You can fool some of the people some of the time…

This week, I find myself in the sumptuously indulgent surroundings of the Reading Mi bookshop and it’s very pleasant extension, Cafe Mi. Coffee is an eye-watering 35 yuan a cup, which equates to around £4 or $5 a cup at current rates. The coffee is good, but not that good. What you pay for is the experience of enjoying an Americano in such a wondrously pleasant circumstance: softly lit and comfortable booths on the inside of the café or overlooking the Hongfu Road and the Exhibition Centre on the other, the tables surrounded by voluminous volumes many of which, quite fortunately given my awful Mandarin, are actually in English. It should also be noted that coffee in China also has something of an added cache to it, even a common-or -garden Starbucks will cost you somewhere in the region of $4 here, hence the incredibly inflated prices in Café Mi.

I write this particular piece a couple of weeks after the election of one Donald J. Trump, an event that came as something of a surprise to some, but which others, myself included given my recent experience of the Brexit vote in the UK, suspected may well come to pass. I actually wrote a piece two days before the election warning people to expect the unexpected but, due to the difficulties of blogging from China where I currently find myself, I was unable to find a means of publishing that particular diatribe in time.
Let me be perfectly clear, before I begin a process that is likely to bring some degree of opprobrium down upon my head, that I thought, and still think, that Donald Trump was a perfectly awful candidate for the office of President of the United States. He was, however, the better of the two candidates on offer as his opponent, Hillary Rodham Clinton, was so distasteful that it was only through necessity, and the thought of the dangers of Donald Trump achieving the ultimate office, that even dyed-in-the-wool Democrats were persuaded to vote for her. 

A good friend, and a man whose judgment I much respect even when I don’t completely agree with it, put it a little too succinctly perhaps when he expressed his relief that HRC fell on her ‘fat, feminist fascist ass’. A little crude perhaps, but he does have a point. Feminists, particularly the type represented by the extremists such as HRC, have in the last decade seriously damaged the fabric of American society and, by their actions, precipitated a long overdue reaction that has worked very much in the favour of the American right. Equality of the sexes is no longer the aim for contemporary feminists, but rather the complete emasculation of all expressions of what it is to be male. Misandry has become politically and socially respectable, no matter how violent, how hateful or how sexist. ‘Fascist’ is an extreme accusation, but given the way that all debate has been stifled, all expression of contrary views suppressed, all freedom of speech trampled underfoot in the universities of the US in recent years it is, perhaps, not too far short of the mark.

As ever, the UK tends to follow in the wake of such cultural movements in the US. Britain’s universities have also began to suffer from the same depressing, repressive and regressive tendency to expound a single, narrow, ‘politically correct’ point of view and to suppress all others. Speakers who do not toe the line have found it increasingly difficult to find platforms, even those whose views are only a few degrees apart from the PC hardliners find themselves struggling to be allowed expression on university campuses.

Both the Brexit vote and the election of Donald Trump also revealed a most disturbingly arrogant attitude from some, by no means all, of those who found themselves on the losing sides in these debates. The line, oft repeated of Brexit supporters and now applied to those who dared to vote for Trump, has been that they are either ‘old’ or ‘stupid’ or, more likely, both. Such people have been much derided for not having understood the issues involved. My own experience has been quite to the contrary. Those who understood in depth the issues involved were more likely to vote Brexit.
During the UK campaign, I was somewhat shocked to find that the the theoretically left-wing Labour Party was supporting the notion of remaining in the European Union complete with its democratic deficit, with its unelected and unrepresentative Commission and with its deep embrace of Globalization. Tony Benn must have been spinning in his grave (not to mention one Jeremy Corbyn and his quite woeful hypocrisy on this issue). The only left wing choice if one cared at all about the fortunes of the British working man, the man who has seen his standard of living absolutely slaughtered by Globalization and the free movement of labour across Europe, was to vote to leave that benighted institution.

 
Given the decimation of prospects that working people have seen in the last 25 years, surely their choice of Brexit can be described at many things but stupid it was not. Logical, consistent, rational...all these words would fit quite nicely, but stupid it was not.
Much the same can be said of the American working class, although the ravages of Globalization have by no means stopped at that level. They have suffered a very similar fate to those in the UK with their jobs and their livelihood disappearing to the countries of the East where workers rights and conditions are much exploited and hence products can be manufactured at far cheaper rates.

This has worked hugely to the advantage of China and other countries of the Far East. Every time one returns to this land one sees it developing at an incredible pace. In effect, much of that development has been achieved by usurping the livelihoods of the working and middle classes of the West: of America, of the UK and of Europe.

For a tiny, tiny fraction of society in the West, the top one or two percent perhaps, this has worked out just fine; they have been having a glorious time exploiting sweat shop labour whilst throwing their fellow countrymen and women to the wolves. For the rest of the population though, it has not been quite so much fun.

Back in Café Mi I look around at my fellow customers. They are mostly of the increasingly prosperous Chinese middle-class enjoying the benefits of two and a half decades of economic growth. They are well-dressed in fashionable and stylish attire. They read intellectually challenging tomes or chat whilst enjoying an overpriced cappuccino and the view across to the gargantuan Exhibition Centre opposite. Such folk are as much the beneficiaries of Globalization as their counterparts in the West have been the victims. They once looked to the West in envy at the lifestyle that hard work and application could achieve there. Now they look with a faint curiousity and perhaps just a little sympathy…

Much Pride, but not too much Sense...

Since my early summer trip to Madrid, this particular nomadic flaneur has not been anything like as nomadic as he would like to be. This is about to be remedied with trips to Zuhai, Dongguan, Saana and Hangzhou planned in the next three months, plus perhaps a jaunt over to Phnom Penh in the new year. Norfolk, where I currently find myself, has proven to be a not unattractive place to spend the English summer though. Huge forests, varied coastlines and an English quaintness which, at times at least, can be quite charming.
The largest city in this area is Norwich, with a staggeringly tiny population of 213,000, a figure that would barely qualify it as a town in China. I have to admit though, that parts of the city are really rather lovely and hark back to previous times of economic influence and a long history as a prosperous, if somewhat diminutive, metropolis. I personally spent several pleasant and interesting days there in the summer and even sampled, as is so often my wont, a variety of the coffee serving hostelries on offer.
On one visit in late July I happened across an interesting phenomenon, quite jolly at one level, quite sinister at another. As I wandered through the market in the centre of the city I became aware of a disproportionate number of outlandishly attired folk of indeterminate gender, wandering around that particular part of town. Hair coloured lime green or purple seemed to be the order of the day, make-up de rigeur (at least if you were male, perhaps not so much on the females) and all manner of sartorial choices the only theme of which seemed to be to engender an ambiguity in relation to gender.

I also noticed that many folk were sporting badges along the lines of 'Gays against Orlando'. A few weeks prior to this mass demonstration there had been a very unpleasant incident in Orlando, Florida where a muslim man of troubled sexuality had burst into a gay night club in the city armed to the teeth with a variety of automatic weapons and proceeded to mow down all and sundry simply because they were likely to be gay in such an establishment. A truly awful incident that seemed, at first glance at least, to speak volumes about America's problems with gun control and more or less the whole planet's problem with radical Islam.
I wandered further up to hill to the street just in front of the town hall. There various speakers were regaling the jolly throng of demonstrators with words of encouragement and support, outrage at the act itself and bemoaning the disrespect of society for the human rights of gay individuals. Most of these words chimed with my own fairly liberal views on such things. As a general rule I believe in the notion of live and let live, as long as said process doesn't unduly impose on another against their will. 

At this point though, I did notice a rather strange phenomenon. Many of the protesters either wore badges or carried placards stating 'Refugees Welcome Here', many of these provided in the yellow and red of the Socialist Workers Party. Generally speaking, the country I currently find myself in (the UK) has a long and distinguished record in its attitude to refugees, something that speaks well for its general tolerance and ability to accommodate all manner of attitudes. The refugees in this particular case though were specifically the wave of Islamic migrants that, due to a very misguided policy, had been flooding into Europe over the course of the previous 18 months. 

 

The idea of supporting an influx of people who shared the very same belief system as the person who perpetuated the awful act in Orlando, and who used it as the justification for said act, seemed to this flaneur to be oddly inconsistent, if not downright contradictory. Here we had a group of people, gay to be precise, urging the mass importation of very significant amounts of people whose belief system very explicitly expresses the notion that all homosexuals should be put to death. There is no ambiguity in this view, no doubt, no room for maneuver, just a crystal clear tenet of the admittedly rather bizarre belief system that is Islam.
Perhaps it is me, but demonstrating to allow a group of people into the country who hate you, who despise everything you stand for and who want you dead seemed to your correspondent to be just a tad, how can I put it, illogical? It was bad enough that the banners mostly originated from the Socialist Workers Party which, when I last checked, was an avowedly atheist party, but the fact that they were being carried by people whose lifestyle is the very antithesis of everything that Islam stands for seemed to be stretching credulity just a bit too far.

I reflected back on the events of that awful night in Orlando. The shooter, one Omar Mateen, was a 29 year old Muslim who, in case their was the slightest doubt, rung 911 three times to inform them that he was carrying out the atrocity in the name of Islam and ISIL. As he carried out his terrible crime he was heard to shout out 'Alluha Akbar' numerous times. His father, as it turned out, had also been something of an apologist for the Taliban and had previously been under surveillance by the American security services, as had Omar Mateen himself.
There seems a strange form of denial occurring in what used to be called the 'liberal media', an almost magical form or reframing events in such a way as to avoid the all too obvious cause and instead pontificate endlessly on about anything else other than the blatantly obvious. The Washington Post indeed, in an article devoted to the Orlando shooting, somehow managed to construct a multi-column piece and not mention the words 'Islam' or 'Muslim' once. One must admire their creativity, if not necessarily their intellectual honesty.

As I watched this oddly deluded demonstration taking place, particularly as I listened to the various speakers on the steps of the town hall, the urge to point out these glaring inconsistencies rose up within me but....given I was but one voice in a crowd that seemed convinced of a contrary view, and given that almost any utterance in such a situation can so easily be defined as a 'hate crime' (the police seem very keen on that particular type of felony in these days of post-referendum Britain), I held my counsel and simply looked on with a somewhat bemused expression on my face.
There are, as some wag once put it, none so blind as those who will not see...

Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself....

This week I find myself in Madrid, the very pleasantly sunny capital of Spain. As I write these words, I am enjoying a very tasty 'desayuno' consisting of coffee, fresh orange juice and a bocadillero (which seems to be a very large chocolate bun) at a local cafeteria, restaurant and cervezeria that glories in the title of "El Restaurante Jordan Gala". Having spent a month shivering and quivering in the unseasonably cold UK (it's been the second coldest April on record, apparently), I decided that it would be expedient to set off on my peripatetic perambulations once more and head South for sunnier climes (as it happens, a heat wave hit Britain three days after I left - que sera...).
Madrid in the last week has enjoyed temperatures in the mid 20's centigrade, occasionally spiking to the low 30's if the local wall-mounted thermometers are anything to go by. These sort of temperatures just about qualify as pleasant for me these days – one becomes somewhat spoilt by the constant 35 plus of Thailand, a little too hot perhaps, especially when compared to the UK, but surprisingly easy to get used to.
The UK, at the time of writing, is caught up in an ongoing campaign prior to a referendum on remaining in the European Union. The actual vote is still nearly two months away, but the tactics employed by the remain campaign seem like an echo of those used to win the Scottish referendum of last year. At the time it was known as 'Project Fear', dire warnings of all the terrible consequences that would befall the Scots if they dared to leave the Union. The current EU campaign feels like deja vu all over again… every piece of bad economic news that emerges is blamed on the possibility of exit, or Brexit as it has become popularly known.

Unemployment was up last month – because of fears of a British exit apparently.
The growth figures were down last month – because of fears of a British exit.
The second coldest April on record – no doubt because of fears of a British exit…
We are told that house prices will drop, wars are more likely, the UK's security will be threatened, industry will suffer, prices in the shops will raise and every family will somehow be £4300 worse off by 2030 (a rather magical figure, as it turned out, produced by projecting figures that the treasury have rarely managed to get right over three months out to fourteen years, then using a completely fictitious method to calculate household income - et voila, £4300!).
 
It seems that anything and everything negative that happens in the UK at the moment is down to fears of a British exit from the EU. Oddly, the opposite effect seems never to be observed. Whenever good economic stories emerge no reference at all is then made to the possibility of Brexit being at the root. One wonders why?
At the start of the referendum process, and as someone quite pro-European, I was leaning towards the notion that staying in the EU was the better option. I was aware of the relatively peaceful state of affairs since the inception of the Common Market and was inclined to believe that at least some of that peace and prosperity was down to the sharing of the economic interests of the central European powers.
Unfortunately, the more I looked into the matter, the more I realised that the EU is an institution that stands for almost everything that I perceive as being at the root of the problems that plague our World today. One of the most egregious of these is the pernicious effects of globalisation, the process whereby fewer and fewer multi-national companies come to dominate the World's economy, usually undercutting and ruining local communities and small businesses in the process.
Two days ago, I spent a delightfully sunny afternoon in the centre of Madrid. I alighted from the metro at Banca de Espana and made my way up to the Calle de las Infantas. I found this narrow street to be thoroughly charming. I had gone in search of a local shop that specialised in juggling equipment (unfortunately closed recently – yet another victim of the process it seems), but found numerous small and very colourful shops, each unique, each very individual and very Spanish in character. I spent nearly an hour wandering in flaneurial fashion from shop to shop enjoy the imaginative décor, the shop windows and the goods on offer. For someone such as myself, well disposed to strolling through the World's more interesting cities, this was a pleasant experience indeed.

Unfortunately, it did not last long. Pretty soon I was in the Calle del Clavel, leading down to the Gran Via. This pedestrianised area was packed with the likes of Nike, New Balance, Starbucks and various other American based multi-nationals selling exactly the same stuff as they do in Hong Kong, Beijing, Bangkok, London, Paris or New York. The type of corporation that turns you from being a customer into being a consumer. The type of corporation that is killing local business everywhere. The type of corporation that pays rock-bottom rates to their staff and their suppliers, whilst at the same time avoiding tax whenever and wherever possible. Given their influence in the seats of government and in the EU, barely ever are they brought to book for their nefarious practices. All this results in an enormous competitive advantage which makes it nigh on impossible for small, locally run business, paying their fair share of tax and their employees a reasonable wage, to compete.
Small, as E.F. Schumacher pointed out in his 1973 book, is indeed beautiful. It is also somewhat more fragile, especially when opposed by the power of multi nationals backed by the might of trading blocks such as NAFTA and the EU. Such blocks reach well beyond government, well beyond the democratic process to impose their standardised, homogenised, de-individualised World upon us all. 

 
Such trading blocks are little influenced by notions of social responsibility or democracy. They are there to be lobbied by corporations and multi-nationals, often to the mutual benefit of the corporations and the likes of the EU Commissioners. As regards the EU itself, it is interesting to note,that the most powerful part is not the parliament, but the totally non-elected Commission. The politicians come and go, but the all-powerful Commission remains, unreachable, untouchable, unchangeable by the electorate, yet lobbied (often a euphemism in itself) and influenced by big business and the forces of globalisation.
This lack of accountability of the EU Commission is one aspect of the so called 'democratic deficit'. There is lip service to the needs of society, but when it push comes to shove (think Greece, Spain, Italy, Ireland and Portugal) it is the needs of the financiers, of the banks, of the corporations that are catered for, no matter how severe the effects of the austerity imposed on these countries are. In effect, what we have is a massive transfer of money from national governments and tax payers into the hands of corporations. The EU itself is at the very heart of this process.

Back in the Jordan Gala, I find myself enjoying the very sociable atmosphere  and the general conviviality of the place. The Spanish, fortunately, seem to have lost little of their appetite for good living, for enjoying themselves, for friendliness, despite suffering for years now under the cosh of austerity imposed via the EU. The effects in the smaller suburbs of Madrid are all too readily apparent; high rates of unemployment, buildings in need of repair, streets needing to be cleaned. Beneath this though, and despite the ravages of draconian and ineffective austerity, the spirit of the people shines through. Spain, like the UK, like many countries in Europe, needs to free itself from the shackles imposed by the EU or face ever more austerity and ever steeper decline in living standards for all but the select few.
 

We Are All In This Together...

This week, I find myself back in the UK and enjoying a generous, if not particularly tasty, cup of 'Pike Place' from Starbucks in Epping. Starbucks are the sort of company that, in general, I tend to avoid as representing some of the more irresponsible strategies and tactics that such concern employ in order to avoid paying taxes in the countries where their outlets are actually located. I think my favourite from Starbucks was the importation of coffee beans from that well known coffee 'producer.'..Switzerland (the word 'riiiight' springs to mind). Given the subject matter of today's blog however, I thought that it might be appropriate to put my head in the mouth of the beast.
During the last few days a scandal of global proportions has broken over the tax dealings of many of the rich, powerful and famous. I use the word 'global' advisedly, as those implicated range from the father of the British Prime Minster David Cameron to the brother in law of Chinese Premier Xi Jingping, from the Royal family of Saudi Arabia to the business 'associates' of Vladimir Putin, from the talentless Simon Cowell to the talented Lionel Messi. All it would seem, if the evidence of the released documents is to be believed (it does indeed appear to be a very well substantiated leak), have been happily avoiding large amounts of taxation in the very countries that they are plying their trades or form part of the political or business establishment.
As I read the allegations that related to the apparently nefarious doings of David Cameron's father, Ian Cameron, and his investment company, Blairmore Holdings, I could not help but recall the UK prime minister's words when he took up the reins in 2010: “We are all in this together.” At the time, I was under the impression that what was being referred to was the austerity being imposed as a result of the financial crisis and bank collapses of 2008 instigated by the banking services industry. Now, in retrospect, it appears that 'we' may have been referring to the wealthy and powerful, and 'this' the massive tax avoidance that so many of them seem to have indulged in. 

 
In Iceland as I write, Prime Minister Sigmundur David Gunnlaugsson is facing calls to resign following revelations that his wife was involved in just such practices. Odd how often that seems to happen. Perfectly respectable pillars of the community like the Maxwell brothers or Philip Green seem to be fortunate enough to have very pro-active wives suitably concerned with preserving the family wealth by becoming adept at the nefarious skills of tax 'efficient' conduct. Lucky them…

In Russia, the trail has led to a very close friend of the premier, Vladimir Putin. A cellist by profession, with apparently no business acumen, yet the documents released show him to be again and again being involved in multi million dollar deals that he seems to have little or no knowledge of. I suppose that in such circumstances it must be comforting for the Russian President to have a friend so adept at fiddling...

Vladimir Putin's favourite fiddler...

 In China, it seems that the documents implicate the husband of the premier's older sister, Deng Jiagui. Xi Jinping himself has been running a well publicised campaign to stamp down on the widespread corruption within official and business circles in China. Interestingly though, his own families wealth now runs in the hundreds of millions. I for one am very impressed with the investment skills which obviously he and his family must possess. His salary is in the region of $22,256 a year, and that only after his rise to the top of the political tree. It would seem quite an achievement to turn such limited resources into the huge financial empire he now finds himself the head of.

Chinese leaders with their financial adept relatives...

Reading the Chinese Communist Party's media outlet, The Global Times, one has to be impressed at the prowess of the investigative journalism on display. The only article published to date talks of 'Western smear campaigns' (conveniently ignoring the fact that many Western leaders themselves have been implicated) and fails to even mention the connections leading to the premier, or even to his family. Journalistic truth is a very flexible concept at times, but perhaps never so much as is the case in China.
The usual blowhards represent such a scandal in terms of East versus West, or maybe capitalism versus communism, or some other such anachronistic nonsense. The reality, unfortunately, is far more sinister. Worldwide the gap between the wealthy and the poor has been growing at a huge rate for the past few decades, getting increasingly worrisome with the passing of time. Unfortunately, with globalisation and with the influence of financial services, banking and moneyed concerns on governance, there now seems to be little or no defence to the hegemony of the plutocrats.
All very sad. The likely result of all this will be a few scandals here and there, a few speeches by government ministers about the evils of tax avoidance, but very little action indeed. Those that are making the laws are themselves the beneficiaries of such practices. Given that, it would appear highly unlikely that they will pay anything other than lip service to reform.
The UK government itself perhaps represent a particularly adept use of rhetoric followed by a complete and utter lack of action. Three examples among many spring to mind. The extremes of the Murdoch press were supposed to be regulated after a range of illegal activities were perpetrated by them, the Prime Minister himself making several stirring speeches on the subject. The result six years later? Nothing. Even a refusal to sign through the very limited proposals of the Levonson enquiry. Rupert must be pleased, at least. Secondly, the regulation and prosecution of the bankers who caused such damage to the World's and the UK's economy back in 2008. Eight years later we have had precisely one prosecution, a low level banker of little importance, and no enforced regulation whatsoever. Thirdly, the current topic – clamping down on tax avoidance schemes. Again many a stirring word has been uttered by Messrs Cameron and Osborne on the subject. The result of all these fine words? Nothing, nada, zilch, not a thing. Osbrone carries on enjoying the hospitality of Russian oligarchs whilst Cameron works out ways to word statements to avoid his own all too apparent apparent culpability.

Osborne and his yachting companions, Oleg Deripaska and the Prince of Darkness himself...

Sad times indeed.
Back in Starbucks I finish the admittedly generous cup of Pike Place. It is a comfort to know, as I imbibe the very last drops, that scarcely any of the £1.95 I paid for said beverage will find its way into the hands of the exchequer but will instead be lining the pockets of the already fabulously wealthy but obviously still very needy owners of this enterprise...

Juggling commitments....

“If there is to be any peace it will come through being, not having.”
Henry Miller

It is late on a balmy Friday evening, something of a relief after the mercury touched 41C mid-afternoon; a slight breeze stirs the air pleasantly. I find myself sitting in the open air Tara Guest House restaurant enjoying a large and very refreshing Chang (Thai beer) and a plate of what are described on the menu as 'Pineapple Flitters'. These come with either honey or chocolate, or even both if one is feeling particularly indulgent. My lifestyle here is generally quite healthy but this, I have to admit, forms something of an exception.
I did actually stay here for a few days on arrival, opting for the very reasonable 'superior' suite at a relatively expensive £12 a night. Normally, by this stage, I have settled into some kind of long term accommodation, usually involving a cold shower and a lack of air conditioning, but this time I have been in somewhat indulgent mood and so the pleasures of fresh sheets, fresh towels and a small but cooling swimming pool have proven too much to resist.
Although such temptations sometimes get the better of one, I still find myself frequenting the much-loved but distinctly down market 'Jolly Frog' on a regular basis. The accommodation may not be the best in town and the service internationally renowned for being terrible, but they do have the most wonderful garden and a peripatetic clientèle of wonderfully eccentric characters, some of whom seem to have become regular visitors over the years.
The garden is also a wonderful place to take some exercise; the air is fresh, the flowers beautiful and the fact that the river Kwai runs so close by all lend a unique ambience to the place that has charmed many a weary wanderer (including your footloose flaneur). When I arrived last week, I immediately headed for the place to practice a little qigong and indulge my current fascination for swinging nunchucks. I have little interest in using such weaponry for any aggressive purpose, but love learning the wonderfully flowing and co-ordinated movements that are necessary if one is to perform with any degree of gusto.
On the first day in the garden, whilst practising a few of the more advanced moves, I met a German guy by the name of Alex and a young French lad called Ansulyman, both of whom were practising juggling in the same garden. A mutual exchange of views on the subject of skill acquisition followed, and so it was that, for the last four or five days at least, an informal school dedicated to such performance arts sprung up quite spontaneously amidst the palms, tamarinds and bougainvillea of the Jolly Frog.

Others guests and various itinerants have happened by over the last week and found themselves drawn into the process. At any given time one can find oneself learning various forms of juggling, particularly with balls and skittles, nunchucks, qigong, tai chi or other, equally exotic forms of martial and performance arts.

The atmosphere is very informal, relaxed and supportive; all in all, very conducive to learning such skills without any sense of pressure and, basically, just for the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of it. For my part, I have focussed so far mostly on picking up juggling and am now, after a few days of trying, able to manipulate three balls at once without injuring the spectators or dropping them too frequently. One young man has progressed from neophyte to attempting five balls in a mere four days, although it has to be admitted that it can be a somewhat hazardous undertaking to stand anywhere in close proximity when he attempts to do so. 

 
When learning new skills is a pleasure, almost an indulgence, such activities become very pleasant indeed. I sometimes think back to the pedagogic horror which formed my own education, to the woefully inadequate methodologies employed, to the stress laid upon discipline imposed from the outside (whilst discipline is clearly necessary, that imposed from within is often far more powerful, and far more effective), to the simplistic 'chalk and talk' methodologies, and many other unpleasant and ineffective conventions, and realise that, for me at least, conventional education was merely something that I had to survive rather than having any real value in terms of knowledge or skills acquisition.
Since those far off days and the daily frustrations and humiliations one suffered in the process of poorly acquiring skills that were often completely useless from that moment forward (working out tangents has not come up even once in the intervening years, and as for the learning of the (mis)doings of various Kings and Queens of England… such knowledge only turned me into a lifelong and convinced republican). Since those happily far-off days I have invariably found myself enjoying learning a range of new subjects and competencies in so many areas. All of these seem to have been acquired relatively easily, just as long as I was given at least a modicum of encouragement and support to do so. Looking around the 'school' in the Jolly Frog this morning, the thought struck me that such learning is so normal, so natural, so enjoyable for all of us, if only the right ambience is created.
Back in the Tara they are closing up for the night and I find myself faced with a pleasant ten minute walk back to my hotel on the river front. Kanchanaburi is even quieter this year; so quiet in fact that one wonders how long the almost deserted bars can survive. On the other hand, those of us who are more open to the less inebriated, daytime pleasures of the place are enjoying the current state of affairs immensely. And so, as this late but still

very steamy hour, I must bid thee a fond farewell and prepare this rather over-exercised body for a night of hopefully recuperative slumber.
Night night….

Too far to walk...

 

"We begin here then, in the very quick of the nightmare, in the crucible where all values are reduced to slag."

Henry Miller - The Air Conditioned Nightmare

This evening I find myself enjoying the slightly salubrious yet subtly seductive comforts of the 'Jolly Frog'. This particular guesthouse, perhaps more than any other, was responsible for putting Kanchanaburi on the map as a backpacker's destination. That was many, many years ago now, and of more recent times it has become something of an emblem of Kanchanaburi, despite an ongoing process of delightfully delapidating degradation that has rendered its décor somewhat dated by modern standards . To say the rooms are basic is to understate the reality. This is not the place to come if one requires high levels of opulence in order to enjoy a break. On the other hand, its throwback decadence to its glory days of the seventies has an almost timeless appeal to a huge variety of travellers. The clientèle this evening are an odd mixture of the geriatric remains of a peripatetic generation and a cosmopolitan group of footloose and fancy free youngsters trying to reinvigorate the bygone days of backpacking yore.
In short, the Jolly Frog has a rather pleasant way of attracting the outlandish and the eccentric. Its garden is perhaps its most notable feature, sitting as it does aside the River Kwai. Unlike the rest of the establishment, it is always looked after with great care and, perhaps, even love. As I tap out these notes on a hot and steamy Wednesday evening I cannot help but overhear the delightfully bizarre conversations of the youngsters sharing a beer or two and swinging to and fro in the hammocks in the centre of the garden. From the accents I am guessing we have several Spaniards, a Frenchman or two, a young American with a predilection for swearing every time he wishes to emphasize a point and several girls, perhaps one American, one French and one English. They, much like myself, are enjoying the late night delights of a bottle or two of 'Archa', a cheap but cheerful Thai beer that sells for the very reasonable 49 baht in the local convenience store, and the soporific atmosphere of a warm night relaxing beside the river.
Actually, I have to admit to being pleased to be back here this evening after a very unpleasant sojourn into Bangkok over the past couple of days. In my years of travelling I have visited many, many cities from Moscow (very dull) to New York (very noisy), Barcelona to Venice (both fascinating), Cairo to Izmir, and many others far too numerous to mention, but I cannot think of any city over decades of travelling that is quite as unremittingly unpleasant as Bangkok. It is a dirty, dingy, dilapidated dystopian disaster of a city that has few, if any, redeeming features.
I spent last night in a hotel 2.5 kms from Don Mueang Airport, chosen for its proximity. In practice, it took nearly an hour and a half to find said hotel (the Pool House Guest Residence). My first resort was to attempt to hire a taxi, but trying to communicate with the drivers of these vehicles proved to be almost impossible. None of them seemed to recognise the name of the hotel, even though I had it written in both English and Thai. None of them seemed to have the foggiest idea of how to read a map, the very concept seeming to throw them into a state of confusion. None of them seemed to want to go on the metre, even though the law requires them to do so, preferring attempts to arrange a hugely inflated price beforehand instead. 

 
After several efforts that merely resulted in increased frustration, I resolved to walk to the hotel. This was probably a mistake as it took vastly longer than expected owing to the lack of anywhere to actually walk. What pavements there were were invariably broken up to the point of unsuitability, the rest of the journey being a case of either walking through a seemingly endless building site or against the stream of a apparently never ending cascade of recklessly driven motor vehicles.
Eventually, I found a 7-11 store that I knew to be in the vicinity of the guest house. I asked the girl behind the counter if she knew the hotel. She did, but she assured me that it was far too far to even consider walking. Instead, she suggested I take a motor bike. Tired, sweaty and a little fed up (a rare emotion for me), I took what I perceived as a rather desperate option and clambered aboard a Honda 90.
The rider rode thirty metres to the West, twenty five metres to the North, followed by one hundred metres to the east and…. we were there. As an expression of the idea of 'too far too walk' it seemed to be lacking something vital that, in the West at least, we tend to call 'distance'. 

 
To be fair, the Thai conception of 'too far to walk' is very different to the British or American. To those of us in the West, the expression would indicate several miles of challenging perambulation, whereas here in Thailand 'too far to walk' means anything above 40 yards or so. An old joke sprang to mind: question“What do you call a person walking in Thailand?”, answer “A tourist!”.
(Actually, I was tempted to use another, very much similar, line earlier, It was along the lines of 'what do you call someone hopelessly lost in Bangkok', the answer being, obviously, 'a taxi driver').
It is hard to conceive of a form of words that will convey just how hopelessly unpleasant Bangkok is. It consists of street upon street, road upon road, of sheer, adulterated ugliness. Even the centre of town, the area around the Royal Palaces, are notable for just how tacky the use of excessive gold leaf can appear. It comes across as a depressing display of unjustified opulence in a land where most of the population are struggling even to put a meal on the table.

Such tasteless decoration accounts for only a small area though, the vast majority of Bangkok being an endless chaos of cars and cables, broken pavements and unrepaired holes, officious policemen and self-righteous military men. From East to West South to North, inside and outside, over a vast distance, there is barely anything that one could recommend to someone about this truly atrocious city.

Luckily (I survived!), I now find myself back in the far pleasanter environs of Kanchanaburi where, if all goes well, I intend to spend the next couple of weeks reading, writing and learning to juggle. The last being the result of meeting Alex, a professional German juggler who was happy to pass on the basics to me in return for a few lessons of twirling nunchucks (I am no master, but sufficiently competent now to start a complete neophyte on the path towards a level of competence).
The hot season has arrived, with rumours of temperatures in excess of 40C on the way in the coming week. This seems a good enough excuse to me to curtail the more physical aspects of flaneurial activity and to concentrate instead on the process of writing, both this blog and a book I have been planning for a year or so now. The prospect of afternoons spent in air conditioned cafés slowly imbibing Americanos and fruit smoothies whilst tapping away on my netbook seems pleasant indeed in this heat...

Excuse me, but...

Today I find myself in the cosy environs of Hey! Coffee, yet another relatively new establishment that is to be found just off the Hongfu Road in the vicinity of the Dongguan Exhibition Centre. The coffee here is particularly excellent and the staff seem very helpful, if a little young and manic. They are a pleasant bunch, but occasionally, their patience and civility can be sorely tried by some of their excessively demanding Chinese customers. There is a peculiar way of addressing staff here that, to many a Western ear, would seem at the least rude, if not actually downright ignorant at times. Greetings of 'Ni hao' or 'Zao shang hao' ('hello' and 'good morning') will often be conspicuously ignored, it being seemingly beneath the customer's dignity to respond to mere serving staff.
Perhaps it is the overcrowding here, there are an awful lot of people crammed tightly into already overcrowded cities, or perhaps it a deeper, cultural aspect, but whatever the cause, notions of civility and patience do not come easily to the people of China. There is a desire to jump each and every queue at any available opportunity, to take advantage of another person whenever possible, to generally and quite ruthlessly (callously?) ignore the needs of others whilst looking after number one. For example, it is not unusual to wait ten to fifteen minutes for service at a railway station ticket office, only to find that at the last moment someone will jump in from the side, having not queued at all, thrust his money in front of the clerk and demand to be served. More often than not, that demand will be met rather than rejected, as such ways of conducting oneself are so common here that they barely merit a raised eyebrow from the ticketing clerk. For me, raised in a gentler culture, this somewhat refractory behaviour can be experienced as somewhat jarring. 

 
There is a lovely old cliché, one very much worth taking note of, that comes to mind: 'when in Rome do as the Romans do', but sometimes, some behaviour seems so, how can I put it, downright rude (?), that one really does not wish to find oneself behaving in similar ways.
An experience during the last week may serve to illustrate the point. A Chinese friend of mind needed some treatment in a local out-patient's department for three problematic teeth. For the sake of avoiding confusion, let us call her 'Patience'. Now Patience was in quite some pain, so much so that it had even crossed her mind to try to be admitted as an in-patient, but after some hesitation (she was very nervous at the thought of dental treatment) she opted for outpatients. After a short wait for service, a young dentist led her to a cubicle, one of four in the clinic, and proceeded to work on her troublesome teeth.
Within a couple of minutes another patient, accompanied by his noisily coughing wife, had turned up at outpatients and, without the slightest hesitation, walked straight into the cubicle and demanded the attention of the dentist who was, at that very moment, working on Patience's teeth, whirling drill in hand. Showing admirable patience, he responded politely to the impatient patient and told him to wait in the outpatients reception area. In the next few minutes, two more impatient outpatients barged impatiently into the cubicle occupied by Patience and her increasingly impatient dentist.
By this time, I myself was beginning to lose patience with these impatient outpatients, and attempted to block their access to the dentist. It seemed to me that the hygiene considerations were serious enough, but with Patience being somewhat nervous already, the last thing she needed was for her dentist to be physically distracted whilst in the course of drilling her oh so sensitive teeth. In an attempt to at least slow down the interruptions, I sat myself across the entrance to the cubicle and challenged the impatient outpatients to show a little more patience, much to the relief of Patience, as she later patiently explained to me.
These people could try the patience of a saint.
In my travels I have come across many cultural differences, many attitudes that were surprising, some even challenging at times, but I don't think I have ever come across a country where such simple decencies as showing even a modicum of sensitivity to the needs others is more often, and more blatantly, challenged than in China. It is so normal here as to be routine.
On several occasions now, whilst out dining, I have had things taken from my table without so much as a 'by your leave' or even an acknowledgement of my existence. Such things can be anything from the pot of tea from which you are drinking to the table napkins. Other customers will just walk up to your table and simply take whatever they want or need, usually without offering a any request or explanation.
One of the things one hears most often from mainland Chinese is how proud they are of their five thousand years of culture. In many ways this attitude is justified by a long and glorious history of such things as the arts, literature, poetry and science, all of which is very impressive indeed, but in areas of the most basic of attitudes, respect for the existence of others, this society seems to lag far, far behind much younger cultures than itself.
The Chinese government themselves have become aware of the growing problem of Chinese travellers embarrassing their home country by acting in less than pleasant ways either on their journey (many flights have been forced to abort following disputes, and even fights, whilst airborne) or when they reach their destinations, thus giving their country of origin a bad name. Quite lengthy articles on the subject can be found on government's media organs (such an appropriate word…) such as 'The Global Times' and 'The People's Daily'. 

This fine young lad made his mark in Luxor recently by adding 'Ding Jinhao was here' to a three thousand year old artwork...

 
The rudeness is not a matter of over-zealous xenophobia, although this too can be a problem in China. The people routinely treat each other in exactly the same rude way as they treat 'weiguoren' (foreigners). Five minutes standing at a zebra crossing will amply demonstrate this point. The cars will do absolutely anything rather than stop for a pedestrian. One can consider oneself fortunate if they even slow down or change direction. Any busy junction will also provide further proof, the motorists will routinely cut each up in the most blatant and ignorant of fashions, barely seeming to notice the presence of other road users. In the three months I have been here in China I have seen numerous minor accidents, more or less each and every one of which could have been avoided with just a modicum of patience and respect for the other road user.
To be fair, once one gets past this habitual rudeness, one often finds a friendly and even quite delightful people beneath the façade. There are indeed many aspects of Chinese attitudes and culture that other countries could learn from but...basic civility is not one of them! There may well be many reasons for this; the cultural revolution, the endemic corruption which blighted the society for many years, the pervasive influence of Confucius and 'filial piety' (a notion that tends to emphasize family links and those close to your inner circle but has the effect of downplaying the significance of those outside the group). Such justifications are all very well, but from a personal and experiential point of view though, this ubiquitous rudeness can, in all honesty, simply become rather tiresome at times.
Back in the coffee house now I find myself pondering my upcoming jaunt to Thailand to the soporific strains of easy Western jazz and Ancient Chinese folk music. There are many, many aspects of China that I will miss, it is a fascinating and varied country to visit, but there are also some things that I will be very glad to leave behind too...