Slowcoach on a slow coach...

This week, after an six thousand mile journey, your nomadic flaneur finds himself in a small offshore island off the coast of Europe that, as far as he can tell from consulting various periodicals, seems to be obsessed with minor celebrities (at least if one is to judge from the headlines in many of the newspapers). It actually feels quite odd to go from the quality reporting of the Bangkok Post to the pun-plagued drivel offered up by The Sun or the outraged indignation that The Daily Mail serves up as news. It seems that high-quality, English news reporting is alive and well – in Thailand!

Previously, during my sojourn in SE Asia, I had read about the effects of pollution in China on the North Atlantic weather system, erudite discussions as to whether globalisation has actually benefited the world's economies and in depth analysis of the crisis in the Crimea. Imbibing coffee at a Costas in a suburb on the outskirts of London known as Buckhurst Hill, I find myself perusing The Sun which seems more concerned with a crooner known as '1D Louis' going to a snooker tournament, , the sartorial obsessions of a geriatric transvestite and the photogenic delights of Mel, 21, from Kent which, it has to be admitted, are quite pleasant. None of this though could one accurately describe as 'news'.

Welcome back to Blighty!

One cannot fail to notice how cold it is here. Friends have assured me that the weather has actually picked up of late, but going from an admittedly oppressive 41C in Kanchanaburi to a subjectively chilly 15C in NW Essex has come as something of a shock. I even resorted to some artificial warmth on offer at the Loughton Leisure Centre but still found that it seemed to take a remarkably long time for my body to feel comfortable even in the gloomy confines of the small, cell-like room that passes for a sauna there.

I look back from this time and place to the last few days in Thailand with some degree of fondness. On the Sunday my task was to get from Kanchanaburi to the Thong Ta Resort Hotel close to Bangkok's main airport, Savarnabhumi. The journey should normally consume about four hours or so. Indeed, if you are prepared to take the risk, you can take a minibus direct to the airport in less than three. I chose to give myself, as befits a person given to flaneurial activities, ten hours.

Giving oneself this degree of time has a strange and pleasantly interesting effect on one's psychological state whilst engaged in such a journey. A week before I had escorted a very close and dear friend to Bangkok's second airport, Don Meuang. We had given ourselves a couple of extra hours for the journey 'just in case', but still found ourselves rushing at the end and having to say an all too quick 'goodbye'. For my part, I was determined to avoid such a stressful end to what had been a very pleasant, and remarkably relaxed, sojourn to Thailand.

The first thing to consider was which mode of transport to take. After experiencing the various life-threatening options on offer in this part of SE Asia I decided to be guided by an article I read by an ex-pat on the types of buses on offer. The so-called 'luxury' buses, particularly those of the double-decker variety, are mostly made in Thailand or China. As the writer put it, the majority of the superstructure seems to consists of 'paper-clips and yoghurt cartons'. Flimsy would be too strong a word to describe the nebulous nature of these designs. They have the tendency to collapse into much smaller particles if and, all too often, when involved in any kind of incident.

The ubiquitous mini-buses are also not a great option. They may not be so poorly constructed as the double-deckers but still leave plenty of room for improvement. Passengers and luggage are stuffed into every available space so one is more or less guaranteed an uncomfortable journey. Added to this the fact that most of the drivers tend to be somewhat less than careful (read: complete maniacs), then this mode of transport also becomes less than attractive. Merely uncomfortable I can take, terrifying I would rather avoid.

Finally, I settled on the regular bus to Bangkok's Southern Bus Terminal (Sai Tai Taling Chan). The bus utilised for this service tends to be an old European Volvo or maybe an ancient Scania. Whilst they may be very long in the tooth, they do tend to be very solidly built. The age of such buses can be an advantage in itself as the driver often finds himself confined to speeds of somewhat less than 50 mph. Normally, one would think of such slowness as a disadvantage but in Thailand, such a lack of pace is often experienced as a blessed relief.

The joy of such a loose time-table gives one the time to enjoy each and every part of the journey and take pleasantly elongated breaks in between the various phases. As in many other areas, our speed obsessed times tend to dissipate so many of the pleasures in life that often depend on the ability to take one's time and allow oneself to 'savour the flavour' of whatever experience is on offer. In travel, as in many other areas, the joys of slowness, of taking your time, become more and more apparent when you actually allow yourself to experience life in this way. For many, such a change of attitude will almost bring on a feeling of guilt at first, as if the compulsion to rush around at ever greater speeds is almost a moral imperative. We are told we must not 'waste time', as if time itself were something you could save up. Once one begins to open up to the joys of slowness though, the realisation begins to dawn that life and its pleasures are often far better experienced when you give yourself sufficient time to do just that.

On arrival at Kanchanaburi bus station, I treated myself to a blueberry smoothie, parked myself on a nearby bench, and spent a few minutes just observing the huge variety of humanity passing through whilst I awaited the departure of the 10.30 bus. Saffron robed and shaven-headed Buddhist monks, often texting away on mobile phones, European back-packers seemingly oblivious to the ideals of minimalism, carting huge and heavy rucksacks (oddly, there seemed to be an inverse ratio between the size of the person and the weight of the luggage – huge, blond-headed Swedish guys carrying next to nothing, whilst tiny lasses from France and Spain laboured under humongously weighty packs that a Nepalese sherpa would have considered challenging), Thais wondering around with blood-shot eyes who, all too often, turned out to be drivers... so much to see in in such a place when one takes the time.

The bus did indeed turn out to be pleasantly slow and generally seemed to move in a somewhat crablike, side-to-side, motion every time the driver applied the throttle. This meant that he had to proceed at an even slower pace than normal for this age of bus, a fact that I found myself appreciating greatly.

Eventually, some three hours later, we arrived at the Southern Bus Terminal. This is located on the edge of Bangkok and offers one a variety of ways of getting into the centre of town. For an hour or so I forsook all such options as I headed for the row of cheap and cheerful restaurants inside the terminal and treated myself to some rather tasty noodles and a cup of coffee for the princely sum of 60 baht (about $1.50). This was followed by a slow wander around the market next to the ticket hall where all manner of goods could be purchased (or, in my case, forsaken) for very reasonable prices. Normally, the temptations of such fare have little effect on me unless I have a specific need. On this occasion, I have to admit, I came close to being seduced by the offer of Android tablets, complete with front and rear cameras, for less than $50.

And so, by and by, my journey continued. Each section of my five stage journey offering the opportunity to enjoy a break here, a walk there, the odd snack or even a full meal. When one gives oneself such a leisurely schedule, the situation changes from an onerous task to an interesting indulgence.

Indeed, this attitude of taking all the time needed to enjoy the numerous and multifarious distractions of Thailand (or whatever part of the world one happens to find oneself) adds much to the pleasure of such journeying. I remember, in my distant youth, meeting an American whose head was swathed in bandages. I asked him what had happened. He replied that after 'doing' Paris the day before, he had flown down to Zermatt in Switzerland so he could 'do' the Matterhorn. Whilst rushing up a mountain path to get the doing done, he had slipped and fallen down a steep escarpment. He was most concerned when I spoke to him that his injuries may not allow him to 'do' Vienna the next day!

That was many, many moons ago now, but the impression made by that short conversation with a frenetic American in the Swiss countryside has stayed with me ever since. In the intervening years the pace of life has, for many at least, become even faster as we chase we know not what. Modern society seems to have become much like a former associate of mine of whom it was said: “She doesn't know what she wants, but she knows she wants it now!”

The role of the flaneur is to hold up a mirror to such attitudes, to demonstrate than such desperate chasing is not compulsory, or even healthy, and to show that there is another way. In an age of fast-food, fast-links and fast seemingly everything, there is a need to show that 'fast' needn't be the only game in town. If something is worth doing then it is worth doing slowly...