Investing in Divesting...

On this day in the midst of November mists, this nomadic flaneur currently finds himself enjoying the slow process of sipping gently at a cup of gingersnap and peach tea in the somewhat noisy environs of Costas coffee shop in the heart of Loughton. The rain is pouring down outside to such an extent that even a short walk will guarantee a complete soaking. As ever for Costas, the internet connection is somewhat less than reliable and I am struggling to search out flights for my next global gallivant. This time it is likely to start in Hong Kong and go from there, perhaps taking in mainland China, Thailand and Cambodia. If all goes to plan, I am likely to be on the road for quite some time.

The last few months have been spent in the Southern Counties of the UK with a few diversions to the wind swept but rather beautiful Cornish coast. England can be a very beautiful country indeed, but only for about six months of the year. Beyond October it can become dreary beyond belief. If you, dear reader, are anything like me then the joys of struggling against wind and rain pale somewhat with the passing of the years. Not for me the joys of temperatures hovering just above freezing or the encumbrance of having to wear multiple layers of clothing, gloves, hats and scarves. No, I am more your sandals and a T-shirt sort of guy these days, at least that is my preference during what would be the 'winter' months in Europe.

For the sake of my travels, my preferences in clothing have become simpler and simpler these days. This is, of course, something of a necessity if one wishes to follow the life of a nomadic flaneur. Cumbersome backpacks or other forms of luggage soon lose their appeal when one has the onerous duty of lugging them from airport to hotel, or has to attempt to hold on to them as some lunatic of a Thai bus driver cavorts crazily through the streets of Bangkok, gripped with an irrational but passionately felt need to risk all for the sake of the saving of a few seconds (which he will probably then spend watching some banality on TV or playing pool).

Indeed, it is curious to reflect on just how little one really needs in order to live the life of a nomadic flaneur. Of course, this does not merely apply to those of us involved in such activities. Life is often lead best when it is lead simply. When one's 'needs' are few, it is curious indeed how few material goods one actually has a use for. In my case, there is a certain logic to keeping the load light as everything that I have has, at times, to be carried with me. But, notwithstanding the demands of my own lifestyle, does this not equally apply to all of us?

A couple of years ago I moved out of a house that I had owned for several years. Much of my stuff was committed to boxes and sealed with brown tape. In the time since I have, on occasion, had cause to open said boxes but, to be honest, this has been necessary on remarkably few occasions. Indeed, the vast majority of my 'stuff' (mostly books, clothes, cooking equipment and various electronic bric a brac) has lain dormant in its allocated cardboard box, completely useless to man or beast.

Over time, the realisation gradually dawns on one that much of this stuff is not needed and, in all probability, was never needed in the first place. We are seemingly fooled by the illusion that we own stuff when often the reality is that the stuff ends up owning us. Things need to be maintained, cared for, stored and generally looked after, thus using up our precious time. Even for those items where this is not the case, there is the ongoing need to store them. This usually involves taking up space and, for many people, is an ongoing process often necessitating moving to larger and larger premises in order to store this relentless, and largely useless, accumulation of stuff. Another choice, chosen by many, if they cannot afford the ever larger premises, is to have their current premises increasingly packed to the gunwales with things they scarcely ever use until they reach the state where they can barely move in their own homes.

Of course, there is a third choice, a choice that oft times remains unrealised. Curiously, this is often the best and simplest choice of all. Get rid of it!

A good rule of thumb is that if you haven't used it, read it or worn it in the last two years then consign it to the charity shop, or give it as a gift to friends, or even simply consign it to the dustbin. If it is of some value then sell it on Ebay. Whatever choice you make, free your life from it. The penalty for not doing so is either less time or less space. Have few possessions that you own. Have none that own you.

Back in Costas someone has turned on the ubiquitous and ever looping tape of overplayed popular music adding to the general din of the place. Once more I have to hear of the somewhat dated romantic collaboration between 'me and Mrs. Jones' or have my ears inveigled by Midge Ure whining on about the joys of Vienna which, apparently, mean nothing to him, a fact he feels compelled to remind us of on a continuous basis it seems.

One of the joys of leaving the UK at this season is the avoidance of the dreaded Christmas soundtrack. The joys of listening to the self same tracks from Wizard, Slade, John Lennon and Kirsty MacColl played several hundred times before finally reaching the much longed for finishing post on December 25^th faded into a rather irritated boredom many, many moons ago.

The next few days will be ones of preparation but, having made a list but an hour ago, I found myself surprised with just how simple this process actually is. When one strips out the unnecessary and avoids the superfluous it is amazing how straightforward, simple and pleasurable life can become.

Cheers!

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.  

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...

Son of Sun Tzu

“Gumbei” said Master Sun as he held up his glass of beer. “Gumbei” I responded, clinking glasses before consuming half the contents. Master Sun, in the true style of an advanced Taiji practitioner, downed the whole glass in a few brief seconds. A smile broke out upon his features. A smile for Master Sun was a slight narrowing of the eyes and the most minuscule curl of the lips, maybe a sixteenth of an inch, maybe less. The Master was the very quintessence of Eastern inscrutability.
       I had met Master Sun the day before at morning Taiji practice. He had strolled in amongst us quietly, not even needing to announce his presence. He wore Western style clothes on his thick-set body and even sported a pair of Nike sneakers on his feet. If I had to estimate, I would have said he was around 5 feet 9 inches, perhaps a fraction more. It was not so much his height that was impressive as the sheer solidity of his frame. He was build like an extremely solid out-building....a brick one at that!
       I was asked if I would like to practice with Master Sun, just a simple exercise known as 'push-hands', it would have seemed churlish to decline. The Master took up position opposite me and I crouched a little to bring my much taller frame into line. The procedure starts with the two practitioners opposing the backs of their hands. One then turns his palm inwards, attempting to push into the opponent's chest whilst the opponent using the back of his wrist to turn the blow to one side and then return the attack to the other person. In theory, the power for the deflective movement is not supposed to come from the hand or even the arm, but originate from the shoulder and the turning of the hips. The arm should actually stay relaxed during the process. In practice, this is easier said than done...
       Facing Master Sun that morning I could feel the power of the man. It seemed as if he were rooted to the ground, a seemingly immovable object that I nevertheless had to attempt to move. Within a few passes the muscles of my upper arm ached and were sending urgent messages to my brain, begging me to stop. I tried to remain impassive and ignore the steadily raising levels of discomfort and pain, attempting to give no clue to my opponent of the difficulties I was experiencing. Master Sun looked totally impassive, almost a little indulgent, as if he were playing with a small child rather than a six foot eight, 100 kilo opponent. Strength just seemed to ooze from the man, each movement so sparingly economic yet so profoundly powerful.
       Rumour was that Master Sun's lineage was from the famous Sun family. The family are known throughout China for their martial expertise, both in the sense of their military involvement and in the sense of specialising in the martial arts. Master Sun himself had served in the military with distinction, teaching the receptive soldiers of the People's Liberation Army the skills of Taiji and Kungfu. The Sun's were a family whose due was immense respect and reverence.
       It was even rumoured to be the case that Master Sun himself may have been related to the same branch of the family that produced Sun Tzu, the author of 'The Art of War'. This volume was penned some fifteen hundred years ago by General Sun Tzu of the Wu Kingdom. Under threat from a neighbouring and much larger kingdom, his strategy guided his king to a great and resounding victory and, more importantly, a productive peace. Sun Tzu's strategy did not stop at the cessation of hostilities but continued on into the nature of occupation. Throughout history, Sun Tzu's treatise has guided many a fine military leader in both war and peace. Unfortunately, these lessons, ancient and venerated as they are, seemed to have bypassed more modern American thinkers in campaigns such as Iraq. That particular case could be held as a fine exemplar of how not to execute a war, particularly in regard to the occupation phase.
       Not all Americans were as ignorant as those in power at the time of the Iraq war. Perhaps the greatest American general of all time, General Douglas MacArthur, was a well-known student of Sun Tzu's masterpiece. He applied the lessons of war very successfully in the Philippines campaign of World War Two and again the lessons for peace in his reconstruction of the defeated Japanese nation.
       The greatest exponent of all though has to be the renowned Vietnamese general  Vo Nguyen Giap who sadly died at the beginning of this October 2013 at the venerable age of 102. He successively defeated the Japanese in the Second World War, the French in the 1950's and the Americans in the 1960's and 70's. During the Vietnam conflict, after achieving considerable success against the Americans using the methods advocated by Sun Tzu, the politicians forced him to adopt different tactics during the Tet Offensive of 1968. This turned out to be one of his few defeats. After that, the politicians left the strategy and tactics to Giap, resulting in a victory against  perhaps the most powerful military nation on the planet at that time.
       Meanwhile, my own struggles against Sun Tzu's descendant were not going that well. My arm felt like it was about to desert my body, it ached so much. Not a flicker of expression from Master Sun though. After about three minutes, the Master relented. I think he knew he could defeat me with even the slightest extra push at this stage but was gracious enough to forego the victory. We shook hands and he walked away to talk to the other practitioners. After a few moments he returned, card in hand, inviting me to come to him for further instruction in the subtler aspects of Chinese martial arts, if I so desired.
       Back in the restaurant the next day I glanced across at the table to my right. The empties of the previous seven litres of beer stood there as evidence of our session. Master Sun may well be far more proficient in martial arts but I can still drink with the best if called upon. The more we drank the more I found myself enjoying the process and going from a 'ban bei' (half glass) to the full amount each time by the end. I still made sure that I gulped it down slightly slower than the master – this as a measure of the respect he was due – but enjoying the competition and the feelings of camaraderie it engendered. Indeed, the whole meal was turning into a very pleasant experience. Although we shared barely any language my friend Huang Mengxue was able to make some of the more important points and body language and gesture seemed to cover the rest.
       One final bottle to consume – two last glasses to fill. Master Sun's expression, still the essence of inscrutability was, at the same time, warming considerably.
       We clinked the glasses together one last time, each of us echoing one of the few words we both understood:
“Gumbei!”

Lifestyle choices, minimalism and being a nomadic flaneur

A little personal history to start this piece. Six years ago I had a seizure; basically I stopped breathing for about two minutes and was in a world of pain for the following six months. Two and a half years ago I had a heart attack which came, more or less, out of the blue. At the time my blood pressure was 120/80, my pulse around 60 beats per minute and my cholesterol reading a very low 3.2. All good readings it would seem but I still had the coronary incident. The old cliché 'you never know' is horribly true in these things.

Such incidents are marvellous, if you survive relatively intact, for focussing the mind and making you realise what does and does not matter to you. One would think that such a realisation would come easily and naturally but the reality is that most of us, most of the time, buy into dreams sold to us through advertising and the media or simply go along with our societies expectations of who and how we should be.

At the time I owned a house, a car and much stuff. I say 'owned' because that is the way we tend to refer to such arrangements but in many ways it could equally well be said that these things 'owned' me. Much of my time and money was spent in looking after this detritus. Cars need to be maintained, fed and serviced, houses needed the provision of electricity, gas, water and general cleaning. Every now and then something would go wrong – a leaky pipe at one stage, a domestic appliance needing replacement at another. On top of all this one was obliged to pay various taxes to 'own' these things.

When I eventually sold up just over a year ago the idea was to move into another house in a pleasanter part of the country, hoping to breathe fresher air, explore new horizons, all that sort of thing. Indeed, for a time, I went down this path. I travelled to the town of Glastonbury in Somerset on several occasions and made various offers on properties which, fortunately, were completely unsuccessful.

At this stage I thought I would take a holiday, a few weeks away would seem like a pleasant distraction from worrying about owning property. I chose Thailand for my destination. At the time, it was the furthest East I had ever travelled so the journey was undertaken with a certain degree of trepidation. I travelled on my own although I did meet a friend for a few days whilst out there. I found that after a initial feeling of disorientation I began to enjoy the experience very much. In fact, the longer it went on the more I enjoyed it.

On returning to England I found the place to be cold, wet and generally pretty dowdy. Because I had sold the house I had enough money in the bank to consider another trip. In fact, I began to realise, that I had enough money to consider several other trips. One of the odd things I had noticed whilst living in Thailand is that you really didn't need anything like as much money to live as you do in the UK. This is especially the case if, like me, you do not smoke, scarcely drink and enjoy good food but not pretentious restaurants. It was slowly dawning on me that another lifestyle altogether was possible. A lifestyle where one is not tied to one's possessions, to place or society. Although it had seemed that I was more or less obliged to buy a new house and 'settle down' in another location, the notion that this was not necessarily so was slowly forming in my mind. It was like awakening from a dream.

I planned my next trip. I wanted to make it more adventurous and even further flung. I had, for several years, intended to visit a close friend in China but health and other issues, some of which stemmed from house owning, had always thwarted me until now. I remember reading a line from a book around this time:" If not now, then when?" I decided to take the plunge and booked a flight that would allow me to spend three months away.

The flight was expensive, as were the visa and the insurance but, oddly, after three months away spending only a few pounds a day on accommodation and food (and even including some fascinating internal journeys to Shanghai, Hangzhou and the garden city of Suzhou) I came back to find that, in real terms, I was actually a little better off than when I left! This was quite a revelation. When one does not have to pay the myriad expenses of house owning it is curious just how much further one's cash goes. I did still have a car at the time and there were ongoing expenses in connection with this so it could have been even better if these also were no longer part of the equation.

We live at a time and in societies that value 'stuff'. Lots and lots of stuff. Stuff that you buy but need to replace a year later because new stuff has superseded the old stuff. Stuff you need to buy because other people have got this stuff. Stuff you buy that is used for a few days and then sits idly buy cluttering up your house until you retire it to the shed or the loft. Stuff, stuff and more stuff.

Robb Wolf, author of The Paleo Solution, put this rather succinctly:

“Ok, here it is: Having more shit (cars, TVs, houses, shoes... you know, crap) does not make you happier. In fact, it makes you unhappy and whittles away your life and causes you stress.”

By now, I was re-evaluating so many assumptions that I had previously lived by. I say assumptions somewhat ill-advisedly. Really, these things are just taken on from the people around you, from the expectations built into us and, to some extent, from advertising. So much of this was seeming quite false and hollow by this stage.

I began to realise that the life of the nomadic flaneur was well suited to one such as myself. It is not a lifestyle that would suit everyone. In fact, it is not a lifestyle that would suit that many. But it is a choice. It is not a default setting that is one has gone along with because one never questioned the assumptions that it was based on. It may not be right for you but there will be other choices, other ways of being. It is your life and there is a big old world out there. Why tie yourself down to one tiny patch of it?

Instead of owning houses, cars, washing machines, iphones, whatever...own your life!