that each dish offers.

I listen to the calls of the birds singing to each other in the palms and the tamarinds. I have no idea which bird is which but that does not detract in the slightest from the pleasantness of simply sitting back and enjoying the ambient music they produce. By now a couple a few hours have passed, strange how absorbing this process can be. The light is soft at this time of the evening, bathing everything in a warm orange glow. It is hard for me to imagine a place more beautiful than this so, if you will forgive me, I think the time has come to finish my musings for this week and go back to the simple and slow pleasures that life beside the River Kwai has to offer.  

Working ourselves to death...

Saturday morning in Kanchanaburi catching up on the news from the UK on the BBC. Seems that yet another storm has shed yet more rain on an already saturated Britain. I find myself feeling almost guilty as I look up through the eaves of the Jolly Frog to the relentlessly blue sky beyond. This is the place that started the backpacking boom in this part of Thailand. It is looking a little dilapidated now and probably needs a facelift but... there is something comforting and really rather pleasant in its state of easy going neglect. The main eating area consists of a vast roof supported on tree trunks, the sides completely open which tends to lend a freshness to the place which is aided and abetted by several huge fans hanging from the ceiling. Plants have run wild over time and now hang down in curtains of creepers that create natural partitions between parts of the restaurant (that seems too grand a word for this place – maybe 'cafe' would be more accurate).

This has become my favourite place to write during my month in Kanchanaburi. I order the requisite coffee for the princely sum of 20 baht and usually a watermelon smoothie and some roles (no butter, as I am presently experimenting with veganism) to supply the much needed refreshment that this process requires. The whole lot totals some 65 baht (roughly £1.20), not at all bad. I remember some years ago, in my early flaneurial days, having a coffee in St. Marks Square in Venice – the coffee alone was somewhere in excess of £5. I have to admit though, the setting was wonderful!

Life is indeed very relaxing in this part of the world. There is an easy going ambience that pervades so much of life here. The people are friendly and generous, the culture interesting and the flora and fauna fascinating. It certainly feels very different after China with its feverish chasing after economic success. I am told that Japan, in many ways, is even worse. Despite the success of the economy in China it seems that people are required to chase ever harder just to keep up. Rather than bringing increasing leisure and other benefits to the society, the vast majority find themselves required to work longer and longer hours while the benefits are reaped by a smaller and smaller section at the very top of the economic pyramid. This same process seems to have been experienced in many economies around the world. As a certain politician recently put it: "They used to say 'a rising tide lifts all boats'. Now the rising tide just seems to lift yachts."

This increasing insecurity for the general populace has been experienced particularly keenly in Japan with its deep acceptance of the work ethic and the fundamentally hierarchical structure of its society. After the sixties and seventies boom Japan found itself entering a prolonged period of economic stagnation which has only ended in very recent times. Job security became increasingly tenuous. People were required to work longer and longer hours, the extra time often being unpaid as the employees more or less felt obliged to work in such a way to keep their jobs. This eventually led to what started out as a typically Japanese reaction; the phenomenon of 'Karoshi'. The Japanese word 'Karoshi' can be simply translated as 'death due to overwork' although this does not tell the whole story. There is an element of suicide in this phenomenon, of deliberately working to the point of precipitating one's own demise.

This attitude to work is perhaps unique to the Japanese mentality although there have in recent times been examples in the West. Increasingly employers seem to have the same expectations as Japanese companies. The notion that your whole life should be based around your employment is implicit in these assumptions. Increasing economic insecurity, despite the recent turn around in Western economies, has led to the expectation that people will indeed work longer and longer hours simply through the fear of losing their jobs.

A very close friend of mine had a job that required her to work thirty hours a week in a school in East London. Even though her hours were 8 in the morning until 3 in the afternoon, with one hour's unpaid lunch, she often found herself working until half past three or even four. Some years ago her employer decreased her hours to 25 per week but, oddly, she still found herself working from 8 in the morning until well after 3 in the afternoon. A year or two later the hours were further decreased to 20 per week. Hmm, I think it is unnecessary for me to repeat here as you'll have worked out how this 'reduction' actually functioned. Now she works 18 hours a week. She often starts before 8 in the morning now and often finds herself there until after five at night, five days a week. Mathematics have never been my strong point but I am pretty sure that works out to something substantially in excess of 18 hours a week.

I see my friend when I am back in the UK. She is a decent, honest person with a sensitive and intelligent nature. Every time I see her she looks a little more tired, a little more strained. Occasionally I will talk to her about this process. She understands what is happening but feels obliged to go along with it. So many these days feel themselves trapped in such situations. It may not quite be Karoshi but it is not far from it. We often hear businessmen and politicians, particularly those of the right, arguing for 'more flexible work practices'. Another fine sounding euphemism! What is actually desired by such folk is the power to demand more and more for less and less, often relying on job insecurity as a way of squeezing blood out of a stone.

It seems to be rarely pointed out but there is something fundamentally unsound in all of this, something fundamentally wrong. The shortcomings of the Japanese 'work until you drop' philosophy were amply demonstrated during WW2. Recently I visited the 'Death Railway' near the small town I am staying in, Kanchanaburi. The railway was built using allied Prisoners of War and Asian workers (Romusha) from occupied territories. Those unfortunate to find themselves working on this project were subject to the most awful privations and, frankly, quite inhuman treatment by the Japanese. They were ill-fed, brutalised and overworked. Very shortly the men would weaken and fall ill because of the demands placed upon them. As this continued their productivity dropped. Working when you are tired, in pain and underfed is pretty commonly accepted not to be the ideal I think. The Japanese response? They worked people harder, fed them less, imposed longer hours, etc. To the mentality of the Japanese captors this made sense. The result? The project fell further and further behind schedule as the decreasing workforce found itself under greater and greater pressure. Maybe there is a lesson here?

Visiting the site of these atrocities one is struck with just how peaceful it is now. Indeed, one may even say that the views from Hellfire Pass are beautiful – a huge valley through which the Kwai Noi river flows beneath the shade of lush forests and the most delicately exquisite flora that one could wish to see. All is quiet now and it is hard to imagine the kind of scenes that once gave the pass its name.

 Back in The Jolly Frog the cafe has become busier now and the day a little warmer. Ex-pats read newspapers with two day old articles about the terrible weather in the UK. Others, like myself, sit here tapping away at our laptops, communicating with a distant world so different from where we find ourselves. I slowly sip at my banana shake (one has to be aware of the need for constant hydration in 30+ degrees C) thinking about the implications of this piece. The unhappy world of job insecurity and virtual karoshi seem like they are from another and very bizarre reality. There has to be a better way... 

Hot Curries and Cool Mint Teas in Thailand...

As I write these notes I find myself enjoying the pleasures of consuming yet another of On's vegan delights at her restaurant in downtown Kanchanaburi. Actually, restaurant may be too strong a word as the whole establishment could be fitted into my former front room, in the days when I owned a front room, back in not-so-sunny Loughton. This particular eatery was one of the reasons for returning to Kanchanaburi on my current sojourn to Thailand. When I originally discovered the place nearly a year ago now I could scarce believe the variety of dining pleasures that awaited the would-be vegan (or the price for that matter - all dishes cost the same, just under one English pound!). The menu was varied and exciting containing all manner of culinary delights. I find myself visiting the place often now. Not only is the food great but the place also has a way of attracting all sorts of slightly off-beat characters – just the sort of thing that your correspondent, in his role as a nomadic flaneur, tends to cherish.
http://onsthaiissan.com/

Thailand, with its deep and rich Buddhist culture, has developed a cuisine singularly suited to the vegan palette. It has, of course, been much adapted over the years due to the influence originally of American troops, who used the place as their default R & R resort of choice during the Vietnam conflict, and that of modern day tourists. Mostly the dishes have been modified by dropping various lumps of dead flesh into them in order to satiate the demands of the aforementioned carnivores.

In some ways this can be viewed of something of a shame as the original, unadulterated recipes reflect more accurately the underlying culture of this country. Despite currently being embroiled in much political unrest due to the nefarious activities of various corrupt and unpleasant politicians, and the tensions that arise because of these shenanigans, it remains a very pleasant place to be.

Dwelling on this whilst gingerly (no pun intended...) attempting to consume a fairly hot red curry in Ons, I wondered how much influence the practice of sending young men to spend a goodly amount of time in Buddhist monasteries had on the national character. This is something of a rite of passage in Thailand and, in much the same way that national service affected the culture in the UK or conscription for the aforementioned Vietnam war affected attitudes in the USA, these young men return to influence their villages and towns fundamentally changed by their experiences. Happily, the changes inculcated in them are not of the violent and martial variety of the previously mentioned examples. On the contrary, exposure to such training help instil a tolerance and a patience in Thai culture that, despite its very worldly ambience on the surface, lends an underlying friendliness and kindness that renders it, for the most part, a very relaxing place to be.

Coming from China in the last few months, the contrast is both immediate and dramatic. There is a pushiness, a competitiveness about China that makes day-to-day living there far more stressful that it need be. Despite the economic success of recent years, China is not a pleasant place to be. The noise is constant, the jostling, the struggling for space as hordes of people push harder and harder just to 'get on'. Nowhere is this more obvious than on the roads. In my travels I have come across all manner of driving from the sedate to the crazy but nowhere have I been struck by the sheer rudeness of the driving as in China. There is a ruthlessness, a callousness, a selfishness indeed, to the driving there that I have not experienced anywhere else on the planet. Thailand has its problems with traffic, particularly in Bangkok, but in comparison to China these people are the very epitome of consideration. There is a gentleness, a consideration, that is a joy to behold.

Back in On's, I find myself deep in conversation with an English couple who sold their properties a couple of years back and bought themselves a Volkswagen T5 van in which they spend the summers touring around the UK and Europe. During the winters the van remains parked up in a brother's drive whilst they gallivant off to various sunnier climes around the globe. It seems that more and more people are reaching the same conclusion. The default lifestyle in the West, buying a property and owning lots of stuff, is beginning to be seen for the trap that, for so many people, it is: the property and the goods end up owning the owner.

Finishing my curry, I sip from the cooling and absolutely delicious mint smoothie that I often choose to accompany the spicier dishes. My main decision seems to be whether to conclude this piece in the air-conditioned pleasantness of On's or to take a stroll down to the equally pleasant environs of The Jolly Frog overlooking the River Kwai. The UK and its general dreariness seem a world away...