The Fine Art of Reframing…

This week's report comes from the Micro Coffee Shop in Dongguan. Fortunately, the name refers neither to the size of the premises, rather generous, or to the size of the portions, again quite copious. For some strange reason, the more the economy creaks and groans towards the possibility of recession here, the more these coffee houses spring up. From the point of view of a nomadic flaneur in constant need of refreshment and a place to write, this is a very positive development. On the other hand, one wonders what is happening to the underlying economy here as the slowdown starts to bite deeper and deeper.

The coffee house itself is just one of a chain one sees in South China. Micro Coffee's shops seem clean, well managed and quite appealing. The seats are comfortable with a pleasant selection of coffees on offer. What more could a peripatetic flaneur wish for? Whilst enjoying the fayre on offer in such coffee houses, it is not unusual to enjoy a little conversation, or even some gentle banter, with the locals, or at least those that have a smattering of English.

One of the crucial factors one has to realise when discussing any issue with Chinese citizens living within the country is that their own sources of news are very restricted. There is some debate, online and even occasionally on television, but essentially the discussion is down to variations on the theme, rarely disagreement with the theme itself.

This, naturally, is very advantageous to the powers that be (a lovely phrase, that one!). They don't really need to win the debate or convince anyone as other governments around the world find themselves having to, they simply decide the policy and instruct the media to broadcast in, together with instructions as to how exactly it is to be framed.

Many years ago, seems like another lifetime now, I studied the somewhat dark arts of NLP (Neuro Linguistic Programming) as developed by Richard Bandler and John Grinder. I say 'dark arts' as one pretty soon realises that although such practices are often presented, and indeed used, in a therapeutic context, they can and are readily abused by such amoral or immoral folk as those involved in government or advertising, to name but two areas where these techniques have been roundly used to exploit, cheat and generally take advantage of the unwary.

(On this front, I think if I hear one more person assure me that advertising has”no effect on me” I think I will start to tear out my already very short hair. The last invulnerable soul who assured me of this being the case was the proud owner of a Hummer…)

The Chinese economy is in some trouble now. One hears of firms going bust on a regular basis and simply by looking around it is plain to see that many shops are no longer occupied, even in some of the primest of locations. The government here though, is still as popular as ever, which speaks volumes for their skills at the fine arts of presentation and reframing. In NLP terms, a reframe is used to realign or reshape one's thinking on a given issue or situation. It is a very powerful technique, perhaps more so because of its ubiquity; there is scarcely any situation that a skilful reframe cannot change one's perception of.

At the recent New Year's celebration it was very apparent that the amount of money spent by local government, usually so generous in such affairs, was relatively mean. The fireworks in particular were noticeable by their absence. This sad state of affairs was presented as the administration practising those fine traditional Chinese values of prudence and economic restraint. A classic reframe, but one that worked very well, some people even telling me how much they admired the government for returning to such sensible ways.

Basically, in China, if you can couch the reframe in terms of nationalism and especially in terms of traditional Chinese culture, you are halfway there already. Those in power, like those who remain in power around the globe, know exactly what buttons to press when needed and exactly how to structure a needed reframe to cast themselves in the best possible light.

Another classic tactic along these lines is to point out that although things may be bad here, they are a lot worse somewhere else. Far too many times now, when the subject of the poor air quality comes up, I hear people referring to the awful smogs of London. Now, while it is true that there were indeed awful smogs in London, these mostly came to an end in the 1960s with the Clean Air Act. To listen to many people hear one would think that the news reflects the current state of affairs in the UK's capital. In one recent dinner conversation, my fellow guests seemed genuinely surprised, even a little shocked, when I showed that day's figures from Dongguan and London via an app on my Windows phone. London's air quality figures were about one fifth of those in Dongguan (pm2.5s at around 35 compared to Dongguan's 180). Beijing, needless to say, would suffer even more by comparison.

Perhaps the bleakest and most cynical tactic of all in times of economic hardship is the call to patriotism. Nationalism here is already very strong and needs but little stoking to work people into something of a patriotic fervour. In this way, China is very different from more mature systems such as those found in Europe or America. Often in those cases there are enough worldly wise folk willing to point out such tactics that the politicians are often weary of employing them. Not so in China where if there is any opposition, it will scarcely dare to raise its voice (perhaps wisely) anyway.

Currently China is involved in territorial disputes with at least seven other states, any of which can and is used to stir up nationalistic feeling when required. Perhaps of these, the dispute in the South China Sea is the most likely to flare up into something very dangerous. In this particular instance, China finds itself in dispute with the Philippines, Vietnam, Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia. One worries that, given the current deteriorating economic situation, it could prove all too tempting to focus the population's attention away from the problems at home and into such dangerous waters.

Back in the coffee house some of my fellow imbibers are now enjoying a game of cards, whilst others watch basketball on a 42inch screen. The latter is very popular here, Dongguan in particular being known as the 'City of Basketball'. Personally, it has never been to my tastes, consisting as it does of a lot of very tall men running down one end of a court to put a ball into a net, then running up the other end and doing the same thing there. The highlight seems to be when they occasionally bump into each other but, as highlights go, its not particularly riveting.

All seems normal, perhaps even prosperous at this level. Beneath the surface though, it is not hard to detect the stark reality of an economy and a people who are  beginning to scent the unpleasant odour of recession. As ever in China, the stage managing is very impressive, but also as ever, economic reality will, in the end, prove very difficult to conceal forever.

Same old, same old...

This week I find myself feeling somewhat grounded, back in an old hunting ground which scarcely seems to have changed since the last time I saw it. I am presently spending some time in the UK and finding that no matter how much time one spends away from the place the same old inertia and ennui seems to prevail here. Life in South East Asia was sometimes frustrating, often annoying, even dangerous on occasions, but always colourful and intense. Back here in the UK, there is a strange deadness to proceedings. It's as if the last five months never happened and life has gone on in essentially in the same way as it always does in the UK. Moderate and mediocre, the UK feels like a wet blanket of a country that squelches those who dare to show a little eccentricity, those who dare to be a little different.
Although one would struggle to realise it, there is a general election coming up in the next month. I listened to a commentator on the BBC explaining how the choice this time was starker than it had been for many an election. He then went on to explain the choice that was before us. We had the Labour party, who advocated austerity but at a slower rate than is currently the case, the Liberals, who advocate austerity at about the same rate, the Conservatives, who advocate austerity at an increased rate and, finally, the United Kingdom Independence Party, who advocate austerity at the fastest rate of the lot! At this point, I find myself struggling to work out exactly where this 'stark' choice was, as far as I could see it was just a matter of how severe the austerity would be.

.A few, completely interchangeable, UK politicos..

Still, I suppose, that unlike Thailand at least the UK has a civilian government and a form of democracy, of sorts. And unlike China, you do at least get the chance to vote for a party every few years, even if the parties you can vote for are essentially saying very much the same thing. It does feel like a very clear demonstration of something the redoubtable Ken Livingstone said many moons ago: 'If voting changed anything, they'd abolish it!'
On a more personal level, I find myself already yearning to experience different places, different cultures and different societies once more. Spain is a distinct possibility, with the idea of spending a few weeks in the Girona or Barelona areas. I have had, for several years now, an ongoing love of the architecture of Antoni Gaudi. The man lived and died before the appearance of the surrealists in Paris in the 1920's, but one can view him as something of an architectural precursor to this movement. Oddly, he lived a life of fairly extreme abstinence, but his buildings have a joyous exuberance that has to be experienced directly to be believed.

The gorgeous, and slightly mad, surrealist architecture of Antoni Gaudi...

Spain is particularly tempting at this juncture because of the current strength of the pound against the Euro. Travel on the continent has once more become an attractive proposition. At the same time, and rather against economic fundamentals, the US dollar has become quite expensive. Fortunately, this is not too great a problem as the temptations of America, or at least the United States, do not exert a particularly strong pull on me.
I have, at various times in the past, spent some months in the US, but on each occasion I found the society to be one of the less interesting, dominated by commercial interests and a fascination, almost an obsession, with getting rich quick. I travelled through about a dozen different states, but essentially found that the same multi-nationals dominated wherever one went. A McDonalds in Maine feels very much the same as a McDonalds in Delaware (and, for that matter, anywhere else on the entire planet).
There was also an extraordinary parochialism to the attitudes of many of the folks I met and conversed with there. With a few notable and interesting exceptions, most of those I spoke to seemed to harbour the most extreme US-centralism, the notion that the one and only place to be was the US, and that somehow other countries were of much lesser importance. To be fair, I have come across similar attitudes in many countries, but perhaps nowhere else was it as pronounced as it was in the US. I remember one lass who wished to assure me that she had travelled widely. When I enquired as to where she had been she responded with 'Florida, New York, Pennsylvania, Washington...'

A villainous selection....

Of course, and to be fair, the rather unfortunate effects of the influence of multi-nationals and globalisation have not been confined to the US. It was, however, the place in which I first became aware of the process as a day to day reality. My first visit to the US was some 25 or so years ago now, and that rather depressing 'sameness' was already apparent in many of the places I visited back then. That same process, because of globalisation, can now be experienced almost anywhere one goes. From a personal point of view, I feel that I want to go out and experience other places and other cultures before the cold, dead hand of globalisation has flattened the whole planet into an acceptable but very boring 'niceness'.
As I write these words I realise my own participation in the process. I am sitting in a branch of Costas in Buckhurst Hill on the edges of London. It is one of many such branches one can find all over the UK in this day and age. Much like Neros, like Starbucks, like Pret a Manger, etc. There are the some very pleasant non-chain cafés sprinkled about here and there, but they are largely swamped by the overpowering ubiquity of these huge chains. The lack of this was one of the joys of Thailand. The multinationals had infected the larger cities such as Bangkok and Chiang Mai, but in the smaller towns there were all manner of interestingly individual cafés. China was interesting in a different way, spawning as it does almost endless imitations of the likes of Starbucks.
For now, in this particular branch of Costas, I find myself spending time planning the start of the next venture. I am not sure of exactly when and where but it is hard to conceive of living in the UK for any more than a few months in the next year or two, the temptations of travel and the advantages of alternative lifestyles are far too tempting to be ignored. My own particular brand of flaneurial activity seems to lend itself very naturally to enjoying other places and other cultures. Such pleasures are so diluted in countries such as the UK as to be scarcely definable as a pleasure at all. I find myself longing for warmer climes and the greater intensity and variety that is available in other parts of this beautiful planet of ours.

I still love the occasional peach and gingersnap tea. Man cannot survive on coffee alone!

On The River Li

This week's blog comes from a small café built on  the edge of a forest overlooking the River Li just outside the famously picturesque town of Yangshuo (pronounced 'Yang-Shore'). This side of the river is almost cliff-like in this location and so, of necessity, there are some very steep steps leading down from the café’s precipitous verandah to a small landing stage below. This place is known as the Durian Café, although café seems too simple a word for this rather strange, almost Gothic establishment. I am composing the blog sitting at a home-made table in the small garden to the side, trying to focus on the writing whilst being constantly tempted to play by a very lively  four month old kitten who goes by the name of Bai Ban, or 'white plank' (something to do with Mah-jong tiles apparently).

Inside, the café consists of numerous tiny rooms and spaces, one of which manages to hold a drum kit and guitar, leaving enough room for at least three in the audience. Two of the rooms lead out onto the vertiginous verandah via some outlandish doorways. Strange seats adorn the walls, most of which are far too angled for the task of comfortably consuming coffee and would seem more suited to the smoking of a shisha pipe or the imbibing of some narcotic or other. 

The owner of the establishment seems to be the final piece to the tableau; her long angular features framed by dramatically dark and straight hair. The clothes seeming oddly out of place in the China of today, but perfect for this place. Her skirt, made of some heavy, dark beige material, hangs down to the floor and for a top she wears a light lace blouse that would have been very much in vogue in the 1920s. She is very friendly, well-read and intelligent. Originally from Beijing, she turned her back on the city life and settled in the outskirts of Yangshuo some ten years ago.

Although this place could not be described as typical of Yangshuo, the small town near Guilin in which I find myself in this week, it is typical of the way that this town, and this area, seems to attract the more quirky and interesting characters both from within China and from without. There is something of an ex-pat community here too, although they seem to be of a very different type to those one meets in Thailand.

There are several aspects of Yangshuo that are exasperating in exactly the same way that the rest of China is exasperating. The air in the town itself is not great, for example. Nothing to do with industry this time, but more to do with the presence of so many cars. The Chinese, for the moment at least, are very much in love with their cars, and this has had, and is having, a very unpleasant effect on the environments in the towns.  The quality of the fuel, particularly the diesel, is much, much worse that what would be allowed in America or Europe, hence even a relatively few cars can make the air smell quite foul. Unfortunately, it is not until gone midnight that one ever sees few cars on the streets in Yangshuo; they are busy from early in the morning until late at night, complete with the compulsive sounding of horns and the fact that the drivers seem to obey no recognisable set of rules or laws makes for an unpleasant environment.

Fortunately, Yangshuo is blessed with an old town of many winding streets, lanes and alleys that are more or less bereft of cars. The transformation is immediate. One turns off the main thoroughfare and feels as if one is in a different world. Pretty boutique hotels, coffee shops, book shops and esoteric paraphernalia of all sorts give the area a generic East Asian feel. The area has the happy knack of feeling both quiet and colourful at the same time.

Another very pleasant side of Yangshuo is that it is set in some of the most stunning scenery you will ever see in your life. The karst mountains rise majestically and in magnificent isolation from each other, thus creating the most dramatic of scenic effects. I have meandered through many a land in my time and seen many mountain ranges from the Pyreness to the Alps, from the Atlas mountains of Morocco to the Ural mountains of Russia, I even saw Everest once many moons ago, but the mountains of Guangxi Province are the most impressive, the most aesthetically pleasing, the most awe-inspiring that it has been my good fortune to see anywhere.

All of the photographs on this week's blog were shot in the last few days during bicycle tours of the area. The hills may be dramatically steep but the valley floors between them are, for the most part at least, remarkably flat. Gently cycling along the dedicated thoroughfares that have been built exclusively for bikes (although in China this includes powered bikes) is a pleasure indeed amongst such splendour. One's main problem is the desire to stop again and again and take a picture or two of yet another phenomenal landscape.

This area is also home to many Tai Chi schools. The location gives itself quite naturally to such practices. I often wonder at the value of doing any physically exerting exercise in a Chinese city as the quality of the air is generally so poor. This is not the case here in the Yangshuo area (as long as one gets away from the traffic in the centre of town), the air seems crisp and clear and even the water in the many rivers seems much cleaner than anywhere else I have seen during my travels in China.

Food is also good here, although often the price reflects that it is something of a tourist trap. There are ways around this though, at least if one has the help of a Chinese friend who 'knows the ropes'. A pretty decent meal for two can still be easily had for under £4 ($6) and a beer, even in a bar, for about 8 RMB (about £0.80). If one just wants a beer without the company, then one does not need to pay more than 4 RMB for 500ml.  Along West Street, the main tourist drag in the centre of town, prices may be way beyond this and very similar to Western prices, but the way to avoid such expense is to avoid the rather ersatz version of China that place like West Street represent.

Another plus for the Westerner in China that Yangshuo offers is the fact that it attracts many visitors from the Occident and, perhaps because of this English is much more widely spoken by the natives than anywhere else that I have been to in China, including such cities as Shanghai and Shenzhen.

This week's blog seems to have taken far longer than usual due to the sometimes painful, but always distracting, interactions with Bai Ban. For one so young, he has some sharp teeth and claws which he seems to enjoy sinking into me whenever he gets the chance. Hard to be annoyed with him though. At present, he is just a bundle of the whitest fur with a pair of piercingly beautiful ice-blue eyes.

This is a place that one could settle. It is one of the most beautiful on earth, despite the annoyances of the traffic. Once one is away from the town, say at such a place as this, then the quietness envelopes you, holds you, stills you. I feel tempted to order another Americano. The last one came with a chocolate, half a dozen tiny oranges and a large slice of pomelo. They don't seem to have many customers here so they rather spoil the ones they do have.

If one were wishing to settle down and just find a place to write, to think, maybe to further one's understanding of Mandarin, one could do a lot worse than this place.

Off Piste and Occasionally vice versa...

Sometimes, in order to continue the flaneurial process, one has to jump through a few hoops put there for the entertainment of administrators from various lands. So it is today that I find myself in the delightful 'Coffee Happy & More' in the backs streets of Ratchprana 3 in Bangkok. The coffee shop is much to my liking and the owners friendly and helpful. I am having a quick Americano and metaphorically girding my loins before setting off for the challenges of the Chinese consulate. It has the reputation of being a somewhat difficult process so I have tried to cover every eventuality that may arise but … I still find myself somewhat less than confident of success today. Reading several accounts from the internet, others have come along similarly well prepared and failed.

I am only a day out of Kanchanaburi, but already I find myself missing the place. Somehow, apart from my initial enthusiasm a few years back, I have never really enjoyed Bangkok. In the constant heat the noise and the traffic become very wearing after a time and, apart from a few of the main roads, it is no place for a quiet and thoughtful saunter as befits the role of a flaneur. One of the things that one very quickly notices about Thais is that they don't really have very much use for their legs, apparently being there solely for the purpose of keeping the torso upright when need be which, in itself, is not very often; the preference being for sitting or, if at all possible, being completely supine.

For the indigenous population it seems, even the shortest of journeys warrants the use of some kind of mechanized transport, the ubiquitous scooter being the mode of choice. One will often see the girls in the local bars, when in need of some supplies from a Seven Eleven or a Tesco Lotus, will invariably take their motorbikes, even when said store is but 50 metres distant. The pavement, or what the Americans call the side-walk, is there for the purposes of parking these bikes or for the purveyance of various 'street foods' and not, perish the thought, for actually walking along.

I was very tempted to use an old joke at this point along the lines of 'what do you call a pedestrian in Thailand?', the answer being 'a farang (a foreigner)', but I thought I had better resist the temptation …

The pavements here, perhaps because of their lack of use, are invariably either not fit for purpose or so obstructed as to be unusable. This means that those who would choose to saunter around town often have to do so with the ongoing risk of being scooped up by a pre-occupied scooter rider, often engaged in either texting or attempting to hold their child in one arm while tryiing to control the bike with the other, or flattened by a mini-bus driver who has perhaps chewed a few too many betel nuts (they sometimes do this in an attempt to keep themselves awake in order to attempt to complete an overly rushed schedule).

For all this though, I must say that I have a preference for the driving here in comparison to China. In Thailand it is lazy, a little carefree or maybe even careless but there is a kind of consideration, a generosity to the attitude of the drivers and the riders that you just don't see in China. In that land one is often struck by the meanness and ruthlessness of those on the roads, one might even say callousness, whereas in Thailand, for all their laissez-faire attitude, one rarely feels the same sense of threat.

To some extent, this reflects the differences between the two cultures, the first is very focussed on whatever it is that they want whereas the second is, in general, far more generous and far less selfish. This is, of course, a sweeping generalisation but going from one to the other one is immediately struck by the differences in cultural attitudes.

Having said that, I will still opt for the slowest means available to get back to Kanchanaburi tomorrow. This will either be the slow coach (quite literally) from the Southern Bus Terminal or maybe even the train. Mini-buses are available and are a cheap and cheerful alternative, but I sometimes wonder if the sheer stress of riding in those things will takes years off of one's life, so any time gained is strictly illusory.

Part of the role of the flaneur is to move slowly and, in this case, travel slowly. It seems to be that there is almost an inverse ratio between the speed that one travels and how much one can allow oneself to enjoy the travelling. Speed is fine, in context. I very much enjoy being wafted across continents at slightly less than the speed of sound in huge metal tubes; it is a very practical solution to the problem of long distance travel. Once I have actually reached the desired destination though, my preference is very much for the more sedate and gentle means of moving one's body from place to place.

The world is an increasingly fast-paced place in which to live. Our means of communication go on forever getting faster and faster and it is very easy, and all too common, to become convinced of the necessity for rushing everywhere. Part of the role of a flaneur is to show that there is another way and that many of the best things in life are a whole lot more fun when they are taken slowly. Such an attitude though, does take a little attention, it takes a little patience, but the rewards far outweigh the costs.

Back in the coffee shop, the young man who served me my Americano is just performing what must be his daily rites. Their is a small shrine next to where I am sitting and two more at front and back of the shop. I am the only customer in here at present and I have to admit that it is quite lovely to see the sincerity with which he carries out his devotions. This is not the first time I have seen this and, I have to admit, each time I come across it I find it really rather touching.


There is much cynicism about Thailand and the Thais at the moment, which is not overly surprising given the political problems and the degree of corruption here, but there is also at times something very charming and really rather beautiful about the culture and the people here. I think that is just one of the reasons, despite my fears of the ongoing unrest and political turmoil, that has me coming back to this land on a regular basis. In my experience, there is nowhere else quite like it.

Finally, together with a friend I was taking the time to ponder an appropriate theme song for the blog and an ancient number from Guy Lombardo came to mind. A good candidate...

Same same, but different....

Tis the very first day of January in 2015 and I find myself comfortably ensconced in yet another Chinese imitation of a very (in)famous, tax-evading (oops, I meant tax avoiding, of course!), American coffee chain. These seem to be two a penny here and are very fashionable at the moment in China. This one is called 85 Top Coffee for some strange reason and has a logo that would probably breach various copyright laws in most countries around the world. Not in China though.

          All is not as it seems here and one often finds oneself doing a double-take as one realises that what one thought was, say, a Rolls Royce or a Mini, is actually not. If one were so inclined, one could happily spend twenty minutes or so trying to spot the differences between the Chinese version and the European original, in similar fashion to that ubiquitous game that one finds printed in the newspapers of the world. The list, at the end of the twenty minutes, even with the most careful of perusals, would not be very long...

         

Oddly, those highly respected protectors of company's and people's rights, the Chinese Courts, rarely find in favour of the plaintiff when a European company has the audacity to complain. One can only admire their obviously much keener eye and the way it is able to perceive clear differences that are far beyond the abilities of lay observers, such as myself, to perceive.

          In the case of the American company, owners of the famous green, circular logo, it is perhaps a little difficult to feel too much sympathy though. It seems from recent evidence that they do tend towards a certain flexibility in the interpretation of the law themselves. Their beans, for example, tend to be sourced from that well known home of coffee, Switzerland (must be the climate...). Strangely, last time I was privileged to visit the home of cuckoo clocks and highly creative bankers , I didn't particularly notice the presence of large coffee plantations. Oh well, I guess their economy must have moved on in the meantime and branched out into the coffee trade...

          For all that, I must say that these particular surroundings are rather conducive to quite cogitation and writing and are therefore much to my liking. The music in the background, easy listening jazz, makes an altogether welcome change from the seemingly endless loop of Christmas songs that I have been subjected to for the last few weeks. The seating is modern and comfortable, the décor dark, the odd mature house plant growing against brown walls. All-in-all, it has the feel of some of the more exclusive coffee houses of Thailand or Indonesia.

          85 Top Coffee itself is to be found near the main entrance to a large shopping complex that has been given the modestly unassuming name of 'Star City' in Chang An. The ground floor is smart, modern and home to various jewellers and mobile phone outlets. The first is occupied, at least mostly, by clothing outlets. The second floor is...largely empty and unoccupied. The fourth the same, except for a slightly run down gym that is currently offering outrageous discounts to get increasingly reluctant customers in through the doors.

          This particular mall isn't alone in this. Often the presentation is of a thriving economy but the reality is a little different. The first faint whiff of recession is in the air, although carefully hidden away, particularly from Western eyes. Even on the apparently bustling high streets one sees, every now and again, vacant shops with dusty and naked mannequins strewn across the floor, amidst the discarded hangers and the piles of leaflets posted through the door, the premises having clearly been empty for quite some time.

          When I was here last year, I was told that it would be a great idea to invest in Chinese property. The old adage: “You can't go wrong investing in bricks and mortar” was heard incessantly amongst the group of people I staying with. I wondered to myself at the time how often I had heard this particular refrain. It brought back memories of the property boom in Ireland in the early part of this century, people queueing around the block just to get their names down and the chance of buying a property before the price rose yet again. How different it looked a year later, the cranes motionless, building sites abandoned mid-build, flats that could scarcely be given away. With these memories in mind, I decided to resist the temptation to invest.

          This year in China, prices are down. It is not the same across the board, some areas doing notably better than others but... dark rumours abound of the inability of property developers to pay back enormous loans, often secured on the shadow banking sector, and of town halls in debt up to their eyeballs having financed local government projects via less than conventional means and shady deals with builders. Up to the time of writing, there have only been one or two collapses (I mean this in the financial sense – though if one sees the quality of some of the building it is a small wonder that it doesn't happen more often in the physical!). One has the feeling of a pack of cards that has grown far, far too high and is teetering of the very edge of disaster.

          Still, one of the advantages of the Chinese system is that the powers-that-be can manage news, and financial intervention, in such a way as to avoid, for a time at least, much of the panic that ensues in the West when it becomes obvious that the market is about to collapse. There have been bail-outs and pay-offs but the news scarcely reaches the headlines. There are rumours of whole cities, built at enormous cost, with scarcely any occupants (the so called 'ghost towns') and developers subsequently caught up in mountains of unpayable debt.

          If one were to believe the figures, the Chinese economy is still doing very well and growing at rates that we can only dream of in the West. For 2014 the figure is likely to be reported as just over 7% but... these figures are more likely to mislead rather than to inform. As Leonard H. Courtney said (often mis-accredited to Benjamin Disraeli), 'there are lies, damn lies and statistics'. The management of data and the form it is released in is a dark art that has reached new heights in the People's Republic of China.

          Over the years, one cannot help but notice that people who wish to invest in stock markets, housing, or whatever have a strange ability to manage their own perceptions. They tend to see only that which they wish to see. An ability to tell themselves that somehow this market is different to all previous markets, that this is not a bubble but a new paradigm, that the old rules don't apply any more and this market will go on growing forever. Of course, it never does. The same old rules do apply and when a market grows much faster than the ability of the purchasers to keep up it will, inevitably, decline. If it is a bubble, it will, inevitably, burst. Strange how this always seems to come as a surprise to many despite it being re-iterated time and again in the past.

          Back in the café, life goes on as pleasantly as ever. These last few decades have been good times for China and the standard of living here has increased to an extent that parallels, in many cases, that of America and parts of Europe. People gamble (technically illegal in China – but no one ever seems that bothered), smoke (technically illegal – but no one seems that bothered),chat and pass the time of day with a goodly degree of bonhomie. It is an entirely comfortable and reassuring scene. I have my fears and forebodings but for now I simply wish, for their sake, long may it continue.

Text mad...

          Today my flaneurial duties have drawn me to the luxurious and highly impressive surrounds of a brand new Mall of four floors standing on the edge of the main junction into Chang An. It seems very salubrious and swanky, decorated tastefully with hanging sculptures dangling from the type of roof one that would have made Frank Lloyd Wright proud. Indeed, the whole design of the mall reminds one of the Guggenheim Museum in New York. No doubt this particular architect owes much of his inspiration to the genius of Mr Wright. So close are the features to Wright's design that one could be excused for imagining that the designer in question simply copied the ideas...perish the thought!

          Circumstances dictate a limited choice of watering holes in this monument to commerce, so I find myself taking an Americano and a glass of water in a franchise of a particularly global, tax-dodging American enterprise. Oddly, when I asked for 'yi bai shui' (a cup of water) the waitress proceeded, as per normal, to put ice cubes in the cup, followed, as is usual here, with hot water (the Chinese rarely drink their water cold). Very strange....

          Fortunately, this particular shopping mall seems to be equipped with a very efficient air cleaning system as normally, on this particular junction, one does well if one can refrain from coughing for more than three minutes. I have had the misfortune of having had to wait for buses on several occasions at this particular environmental black-spot. It could not be defined as a pleasant experience.

          Getting to the bus stop in the first place is a life threatening experience in itself involving, as it does, the crossing of eight lanes of traffic. The traffic is 'controlled', and I use the word in the loosest possible sense, by traffic lights. For many drivers the prohibition of the red light seems to be merely optional, for taxi drivers it is like a red rag to a bull. They are more likely to accelerate than slow down in response to such a provocation. Added to this, it would seem that no law at all applies to the bicyclists (many electric powered these days, silent assassins ...) and motorised rickshaw wallahs who quite happily proceed in the opposite direction to the main stream of traffic – quite comical at times... if it wasn't quite so terrifying. This trepidatious pedestrian feels himself in mortal peril each and every time he has the misfortune to have to cross that particular road.

          Inside the café, I sit and chat with a friend whilst observing a group of five youngsters, probably around 15 years of age, sitting around a table together. None of them though is actually talking to another but all are absorbed in the process of texting on their smart phones. This is a very common sight in China and, to be fair, almost everywhere else one goes in the World these days where these devices are readily available and affordable. By the look of things, these youngsters seem to be involved in earnest text conversations with friends not currently present. I often wonder in such circumstances if, when they finally meet up with the friend they are texting, they will then spend that time texting the friends they are currently with!?

          Apparently a whole new form of etiquette has formed around the question of the answering of text messages,  American youngsters in particular being prone to its demands. It seems to receive one and not to respond is considered the height of rudeness. The fear of being accused of such a social faux pas has lead youngsters to going to bed with their phones next to the pillows, ever ready to answer such profound enquiries as 'Are you  still awake?'

          Once more, it seems that the thing we think we own somehow ends up owning us...

          It is a decidedly odd paradox in modern life that seems to occur with alarming regularity: devices described as 'labour saving' or 'time saving' commonly have the opposite effect. Mobile phones were touted as saving us time and the need to be near a static phone – the reality has been that there is now nowhere to escape to if you have such a device (I often leave mine turned off ...).
 The wealthiest societies around the world are equipped with many such 'time saving' devices and yet the more they own the less time people actually seem to have. The opposite is also true, if you look at the 'poorer' societies in the World, the lack of such devices as phones, cars, computers, washing up machines, etc., etc., actually seems to magically leave them with more time. A very curious state of affairs.

          This paradox also applies to town and country. The places where most time saving devices are concentrated, i.e. cities, are at one and the same time the most frenetic and often least pleasant places, where people seem to be in a headlong rush to get ... where exactly?

          I take another sip of coffee and observe one of the youngsters now staring at the screen of his device whilst swishing his thumbs back and forth across the surface as it makes little beeps and whistles. He is strangely absorbed and yet at the same time agitated, gradually getting more and more animated in his reactions, his lips curling into agonised grimaces, limbs occasionally jerking to one side or the other in an attempt to control some process or another. One feels like telling him, if my Mandarin were good enough (which it is not) that he is looking at flashing lights on a tiny screen which is making rather silly little noises ... it really doesn't matter that much. I would guess the reaction would not be a pleasant one!

Wiser to keep my counsel methinks...

          This coffee shop is quietly efficient but could be located anywhere on the planet. Indeed, much the same could be said of the shopping centre itself. A mall, is a mall, is a mall – this one a particularly fine example of the flattening effect of the globalisation. It is clean, anonymous and ... completely without character, other than at the most banal and superficial level.  The idea of 'Globalisation' itself has become one of the sacred cows, much like such erroneous and socially damaging ideas as subjecting every aspect of life to 'market forces'. Its effects have created a world wherein, once one finds oneself in such a mall, one could be anywhere on the planet.

          As someone who considers himself something of a nomad, I tend to treasure the differences between places, peoples and cultures. In this way, it is sad to see the world getting smaller and smaller and less and less diverse. The whole planet appears to be settling into a globalised culture that is increasingly fast but equally, increasingly shallow and terribly anonymising. People reduced to being mere consumers, forever rushing around, whipped into a frenzy by manipulative and ruthless advertising, fearful that they will lose out on the latest 'bargain'. There seems (fortunately, only seems ... ) to be but one game in town, and much like the computer game that is obsessing my fellow customer, it is a pretty superficial and banal game at best.

          My young fellow customer has finally finished swishing away at his screen and now has returned to his texting duties. I have been writing for quite some time now but scarcely have any words have passed between the group of youngsters sitting at the nearby table.

          Ah, the joys of the dizzy social world of modern youth...

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...

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.