Loitering without intent

Loitering without intent....

This evening I find myself once again in the delightful surrounds of Cafe do Coral but an altogether different branch of the said concession. This one is in the 'village' of Chang An, a suburb of Dongguan just north of Shenzhen (and that, in turn, just north of Hong Kong, for those who wish to locate the village on a map). I think even the Chinese would struggle to call this place a village in this day and age being, as it is, the home to somewhere in excess of one million souls. On the other hand, the Chinese would not call it a city either. A mere million inhabitants just about makes it to town status in this part of the world. Cities by Chinese standards don't really start until the population of said metropolis is in excess of four to five million. By such a measure, one and only one British 'city' would qualify for that status in modern China - and that is London itself!

Back in the cafe, music tinkers softly in the background which, thankfully, is not of the 'Christmas' variety but rather various strains of what is known as 'easy listening'. To be fair, if I have to listen to such fayre whilst indulging in an Americano, I think this kind of piano base remix of 60's hits is not the least pleasant. Indeed, much as it pains me, I have to admit to quite enjoying some of the renditions, in particular 'The Sounds of Silence' (chance would be a fine thing!) and 'Scarboro' Fair'. It tends to have the effect of allowing me to muse amiably over my flaneurial activities of the day.

 Much of the time was spent sauntering around the streets and parks of this somewhat overcrowded yet still quite pleasant town. Fortunately, the town planners had the foresight to include several generous green spaces which render some relief from the otherwise oppressive constancy of the sun and the traffic. I have to say, Chang An is really quite a pleasant town to saunter around, if one is given to such sauntering activities. There is indeed an art to walking in this way wherein the point of the walk is the walk itself and not the destination. Naturally, this is also the art of the flaneur – slowly walking through town without a sense of purpose or a place to go to but with an omnipresent openness to the experience itself.

According to Thoreau, that great American thinker of the 19^th century, the word 'saunter' owes it derivation to the France of the Middle Ages. There were men who roved around the country and sought charity claiming that it was to enable them to go to the Holy Land, or 'a la Saint Terre'. Over time, when children saw such a person, they would should out 'There goes a Sainte-Terre,' a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander. Those who were merely pretending to extract charity were indeed mere idlers and vagabonds but there are those who are saunterers in the good sense, they literally go to a 'holy land' of sorts. 

Another derivation quoted by Thoreau again comes from the French 'sans terre', meaning without land or home. These days I find myself very much in this latter category but... it has proven to be not entirely disagreeable in itself, although perhaps not for everyone. 'Saunter' in this sense also implies to be able to be equally at home wherever one finds oneself, or to misquote Paul Young: Wherever you lay your hat...that's your home!

Sunday afternoon in Chang An is the end of the week and many hard working Chinese citizens enjoy a stroll through the town's parks on this day. Come on a weekday and you will more or less have the space to yourself and a choice of pleasant places to sit and contemplate, meditate, ruminate or simply sunbathe, whatever takes your fancy. On a Sunday however, places to rest are at a premium so most spend the time slowly sauntering beneath the trees smiling amiably to all and sundry.

It is noticeable how much more relaxed he people are, how much more amiable, when they are not obsessed with getting from A to B but are quite happy with A or, if they happen to find themselves in B, likewise. A stroll without purpose - for truly the purpose of the stroll is contained within the act of strolling itself. I look at them, they look at me, we exchange the odd 'Ni Hao' with each other, everyone smiles and seems content with their lot. This amiability is in stark contrast to the rest of the week when the general populace here seems to be in such a hurry that they will happily risk life and limb, yours as well as theirs, in order to gain a few precious seconds and get ahead in 'the race'.

Ah, the busyness of business! The modern Chinese culture is no different to the West in these ways. We are exhorted on all sides and throughout our lives to work hard, be busy, to go get. Apparently, you must have a purpose and must strive unceasingly to fulfil that purpose. And pray, when one fulfils that purpose, what to do then? Why, take on another, even harder one, of course!

 We are told that life is a rat race. In order to be successful we must learn to be ratty enough – to strive, to scurry, to ever give the appearance of busy-ness but...who truly wants to live like a rat? Apparently, there are those that do. There are some who relish the tooth and nail competitiveness of it all. Forever chasing after glistening baubles that seem so tempting from afar. Doing down their competitors by fair means or foul, striving forever to climb to the top of the pile. When said baubles are pocketed though, and one finds oneself seated atop such a pile, it often happens that the glistening that tempted one in the first place turns out not to be gold at all, but merely another encumbrance, another complication, another meaningless commitment to pour one's all too finite energies into. Seated atop the pile instead of friends you have competitors, instead of happiness anxiety, instead of satisfaction the ongoing obligation to defend what you have. Is this state of affairs really something we should strive for, really something we should desire?

Many years ago, the then French Prime Minister, Edith Cresson, on a state visit to Japan, was asked if she admired the economic success of the Japanese at that time. She thought for a second, sighed, and then replied: “It's all very well, but who wants to live like an ant!”

It was hugely controversial at the time, causing a huge diplomatic incident between the two countries but one has to admit she had a point. Watching the British in London or the Chinese in Shanghai or the Japanese in Tokyo queueing in their millions to be stuffed into already overcrowded carriages and carried off to places they really don't want to go (and this process sometimes goes on for 30 years or more)  has to give one at least a small pause for thought. Is the carrot of a few material baubles really worth selling one's all too brief time on this planet for? You may indeed end up with a bigger house, a bigger car and lots of 'stuff' to look after but it will  have taken so much of your existence to pay for it. There has to be a better way.

Meanwhile, it is now closing time in the cafe and I risk being the very last customer. The floors are mopped, the kitchen cleaned and even some of the lights have been extinguished. They really are very polite here but I think it is high-time to curtail my verbal saunterings for another week and let the staff return home to their loved ones and to some well-earned rest.

Wan An!

Investing in Divesting...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers!

Coup d'état or coup de grâce?

This week, I find myself frequenting the comfortable, if slightly worn, environs of Caffe Nero in Epping High Road. This particular High Road has the distinction of being the highest High Road in the whole of Essex. Given the leanings towards two-dimensionality of that particular county, being the highest High Road is perhaps not the most exciting of accomplishments. There is a poster on the wall advertising the imminent arrival, on July 7th, of the Tour de France. Having watched a stage in the sunshine of the Dordogne a few years back and subsequently enjoying the pleasure of spectating on a scorching final day as the riders sprinted up and down the Champs Elysee, the attractions of watching a large peleton of shaven-legged young men rolling through Epping for approximately 30 seconds pales in comparison. One must admire though, the creativity, and the financial acumen, of those responsible for the route of La Tour, if not necessarily their geographical accuracy. Pleasant as the roads of Epping and Loughton are, one struggles to see the connection with France. Still, it has to be admitted that a Tour d'Essex would probably attract a lot less commercial interest...

Since my return from the equitable climes of Thailand, I find myself struggling to cope with the inconsistency of the light and weather here in the UK. Days are longer, which I find agreeable, but the weather does tend to be somewhat capricious. One day it feels like spring has sprung and I find myself bathed in the most gentle and agreeable of lights. On another, like today, the leaden skies cast a day long gloom over the proceedings. This state of affairs has not helped my own re-adjustment to British Summer Time. My body seems to be in a state of revolt against this disruption to the regularity that was Thailand, where day and night were democratically divided, more or less twelve hours being allocated to each. Jet lag, according to those who know about such things, is a more deleterious experience for those travelling from West to East. I would beg to differ. It has been a month now since my return yet I still find myself wide awake at 5 a.m. and feeling like I could happily drop off at 5 p.m..

I have been looking forward to my planned return to Thailand but the Thai military seem to have other ideas. A few days ago, in a move that has been mooted for quite some time, the army declared martial law. At first, they were very insistent that this was not a coup d'etat. Oddly, it certainly looked like one. The military were on the streets and took over several of the governmental buildings in Bangkok. They shut down many of the media outlets, in particular, several of the more political minded TV stations.

For two days they insisted that this was not, in fact, a coup. It might have looked like a coup, walked like a coup, talked like a coup but... it wasn't a coup. Finally, after disbanding the government altogether and imposing severe restrictions on the media and use of the internet, they have declared that it is, after all, a coup.

Thailand's fledgling democracy has suffered many such events in recent years, so many in fact that it almost seems to be part of the political process there. The Thais experience a few years of rather chaotic democracy before the army once again seems to feel the need to 'impose order' once more. The 'order' subsequently imposed doesn't last very long though, and soon the same old, hugely corrupt, politics resume their normal day to day activities. And so the cycle continues.

Military coups, in general, do not seem to have a very good record if one's measure of that record is the well being of the general population of the country involved. In neighbouring Myanmar (Burma of old) , the military have been unable to resist the temptation to grab power and hold onto it for all they're worth. This has resulted in one of the most brutal regimes on the planet and almost omnipresent corruption. Few people have benefited from martial law in Myanmar with the possible exception of the generals themselves whose personal fortunes have increased exponentially. In recent times there have been moves towards opening up the country and allowing some democratic rights but... the temptation to hold on to power when that power is producing such benefits for the generals must be strong indeed. Apart from that, of course, there is always the possibility that with a return to democracy their own misdeeds could be investigated. This possibility would not be something that would appeal to the incumbent leaders..

Some coups do start out with the best of intentions but, as the old aSome coups do start out with the best of intentions but, as the old adage has it, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Often they are a reaction to the parlous state of a nation when perfidious and inept politicians have wreaked so much damage that the military feel they have little option but to step in to 'save' their country. Problem is though, in many of these cases, the 'cure' often proves to be far worse than the disease. Once they have their hands on the levers of power it becomes increasingly tempting to exercise it in a more and more draconian manner.

One of the first measures taken is often to limit any expression of opposition. Usually this involves shutting down newspapers and radio and TV stations. This process has, rather worryingly, already started in Thailand. Amongst military men, there seems to be a generalized (no pun intended...) fear of plurality. They live in a world where one guy gives the orders and another guy takes them. The idea that someone might actually dare to question what they are saying seems to be anathema to them.

The situation in Thailand is still developing as I write these words. If this turns out to be another example of a typical Thai coup then a return to a more normal state of affairs may not be too long in coming. The worry is though, that the temptations of wielding power and enjoying the benefits that it brings may prove to be strong to resist. Only time will tell.

Back in the cosy confines of Caffe Nero, I feel thankful that, for all its faults, the country I presently find myself in has not suffered a coup for nigh on half a millennia. For all the frustrations of well established democratic systems like those of the UK, they do at least guarantee a goodly amount of plurality and a tolerance for the expression of a wide range of views. As far as Thailand is concerned, this will have to be a case of watch this space (or perhaps other, better informed spaces). My own plan had been to use Thailand as a base for flaneurial activities throughout SE Asia and beyond, but it seems that, for now at least, those plans may have to be put on hold.

Another short addendum is called for. After penning the above article it emerged that Gen Prayuth Chan-Ocha has declared himself Prime Minister - the result of a general election it seems, in this case the general elected himself. Over the course of four days we have gone from the imposition of martial law but not a coup, to a coup, and now to a General appointing himself Prime Minister. These are challenging times for Thailand. One hopes that the transition back to civilian rule is short and peaceful but...the omens are not good.

Daydream Believer....

This week the flaneurial lifestyle has taken me far from my urban roots to the tiny village of St. Tudy, which is to be found hugging the western edge of the heathland of Bodmin Moor. The contrast with recent locales could not be greater. At times it is profoundly quiet here, the only sounds that disturb the calm are the cackling of the rather demonstrative Canada Geese and the honking of the ducks (although, from here, it is hard to decide which is doing the cackling and which the honking...). There is a road which runs about 30 metres from my door. One is alerted to its presence by the noise of a passing car about once every 30 minutes. The constant busy-ness of small motorcycles buzzing up and down the streets of Kanchanaburi seems like a distant dream from here; almost as if one had somehow wandered into some kind of alternative reality.

I am assured by various friends that the weather is really rather good, especially in comparison with what came before. Still, for me at present, being exposed to temperatures hovering around the giddy heights of fifteen degrees has left me quivering and quaking, shivering and shaking. One gets used to the high thirties; coming back to the UK after three months of such warmth I have becomes aware of the sheer constancy of the cold and damp in this sceptred, but rather chilly, isle.

The English spring remains wonderfully refreshing though and, if fortune favours the nomadic traveller, one may even have some degree of sunshine as well. In such circumstances, it can be pleasant indeed. The variety of wild food on offer is also something to be indulged in. I made the mistake of purchasing some incredibly dull iceberg lettuce from a supermarket in Exeter only to find a huge variety of tasty and nutritious salad leaves on offer in the fields and forest surrounding me here in depths of the East Cornish countryside. Sorrel, dock, dandelions and even wild garlic are abundantly available and give any salad a wonderful variety of unique and interesting flavours. Added to this, the knowledge that they are also high in micro-nutrients and other such goodies makes it not only a pleasure but a very healthy option as well.

I am sharing this little foray with an old friend, Chinese in origin, who spent many years struggling to survive in the UK and escaping the less than savoury elements who had organised her escape from China. For convenience, we shall call her Angela. These days, after several years of coping with the fear of being sent back, Angela has become a bona fide UK passport holder. This actually occurred in the past six months during the time I was happily conducting my flaneurial activities in China and Thailand. With but one brief exception in January, we had not met during that period. The difference in her, having had the ever-present threat of expulsion lifted, is remarkable indeed. Where there was tension there is now peace, where there was anxiety there now is a degree of certainty, where there were frowns there are now smiles!

I have known this lass for some years now and have even played some part in the changes she has gone through. Now she finds herself in her early to mid thirties and wanting to settle down with an appropriate 'other'. With us in St. Tudy is another Chinese gentlemen from the fair city of Cardiff. His English is not the best but he seems to be a thoroughly decent chap. So much so in fact that he seems to want to pay every bill every time and one has to restrain his philanthropic activities with a degree of insistence bordering on the violent. My part in this rather strange set up is to act as something of a chaperone. These somewhat quaint arrangements have a degree of awkwardness at times but, in general, have led to a thoroughly pleasant few days spent together deep in the heart of the Cornish countryside.

The changes in my friend are not merely confined to the release of stress either. In the time I have been away she seems to have discovered religion; more specifically, Christianity.

Personally, my own experience with this offshoot of Judaism has not been particularly positive. As a child I was exposed to much proselytising which left its mark. For some years in my adult life I was once more tempted back into the fold but, as is my wont, I could not help but examine the historical basis for many of the claims. These I found severely wanting – in fact, it seemed that there was scarcely any evidence whatsoever barring a brief mention by the Jewish historian Josephus and even this had subsequently been 'doctored' (in)appropriately by those wishing to add a degree of authenticity which the reality sadly lacked.

Having said that, the changes in my friend were clear and really quite positive. The feeling that she now had a medium through which she could make sense of life and her part in it was clearly of great value in and of itself. True as it was that her way of understanding would seem to many to be really quite naïve on many levels but... clearly it was working for her and giving her a sense of certainty that had been lacking in her life for many, many years previously.

Whilst chatting with Angela one evening thoughts of a previous occasion drifted into my mind. Several years ago, whilst on a sojourn in the land of Israel, I had visited the fascinating city of Jerusalem. If you, dear reader, ever have the chance to spend some time in that troubled land, I would urge you to do so and, in particular, if you have the chance to visit Jerusalem itself you should, by all means, do so. It is truly a fantastic city where one is not only exposed to a metropolis with a long and deep history but also to an eclectic mix of eccentric characters, many representing the main mono-theistic religions, but also a surprisingly large number with no religious outlook at all. Jerusalem seems to be a magnet for the weird and the wonderful, the unconventional and the downright quirky.

As ever in Israel, and particularly in Jerusalem, these were times of turmoil. Ultra orthodox Jews in the Mea She'arim district had recently stoned a young western tourist when she had inadvertently wandered into their area wearing shorts. Tensions between the Israelis and the Palestinians were also evident, in the previous weeks there had been two incidents involving bombs on buses in which many people had lost their lives. Tensions between secular and religious Jews were also much in evidence, mainly due to resentment on the part of those who had to go and fight for the state of Israel whilst the most strident orthodox Jews, who seemed very keen to urge on the military from the sidelines, were much less inclined to actually take any part in any fighting. Conveniently, their religious rules meant that they were banned from bearing arms. Oddly, this pacifism did not seem to extend to their verbal pronouncements. Understandably, this situation often somewhat annoyed those who were obliged to actually do the fighting.

At the start of my sojourn I had found myself staying for the first few days in an Orthodox Jewish hostel in the proximity of the King David Hotel, where I managed to rather clumsily fall foul of the strict kosher dietary rules. Although the problem was dealt with politely, I felt that a move to another hostel might prove sagacious. So it was that I found myself, a few days later, residing in a Christian hostel in the proximity of Jaffa gate, just inside the old city walls.

For several days my evenings were spent surrounded by a group of the most earnest Christians who had travelled to Jerusalem from all corners of the world, each and every one of them convinced of the rightness and righteousness of their world view. I would listen to sincere debates as to the nature of the trinity, how the theory of evolution was a ridiculous assumption as the bible proved the world to be only a few thousand years old and how to bring the majesty of Christ into your day to day existence. Many of the assumptions in these debates seemed, to me at least, to be deeply flawed, often lacking any basis in reality at all but... one could not help but notice how the beliefs themselves, the fact of having a clear set of beliefs, was a cornerstone of these people's reality. It gave them a sense of purpose, a sense of understanding, almost a mission in life. Without it, their lives would likely have felt the poorer.

I found myself torn between the desire to inject a little realism into the discussion and the thought that, if I did, it may cause someone to begin to doubt their world view. This I was reluctant to do, after all, who was I to presume to know the answers? In some ways, I quite admired their certainties, their lack of doubt, the seeming clarity of their view. At the same time I knew it was not for me. Unlike for many Christians, faith for me is not enough. I have a preference for a more gnostic view of existence.

Back in our cabin in Cornwall, as I listened to Angela waxing lyrically about how God had a role for me and that's why he had cared for me through the difficulties and challenges of the last decade, these memories came flooding back. Although I strongly disagreed with so many of the assumptions that were being made, again the thought surfaced: what would it profit me to express such doubts? I could see the changes in Angela and how these were working to her benefit. To be honest, I would even have to admit to a slight sense of envy on my part. An envy of the certainties that such a world view gives, an envy of the sense of having the answers, even as I was equally  well aware of how deeply flawed these answers are.

Each and every one of us makes sense of our world in our own ways. Some choose religion, be they Christian, Muslim or Hindu. Some choose politics, whether they be of the right or the left. Some choose pre-packaged philosophies such as Humanism or Stoicism. Some of us even try to make sense of it in our own ways, gleaning sagacity from our own experiences and what we learn of the experiences of others. In my view, this last path is fundamentally more difficult than the others as there is no one, universally agreed, source of wisdom, no place one can always go to look up the answers. We have no Bible, no Koran, we cannot automatically reference the writings of a Karl Marx or those of a Marcus Aurelius. We quite literally have more questions than answers. What we do have though is an open mind and the humility to know that our answers might be simply that, our answers, and therefore not applicable to everyone. 
As I finish this blog for another week these musings are once more interrupted by the somewhat cacophonous bird life as it busily go about its business. For them such conjectures are meaningless. Religion, politics and metaphysics are all of profound insignificance to such fauna. Sometimes, I quite envy them too...

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...

Will any one bid two chickens?

Today my flaneurial activities find me safely ensconced in the delightfully cool environs of the Sittisang coffee house in the centre of the Chinese section of old town Kanchanaburi. It is only a few minutes past midday but already the temperature outside has climbed to the giddying heights of 35 degrees centigrade and going up. Over time, I have become acclimatised to these levels but there comes a stage as the mercury climbs above the mid 30s that one needs, if at all possible, simply to escape the heat. Fortunately, Kanchanaburi is blessed with numerous cafes many of which are air-conditioned. The tourist area down near the Kwai has many such establishments but occasionally, in the flaneurial spirit, I like to take a slow stroll downtown to areas where one scarcely sees another 'farang'.

It is curious how often in such circumstances one will come across police officers. To be fair, it is as hot for them as for the rest of us. It is a little surprising though, to me at least, to be able to spend a couple of hours composing the latest blog continuously in the company of these same gentlemen from the local constabulary. When in Thailand, and for that matter in many other Eastern countries, a certain adjustment of one's concept of the police officer and their role in society is often required. Here in Thailand it is as much an entrepreneurial activity as a public duty.

I was discussing these aspects with a Canadian ex-pat the other day. He related a situation where a friend of his, a Thai, had died in a motor cycle accident (not an uncommon occurrence here, unfortunately). The police, having gathered all the available evidence, taken all the necessary measurements and interviewed the appropriate witnesses then brought the relevant parties together and essentially asked them to make their bids. It seems that the attribution of guilt or innocence is not so much dependent on the details of the incident but on the depth of the pockets of the protagonists or, as in this case, their relatives.

Such corruption, whilst appearing to be surprising to the Western eye, is a way of life in Thailand. So normal is it in fact that the average Thai would find it curious that such events could be seen as in any way strange by a Western observer.

To be fair, this is not only the case in Thailand. For some years in the UK I assisted a young Chinese woman in her efforts to gain asylum. In her particular case the details were quite favourable to her cause but at almost every turn there was the assumption on her part of 'who do we need to pay off now?' At times, I had to restrain her from making such inappropriate offers to officials for fear of inadvertently prejudicing her case. The notion of making progress in these areas without the need to bribe anyone was completely foreign to her and difficult to understand, so normal was it to conduct affairs of this sort in such a way in the land that she originated from.

Here in Thailand corruption could almost be thought of as the basic structure that holds the society together. A complex interaction of relationships based on favours given and received. I recently read of a survey in the redoubtable Bangkok Post which asked 352 companies if they would endeavour to turn their backs on corrupt business practices. All but 9 said that they would not and, indeed, could not. Without indulging in such practices, they reasoned, how could normal business exist at all? One suspects that the 9 who thought otherwise may not have actually believed that but had merely struck what they thought to be the appropriate pose.

From the top of society to the bottom bribery, back-handers and nepotism are the norm. I read an interesting piece online recently. It told the story of the NACC (the National Anti-Corruption Commission) being called to conduct an enquiry into the conduct of some members of the government. In order to facilitate this process they were given a substantial conference room in a plush hotel in Bangkok. When the members of the anti-corruption commission discovered that the room allocated to them was overly large for their purposes they arranged for a section of it to be partitioned off and therein set up a gambling club. Over the weeks that the commission sat pontificating on weighty issues the not inconsiderable proceeds of this establishment were shared between those running the club and the commission. Such a solution would seem creative to many a Thai mind and the irony of an anti-corruption committee behaving in such a way would likely tend to escape them. One has to, however, give due respect to the committee's expertise in the field of corruption...

During a recent election in the North of the country, observers discovered that large amounts of votes had been purchased in return for livestock. Apparently the going rate was one chicken one vote. It makes a change from one man one vote, I suppose, but rather misses the point of a democratic system. When questioned about such foul/fowl practice many of those bribed in this way could see nothing wrong, viewing it as merely a transaction between a buyer and a seller. The only way that the observers could get any kind of understanding from the voters involved was by asking them if, in their opinion, their integrity was only worth one chicken. At this stage some of the voters seemed to feel slightly uneasy (chickens are generally not highly respected in Thailand) but for many it was merely a market situation and the concept of voter integrity did not really enter into their heads.

Interestingly, when questioned about other matters, these very same voters were extremely vocal in their complaints against corrupt officials and government representatives but seemed completely unable to make the connection to their own corrupt behaviour. It seems they considered themselves the victims but never the perpetrators. Corruption is a mind set here, a way of being.

As one can imagine, all this makes national politics something of a nightmare in Thailand. One corrupt regime follows another, each one seemingly even more rapacious than the last. Every now and then the army steps in to bring some resolution to the chaos but pretty soon the whole merry-go-round starts again. The current incumbent, a member of the Shinawatra family, is likely to be deposed following next weeks Songkran festival (the NACC is investigating a case which is likely to go against her). As far as I can ascertain the chief feeling against this family is that they have occupied the government long enough and it is time for someone else to take their place. It is not so much that they are corrupt, or at least not any more corrupt than those in opposition, it is just felt that they have had their nose in the trough for quite long enough and it is time for someone else to take a turn.

That someone else may end up being the formidable Suthep Thaugsuban, this despite having a murder charge hanging over his head for the last decade and allegations that his own previous administration were deeply mired in corrupt practices of their own. The voluble Suthep (he has been talking every evening for weeks in a park in Bangkok in his bid to oust the current government) is the leader of the People's Democratic Reform Committee. As noted in a previous blog, the particular element of democracy that this party wishes to reform is voting. The electorate, in their view, keeps voting for the wrong people (ie., not them), so the process is obviously in need of reform so that votes cannot actually decide the outcome and stop them holding power. An interesting way of looking at the democratic process...

Interestingly, when asked whether it would be a good idea to get outside (U.N.) observers in to monitor elections and make sure they were fair, Suthep, without the slightest awareness of the irony of his statement, said: 'I don't respect farangs.' Now, apart from the blatant racism of this statement ('farang' is basically a derogatory term for foreigners, particularly of the Western variety), its implication that the Thai electoral process needs no help from the outside seems to fly in the face of all the evidence to the contrary. What is required by Suthep and the PDRC is not so much as a fair election as one in which they are likely to win power.

Fortunately, this country runs despite its government, not because of it. The government has effectively been paralysed for several months now, not an unusual situation in Thailand, yet somehow life goes on in much the same way as ever: the businesses continue to pay the bribes, organised crime continues its presence in the administration of the country, the buses continue to be driven off viaducts on a regular basis (strangely, always as the result of brake failure according to the reports...seems oddly contagious here). Little happens about these issues because there is little public or political will to make it happen. This is Thailand and it is the way things have been done since ages past.

Despite the political impasse, people go about their normal business. The shops continue to sell their wares in the centre of Kanchanaburi. The proprietor at this café sits awaiting customers on this very hot afternoon, much as he always does. I continue to tap out my blog. Thailand remains one of the most beautiful countries I have ever visited. The fauna and flora are incredibly varied and abundant here and quite something to behold. The people themselves are friendly, charming and very easy going. The culture is also deep and fascinating. In many ways I would advise almost anyone to come and experience this remarkable land but forewarned is forearmed...

The problem is that if one ventures to spend some time in this land, one needs to understand that corruption is embedded in the very structure of life here. Given that, my best guess would be that they are about a century away from being about to run any sort of democracy actually worthy of the name here. It would not be a mere change of politics, that would be the easy part, but would require a fundamental change of culture. 

To paraphrase Abraham Lincoln's Gettysberg address, what we have here is corruption of the people, by the people, for the people. This is not likely to change any time soon. In the meantime, particularly in the upcoming months, there may be much turmoil. A good time for a nomadic flaneur to be leaving Thailand methinks...

Reckless but not wreck less...

Saturday 5th April 2014 finds Kanchanaburi recovering from the storm of the night before. I personally was on the way back from Bangkok when the storm struck. The normal two and a quarter hours for the journey stretched to nearly four hours as the rain lashed down and some of the most spectacular lightning I have ever seen lit up the paddy fields, temples and forests. As we drove along we hit streams of water flooding across the carriageway. In traditional Thai style, the driver made the usual allowance for the changing conditions... i.e., none at all. We were also slowed by the police trying to clear away the remains of an accident. A white saloon car had met head on with a small pick up truck coming in the opposite direction. Judging from the damage to the vehicles, they had probably met head on. The truck wasn't too bad but the drivers compartment of the car had been modified out of existence. I hope the driver survived but fear that is an unlikely outcome...

Arriving back in Kanchanaburi I found the town recovering from the effects of the storm. Many branches and even fallen trees littered the streets and there was still extensive flooding in some parts of town. On a happier note, the air was delightfully cool which came as something of a relief as recent daytime temperatures had often been in excess of 40C. The town itself in the area of the night market was eerily quiet and I found it something of a pleasure to stroll down the normally bustling streets in such a situation.

The Thais have a pragmatically fatalistic way of dealing with such situations and tend not to overly concern themselves about such troubles. They will merely pick themselves up, dust themselves down and start all over again. This is to be admired in many ways, such an attitude allows them to adjust relatively smoothly to coping with some fairly extreme weather and other tribulations. One could even say they can be enviably phlegmatic.

The flip side of this attitude though is an almost unbelievable recklessness that has to be experienced to be believed. I referred to this several weeks ago during my blogs from Chiang Mai. At the end of one of those I reported an accident which killed 15, mostly children, involving a long distance bus. In the few weeks since at least two more such accidents have occurred (probably more actually – I only get to hear about those involving multiple fatalities). In the first a bus plunged off the Khun Pha Muang Bridge and fell some 165 feet before hitting the ground below. 29 people came to a rather sticky end in this particular incident. The bus driver is believed to have fallen asleep. 

The second incident involved a double decker bus choosing to overtake cars whilst going down a very steep slope coming off a mountain in Tak province. The road is question is a known accident black spot (where isn't in Thailand!?). The steepness of the road is notorious but this section is also replete with S bends. None of this was apparently of much concern to the driver (he later claimed that his brakes had failed – given the nature of the road and the type of manoeuvres he was involved in it would appear hardly surprising that an 8 ton bus would be hard to stop in such circumstances). The bus smashed through a concrete barrier and tumbled over several times before coming to rest in a crumpled heap some 100 feet below. Another 30 died in this incident with 22 seriously injured casualties being taken to hospital.

Any one of these accidents happening in Europe would be considered as something of a disaster. Here in Thailand they are almost a weekly occurrence. In Europe there would be an inquiry and recommendations made to how to avoid such an accident in future. Here they just hose down the road and start again. In the words of Catherine Tate “they ain't bothered”.

Oddly, although driving standards are pretty low throughout SE Asia, Thailand has by far the worst record. Conditions aren't that radically different in Malaysia or Vietnam and yet their accident rates are far, far lower.

This recklessness isn't confined to the road but finds expression in many other aspects of life here. In a weeks time we will be starting the annual Songkran festival, or Thai New Year. For a country that already has its hair fairly low slung at the best of times they will be letting it down even more during this festival. The bars and the roads will be full of inebriated people who somehow seem to believe, much against the evidence, that misfortune will not befall them. In the week of Songkran last year 321 people died and 3040 were injured...and that is just the official figures. Reality is probably much higher.

The government's (and in Thailand one uses that term very loosely) role in all this seems to be to make the odd gesture but then carry on mcuh the same as ever. I recently read that, according to Thai government figures, only around 50% of motorcyclists wear crash helmets in this country. Having read this, and in the spirit of accurate reportage, I bought myself a coffee and sat beside the road in the tourist area of Kanchanaburi. As I slowly sipped my beverage I counted the number of compliant motorcyclists driving past. The first one hundred provided me with exactly three who actually wore a crash helmet. Now, my maths are not great but I believe that is not quite 50%, in fact, I am pretty certain that comes to a grand total of er...3%! To be fair that was just one sample on one day at one place but I think it makes the point. In Thailand the government are there to paper over the cracks, not to address the issue.

Whilst considering this week's article I came across a somewhat macabre but very typical story from the outskirts of Bangkok. Some workers found a World War 2 bomb in fields whilst digging and thought this was a chance to make a little extra money on the side. They manhandled(!) it into the back of a pick up truck and drove through the city where they deposited it a scrap merchant who paid them for their troubles. At this stage, a couple of the staff in the shop started to address the problem of what to do with such a large metalic object and decided that the best solution would be to attack it with an acetylene torch. Luckily for them, at that moment an elderly lady who had seen such things in her distant childhood warned them of the potential dangers and advised them to report it to the police. Unfortunately, with a literally breathtaking degree of recklessness, they chose to ignore her advice and continued to cut into the casing. The old lady ran...

About a minute later, as the old girl was warning her sister in a nearby house, the bomb exploded wiping out a considerable area of the local neighbourhood. The elderly lady and her sister fortunately survived, although their house was completely destroyed. The men doing the cutting died along with a couple of the workers who had found the bomb; they had decided to stick around and watch the process of the 'dismantling' of the explosive device. Altogether, seven people died and nineteen were injured.

This sort of thing is almost comic in its absurdity but entirely symptomatic of a type of craziness that seems to be uniquely Thai. In my time in the UK I recall people forever bemoaning the Health and Safety at Work Act, and with some justification. The fussiness of some of the measures taken bordered on the extreme but... when you experience a country that takes almost the polar opposite approach you begin to understand and appreciate the benefits of caution.

I recently took a stroll in Erawan National Park famous for the seven stages of its waterfall. It is indeed a beautiful sight as it cascades down the hill via a series of pools and streams. Some of the paths though are made up of bridges with planks missing, extremely slippery rocks over which water is running (often with twenty or thirty foot falls right beside), and stairways that one could only describe as rickety. None of it would be allowed to open in the UK. Here in Thailand it is not even considered a problem unless someone has an accident. There is no sense of foresight, so sense of anticipation, no concept of avoiding the problem before it happens...only the notion of clearing up the mess and starting over again once it does.

Erawan is spectacularly beautiful and quite an experience in and of itself. I would advise anyone with a love of natural beauty to go but...be cautious! There are many objective dangers and one needs to be aware that such things as the maintenance of paths, bridges and stairs have a very low priority here. One regularly sees tourists stumbling down off the mountain with all manner of cuts, sprains and bruises. At times, there is a tendency for much worse accidents to occur too.

 My time in this beautiful country is fast coming to an end and, if all goes to plan, I will be in the UK within a couple of weeks. There are many aspects to this land that are fascinating and beautiful and it truly does live up to its reputation as 'the land of smiles'. There are many aspects that I will miss greatly, particularly in regard to the sheer abundance of all things natural here. A few metres from here where I am typing these words flows the River Kwai. On its banks a person can spend many a happy hour simply observing nature in all her colourful profusion. Life teems here. Unfortunately, life is also cheap here in a way that is difficult for someone raised in Europe to comprehend. That is one aspect of this fascinating and enigmatic land that will not be missed by your nomadic flaneur...