Lazy Bones

On a pleasantly warm but occasionally sticky Saturday morning I find myself once more in the reassuringly cheap and cheerful restaurant (seems too grand a name...) of The Jolly Frog. I seem to enjoy the ambience of this place more than most, perhaps because of its slightly tropical atmosphere and the rather lovely gardens at the rear. Customers, as ever in this place, seem to be considerably outnumbered by staff. As I tap out these words there are five guests, two of us on laptops, one texting away on a mobile phone and two actually eating. To cater for this demand we have, in sight at least, some nine staff most of whom are also happily tapping away on mobile phones. Two of the staff have chosen to bring their sproglets into work with them and are currently showing them off to their colleagues who, as ever in these situations, are making the appropriate cooing noises.

Oddly, given the plurality of staff, it is strangely difficult to get one to actually serve you. A tall lass of about 40 did make the effort originally but then the menu she was carrying fell apart in her hands and this distraction was enough to make her forget her original purpose. She returned to her seat and resumed her semi-comatose state until steadily more desperate hand waving from yours truly alerted her to the presence of, surprise surprise, a customer waiting to be served.

This situation is not untypical of my experiences so far in Thailand. Justifiably it is know as 'the land of smiles'. People do seem to be quite genuinely happier and more relaxed than many other places I have found myself in during my travels. There is often a delightful warmth and friendliness here that renders Thailand, apart from the ever-present heat and stickiness, a pleasant place to be for the most part. It is also the land of an all-encompassing laziness that has to be seen to be believed.

A couple of examples may make this point clear. Firstly, Thai don't walk. If the distance to be travelled is greater than 75 metres they will invariably take a scooter or some other form of convenient nearby transport (jump on the back of a friends bike, take a songthaew, climb into a tuk-tuk, etc. There is a plurality of choices because, in basic economic terms, the demand is so great here). When I first arrived in Thailand I took a coach down to Hua Hin, a busy seaside resort on the Western side of the Gulf. The bus dropped me a couple of hundreds yards from my hotel and I had to walk alongside a busy road full of cars and bikes for most of that distance before turning down a side street. Something struck me as slightly eerie straight away but I could not put my finger on it. I went into the town centre later that day and again had the feeling that something was a little different but I couldn't quite figure out what it was. In conversation that night I was discussing the situation with an ex-pat when he immediately responded pointing out that the pavements, apart from food sellers, were empty. After that first observation I began to notice the phenomenon everywhere I went in this land. You could have a busy little town like Kanchanaburi buzzing with shoppers, diners and café goers and yet the pavements, apart from the immediate environs of these places themselves, would be almost totally devoid of people.

Due to some physical challenges in my life there have been times when walking even short distances was very challenging. In the last couple of years these things have improved greatly for me so I very much appreciate the joys of being able to walk relatively normally once again. As a flaneur, one's duties entail partaking of the occasional slow stroll but my pleasure in indulging in this activity seems not to be shared by the average Thai. Where I am currently residing the owner's family live some 70 metres from the office and cafeteria at the front of the establishment. If they have any need to go there, even if only to pick up a coffee or take some rubbish to the bins, they will utilise one of three mini motor bikes at their disposal. If evolution takes its normal course we may well be witness to the phenomenon of Thais growing wheels in place of legs in a few thousand generations...

Secondly, there is an inherent laziness in the approach to life in general here, a love of simply hanging around and doing nothing. For my own part I have to confess that I am not the right person to dare to criticise such behaviour as I am quite fond of such a lack of activity myself. The joys of simply being are often unappreciated in the West where there is a constant and almost obsessional need to be constantly doing something. Yet few of us are unaware of the simple pleasures of lying in on a Sunday morning, swinging in a hammock on sunny afternoon or sharing a coffee and a chat with friends for no other reason than the simple fact that we enjoy it.

Buddhist meditation is very popular in Thailand; many Thais spent a portion of their lives in the practice and people come from the world over attracted to schools and retreats where they can learn these simple yet profound techniques. Yet, thinking about it, could there be any clearer demonstration of the joys of sitting around and doing nothing? Meditation takes this attitude and promotes it to a discipline, a spiritual practice. It is no coincidence that Thailand is perhaps the world's leading centre to learn the subtle arts of these disciplines. One often hears people criticise meditation on the grounds that you are really doing nothing. How right they are! But in that criticism lies the germ of a simple truth that is often overlooked by such observers. At times in one's life it is no bad thing to desist from the constant need to do and just simply allow oneself the chance to be. It is no accident that many of Thailands most beautiful Buddha statues are reclining...

Laziness has its benefits in the political sphere too. The ongoing political death match between the red shirts and the yellow shirts seems to have quietened down for now. Not that the situation has been resolved in any way, the same bitterness still divides the two sides, the same issues remain. Yet a few weeks ago it looked as if we were on the brink of a civil war. As far as I can tell nothing was resolved, no great changes were made, no one won and no one lost. Yet it has all become a whole lot quieter now. I think that this relatively peaceful period has not been due to any political initiatives or any movement in the situation whatsoever, rather the amount of energy involved in keeping the intensity going is far, far too much for the Thais. This 'can't be bothered' attitude may be saving the country from all sorts of potential problems. The Thais are a passionate and intense people, they care deeply about their politics and the affects that these things have on their lives. The intensity and the passion do not tend to last for very long though. In temperatures that are consistently above 30 C it is hard to maintain that kind of commitment. The temptations of 'what the hell' and going back to the hammock are just too great. It seems that in this area, as in many others, the benefits to laziness are manifold and subtle...

Back at the Jolly Frog a few more customers have turned up and the speed of service has climbed considerably from fully comatose to a snail's pace. The girls still spend most their time perusing catalogues and magazines and the customers are also far too hot to be that bothered anyway. It all gets done somehow or other. I would imagine that the denizens of New York or some other such fast-paced metropolis would be driven mad in such a place as this but, for my part, I know where I would rather be. I spent a few days in that most awful of cities a few years ago. I remember it as being perhaps the rudest place it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. Almost every place I have found myself in the last twenty five years tended to have its compensations, its reasons for looking back fondly on and perhaps hoping to have the chance to re-visit one day. New York was one of the exceptions (Soviet-era Moscow was another). Its speed, its noise and its general rudeness were singularly unpleasant.

The Big Apple seemed to be full of people busily doing, doing, doing, without even a second to spare to acknowledge your existence. They were far too busy and their business far too urgent even to stop and help with directions, as I remember.

 Given the choice between the fanatically busy lifestyle of New Yorkers and the laziness of the Thais, I think I know, for all the frustrations of slow service and the like, where I would rather be...

Methinks me thinks too much....

A bright and early start for this week's submission. It is just a few minutes past eight on a pleasantly sunny morning on the rural outskirts of Kanchanaburi. I find myself sitting outside my room at the Morning Guest House sitting at an old wooden table and sipping a rather pleasant banana shake whilst listening to the sounds of what seems to be a huge variety of ornithological life going on around me. There are the ubiquitous cock's crowing, at least four or five of them, struggling with each other for dominance. One of the main weapons employed in this struggle seems to be just how loud and just how long they can keep crowing. This particular battle has been going on since the first sign of light in the Eastern skies. The smaller birds chirp merrily whilst a couple of much larger creatures are whooping in a very melodious manner from the tops of the palms. Various others add to this post-dawn chorus; listening out in this moment I can distinguish at least eight different types of calls. Like most of Thailand, once you escape the dominance of humanity, this place teems with life.

There seems to be but one other person apart from myself out and about at this hour of the morning. Generally speaking, Thailand is quite literally a sleepy place, maybe because of the constancy of the heat. Most of the shops and cafes in the local area will not open until sometime between ten and eleven in the morning. Even then one is likely to be faced with somewhat sleepy staff who would rather still be tucked up in their beds or hammocks than serving customers. The one person who is about is the old dear who runs this place. If one were to hazard a guess at her age it would be somewhere in the region of eighty. At full height one would estimate her to be around five feet tall but it is a long time since she stood that straight. She speaks not a word of English despite running this guest house for many years (she even gets a mention on tripadvisor.com) but, despite this, still manages to communicate very clearly through a mixture of gestures and smiles. In point of fact, that seems to be her dominant expression, she smiles a kindly smile constantly. One sees her happily working around the place from early in the morning until late at night busying herself with all manner of chores.

Having finished sweeping the paths she now stands at a table with a pestle and mortar beating the mixture in the bowl to an almost liquefied pulp. For a person of her advanced years her hands move very quickly, very skilfully. There is a steady and rhythmic sound to her movements, clearly practised for many a long year. She whips the mixture into a consistency without the need to think, collecting the various stray parts and adding them into the consistent paste that she is creating.

For me, it is always a joy to see such skills displayed. Often I find myself amazed at just how skilful people often are when they don't put their mind to it. By this I mean when they don't actually think consciously about what it is they are doing. If one takes one's times to observe day-to-day life as a flaneur should, one cannot help but see skilful displays of this type constantly.

I have a good friend of many years standing, let's call him Chris for want of a better name, who I used to share a love of golf with many years ago in the days when I used to enjoy that challenging game. Chris was, as the expression has it, a 'natural'. He would be chatting happily one second and turning around to hit the ball the next. Almost invariably in those days he would hit a decent shot, sometimes even a remarkably good one. Not for him all this business of pre-shot routines, half a dozen practice swings, settling into a stances and an almost pregnant pause whilst one awaits the moment to actually hit the ball, No, not for my friend. His whole routine consisted of walking up to the ball, looking at the target, and hitting it.

In later years Chris started to think about his golf. Some well intentioned soul told him that he swung the club back too low and deep. This was meant to help but, from that moment on, he started to think consciously about what he was doing. Unfortunately, Chris' conscious mind was nowhere near as good at swinging a club as his unconscious mind. He had learnt his golf as a child simply by watching good golfers play on the television and had modelled what he did quite unconsciously on such fine exemplars as Jack Nicklaus, Tom Watson and, his personal favourite, Severiano Ballesteros.

This method of copying a role model is the way that many children learn. The human brain even has special cells developed precisely for this purpose. Known as 'mirror neurons' they enable the child, and the adult who is sufficiently open, to simply observe, learn and replicate. Unfortunately, the way that we are taught to learn though rational, conscious-level analysis, tends to trample all over this very natural way of acquiring new skills.

A quick demonstration may be in order at this point. As children we learnt to talk and walk and all manner of other useful skills that we do not need to think about at all, we simply do them. Now, for the sake of interest, try getting up and walking slowly across the room thinking about how you put one foot in front of the other, the way you transfer your weight, the way you move your ankle joint, which part of the foot you take-off from, which part you land on, how much you flex your knees, and so on. Something that was perfectly simple suddenly becomes horrendously complicated. A skill that was entirely natural to you suddenly becomes stiff and awkward. In sports, and in many other areas of life, this interference in a naturally learnt process is known as paralysis by analysis, and for good reason. With a little analysis we can turn even the simplest of skills into something horrendously complex.

Imagine, if you will, trying to learn a new skill; we can use table tennis as an example. How many books would you have to read on the subject, how much analysis would be necessary, to be as effective in learning the skill as half an hour hitting balls back and forth on the table?

In recent years several of the more ground-breaking sports coaches have realised the limitations of trying to learn or perform actions by logical analysis. This may well have started with W. Timothy Gallwey back in the 1970's when he wrote 'The Inner Game of Tennis'. He took several poor players who had been trying to learn the game for years and, in a matter of a few weeks, turned them into far, far better players who did not need to think (well, not consciously at least) in order to display their skill. He developed a methodology whereby the conscious mind of the player would be focussed on some simple aspect, say the sound of the strings contacting the ball or watching its seam in flight, whilst simply allowing the part of the mind that learns these things well to work it out for itself. The purpose of focussing the conscious mind by such means was simply to get it out of the way and thus allow those innate learning abilities that we all have to do their work.

Another coach who has taken up this theme in recent years is the American Garrett Kramer. In 2012 he penned another paradigm shifting work that he aptly named 'Stillpower'. He chose this title as a counterbalance to the ubiquitous idea of willpower; the notion that we must try hard to achieve results. Willpower has its uses, indeed it is a fine quality to possess in many areas of life. Unfortunately, the learning and displaying of skills requiring co-ordination is not usually one of them. Instead of helping in such areas it more often hinders – often in these situations the harder we try the worse we get.

This point was beautifully illustrated in the Tom Cruise film 'The Last Samurai'. Generally speaking, I am not really a Tom Cruise fan, but I have to admit that he has made a few really excellent movies. 'The Last Samurai' is one such. There is a scene in which he tries and tries to master the art of Japanese style swordplay but is continually defeated in practice. No matter how hard he tries the result seems to be the same. Then a young Japanese boy points out the root of the problem:

The Japanese, often through the medium of Zen Buddhism, have long been aware of this problem. There is an expression oft quoted in this regard: 'Zen mind, beginner's mind'. This means a mind purified of too many thoughts, of too much analysis and experience, a mind free to perceive clearly, not having to filter events and things through what it thinks it knows.

The game of golf perhaps yields the most obvious examples of situations where over-thinking can block a player's natural abilities. Unlike many other games where the flow of the action can carry a player through, golf offers ample opportunity between shots to have a good, long and often destructive think. 
In 1970 the amiable Doug Sanders was faced with a three foot putt on the 18th at Saint Andrews to win The Championship. After looking at the line of the putt from several angles he stood over the ball... and stood...and stood. Even the BBC commentator of the time, the venerable Henry Longhurst, could not help himself and exclaimed 'for heaven's sake, hit it man!' He did, eventually, and he missed.

Nineteen years later, at the Masters in Augusta, Georgia, an even shorter putt was missed by the unfortunately named Scott Hoch. Unfortunate because the pronunciation of Hoch rhymes perfectly with the word 'choke'. Ever since the otherwise talented and successful PGA golfer has gone by the the nickname of 'Hoch the choke!'

Back at the guest house my octogenarian hostess still effortlessly beats away at another bowl of grains and seeds, smiling benignly as she does so. She seems blissfully unaware that at her age this is supposed to be hard work. If someone had pointed this out to her she may by now be huffing and puffing (it is around 30C here at the moment). Happily ignorant of her supposed limitations though, she continues contently in her self-appointed tasks.

To finish on a simple, but hopefully clear note. I think this by now rather wordy essay can be best summed up in just three short words from Nike, the winged Greek goddess of victory:

 Just do it! 

Love and Loathing: Muay Thai in Chiang Mai

This bright March morning I find myself in the somewhat pleasantly anonymous environs of The Thaepae Gate Hotel in Chiang Mai. It is modern, minimalist and an example of what the architects used to call the international style. The rather odd idea, very popular in the sixties and seventies, was that architecture should no longer relate to the cultural heritage and materials of its location but be essentially examples of a style that could be found anyway. My own instincts would be against such a notion, I rather like hotels to reflect local materials and customs, but I have to admit that on this particular occasion the place does have a peaceful and pleasant ambience ideal for tapping away happily on a netbook (they also do a very reasonable breakfast with as much coffee and orange juice as one could desire for 100 baht ($2)....)

Chiang Mai has turned out to be a city of violent contrasts, and I use the word 'violent' advisedly. There are a huge number of Wats (Buddhist Temples) in the city, somewhere between 250 and 300 depending on whose estimate you read. These Wats are almost invariably beautiful in design and offer the weary traveller refuge from the sun and a place to sit and contemplate if one should feel the need. On the other hand, Chiang Mai is also a very active centre for the practice of the sport of 'Muay Thai', simply translated as Thai Boxing. It is not boxing as a Westerner would understand it however, as the practitioner is allowed to employ his feet, knees, elbows and fists and so therefore such bouts tend to be far more intense, and much more like a street fight, than the Western version.

Many Westerners come to the city of Chiang Mai in order to train in this most demanding of martial arts. It has the reputation of being one of the most effective fighting forms after a series of bouts in the last years of the 20th century pitched practitioners of various schools of martial arts against each other. Some proved more effective than others and Muay Thai won the reputation of being one of the most effective at a practical level. Some of the Westerners, after completing their training, stay and compete. Some of the more skilful and brave even go on to become Muay Thai champions.

Martial arts, as a study, is a strange thing to be attracted to. Naturally it has its dangers, one can get seriously hurt doing these things. It also has a degree of intensity that is difficult to find in other sports. Being involved in direct competitions using these martial arts skills can produce a certain adrenalin rush. In my far distant youth I was a fairly proficient judo practitioner (judoka) and even competed in championships at a national level. I remember the nervousness experienced before one competed, but also how quickly that nervousness dissipated once you were actually on the mat. Such things as having a fairly large opponent intent on doing some fairly serious damage to you does tend to focus one's attention wonderfully!

These days I usually find myself averse to such extremes and tend to be a much gentler soul. Still, at times, I do enjoy watching boxing although I have to admit to a certain degree of moral ambivalence. I dislike the idea of the possibility of people getting hurt for my entertainment but, on the other hand, I find it hard not to enjoy the displays of courage, skill and character that are intrinsic to such sports. So it was, after thinking about it for a week, that I decided to take the plunge and watch my first Muay Thai bouts at the Thaepae Boxing Stadium near the gate of the same name in the old city.

On entering, I found the inside of the stadium to be quite unlike any Western equivalent save for the presence of a well-lit ring at its centre. The venue probably held around a thousand people or so seated on wooden benches with makeshift tables in front of them. The reason for the tables was that here, unlike in the UK, drinking was not only allowed it was positively encouraged! One could, if one so desired, also order basic meals which felt to me to be slightly incongruous in such a situation. Touts offering bets on the bouts were also actively encouraged. The odds are always “one one” or evens, as it would be expressed in Western parlance. The trick was merely to choose the fighter you felt most likely to win without the need to haggle any further. Getting one's bets on may prove difficult though. Those you would wish to take the bet have a good eye for the action and so, apart from pre-fight bets, it can be hard to get a bet matched once the fight is in progress.

The audience themselves were an eclectic admixture of all sorts of nationalities representing the cosmopolitan make up of the city of Chiang Mai itself. There were also a fair amount of Thais who seem to love their own form of martial art deeply. Perhaps slightly more surprisingly, the audience was made up of at least 33% of females, probably more, almost all of whom were Westerners. It reminded me of something I had read about the ancient gladiatorial games in the days of the Roman Empire. Apparently, even back then, women were some of the most enthusiastic spectators for such 'sports'.

The evening began with a demonstration bout with two practitioners dressed in traditional attire showing some of the more spectacular moves from the sport. Although merely a demo, they seemed to exhibit a degree of enthusiasm and commitment that threatened, at times, to spill over into a genuine fight such was the intensity.

The first fight proper was between two very lightweight practitioners, the match being made at 100lbs. My original thought as I watched these two tiny mites was that at least they won't do too much damage to each other. How wrong I was! The fight started cagily, the two combatants circling carefully around each other bouncing on the front foot seeking openings in the opponent's defence. Then, suddenly, one of the fighters lunged forward with a high kick to the head. The second fighter caught hold of the out-flung leg and pulled the kicker onto his blow. He struck with great power and the sound of glove thudding against head drew an empathic groan from the audience. After a flurry of such blows and several knees to the ribs, the fighters were separated by the referee. The rest of the round took a similar course, cagey circling followed by sporadic bursts of speed and power.

To watch such a display is a strangely compulsive experience. At one level, one feels a little horrified and fears for the well-being of the contestants. At another, there is a compelling quality which one may not particularly approve of but which is undeniably powerful at the same time. I have to admit that I found myself drawn into the intensity of the experience.

The second round started at a much higher tempo. The fighter in the blue corner seemed to forever be smiling at his opponent. Not just a sly grin either, but a huge toothy and apparently friendly smile that made it difficult not to like him. There was no artifice in his expression. His opponent would acknowledge the smiles with little nods of his own. One of the aspects that one could not help but note as the evening drew on was the implicit and explicit respect between these guys, so different from the 'bad-mouthing' that often mars boxing competitions.

Suddenly, in the centre of the ring, there was a lightning fast exchange of blows completed with an awful thud as the smiler's elbow crashed into nodder's head. The audience gasped. It had happened so quickly that one could scarcely see it. Nodder swayed, attempted to straighten, swayed again and went down on all fours. The referee began counting but after three seconds nodder turned over onto his back and it became obvious that the fight was over. Smiler immediately came over and knelt beside his opponent, clearly concerned at the damage he had done, an oddly sweet gesture given the circumstances.

There were a grand total of seven bouts on the program for the evening. Each and every one of them ended with a stoppage. This ring was no place for faint hearts. Whether one approves or not, one has to admit that the courage shown by these combatants, knowing the cost of losing, was impressive indeed.

The final bout was between an impressively muscled French fighter by the name of Oumar and a Thai opponent. Oumar appeared to be beautifully prepared with scarcely an ounce of fat on his 150lb body. After just a few seconds of the bout it became clear that his speed would prove difficult for the Thai. The Frenchman was some four inches taller which allowed him to dominate from the early seconds. The Thai fought gamely but succumbed to a crunching kick to the shins (a common and effective tactic in Muay Thai) early in the second round.

As I wondered back through the still crowded, late-night streets of Chiang Mai to my hotel I reflected on the evening's experience. In some ways my response was ambiguous, paying to watch people fight each other is not something I have done often in my life but, on the other hand, I could not deny the intensity and immediacy of the experience. I had, it must be admitted, enjoyed it. Muay Thai does not need my approval or disapproval, it will go on whether I agree with it or not. Westerners of a more adventurous disposition will still be drawn to learning these skills and the more successful ones will want to prove their prowess in the ring. I will pass no judgement but will express my admiration for the skill and bravery of these people. Such qualities, I think, have to be admired.

Back in the Thaepae Gate Hotel yesterday evening's excitement seems a world away. All is quiet now save for the trickling of the ubiquitous fountain on the balcony outside and the occasional tip-tapping of the waitresses shoes echoing in the minimalist interior as she clears the detritus left by yet another customer. Thailand seems wonderful and awful in turn. Cruel and kind, loving and callous, deep and facile; it has a way of making one examine even one's mostly deeply held beliefs. There is an intensity to life here, a vibrancy, a colour that stands in sharp contrast to the place I originate from. Love it or hate it, it is difficult to be indifferent to this land and this culture.

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...