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...

Resistance is Futile...

During the past two weeks, the relentless heat of March in Thailand been happily punctuated by the occasional, and much appreciated, thunderstorm. The rain lashes down in huge torrents, often accompanied by rumbling thunder and sheet lightning. Experiencing such a downpour in itself is a pleasure in this climate and, barring dangers of the electrical nature, it is actually quite enjoyable to wander along the street and allow yourself to be well and truly soaked in such a way. Within the hour the rain will be gone again and you will find your clothes drying quickly as the sun resumes its normal intensity.

In this country the heat is more or less continuous and one needs to be aware of the constant threat of de-hydration. Luckily the distractions of flaneurial lifestyle tend to take care of any dangers of that sort; here in Kanchanaburi there is a wide choice of cafes and eateries for one to retire to should one feel the need. There are also the pleasures of cartons of frozen latte to be indulged in, perhaps one of the most quenching of drinks, although maybe not the most healthy. Many roadside retailers offer this option.

To survive and even thrive in such heat one needs to adopt a certain attitude, to be capable of a certain resignation, or even surrender, to the inevitable. Wasting energy wishing things were somehow different just leaves you even more frustrated. Resistance is futile, as famously pointed out during a famous sci-fi series of recent times. This attitude can be useful to adopt in many areas of life and it is very much part of the culture in many Eastern countries, particularly those which have adopted Buddhism as their national religion or where that spiritual discipline exerts a strong influence. In the West, on the contrary, we are often exhorted to 'fight the good fight' and to give battle to all manner of things that we disapprove of. The symbolism involved, even the language itself, is that of war. We feel we have to 'struggle to survive' every day, or we are told that we need to 'overcome our weaknesses'. These pervasive uses of language often affect us without our even realising. We live in cultures where these pugilistic assumptions come built in.

The Thais, on the contrary, do not feel the need to spend their whole lives struggling, to waste energy complaining about the inevitable. This attitude can be very frustrating when one is first exposed to it. Coming from the West, or even as in my case, via the frenetic anthill that is China, there is a 'things need to be done and done now' assumption in our interactions. To come from this into a culture of acceptance, of surrender to the inevitable, can come as something of a culture shock to many.

Our predominant and pervasive state of being in the West seems to be that of being continuously wound up about one thing or another. We are worried about our jobs, our pensions, our families, the state of the world and the other people on the road who always seem to be intent on cutting us up and rendering our journeys as frustrating as possible... and that is just the phenomena we perceive as outside of ourselves. On the inside there is the constant dialogue, the shoulds and the shouldn'ts, the musts and the mustn'ts... worrying about the things that went wrong in the past or those that might go wrong in the future. Even worrying about ourselves and who or how we are.

It is tempting may think of this as a modern problem but it has plagued humanity for thousands of years. About two and a half millennia ago a wandering ascetic by the name of Siddhartha Gautama understood this as the human condition and decided that he wanted to find a way, or a path, around it. In order to do so he resolved to sit and meditate beneath a bodhi tree and not stop until he had found the solution to the problem. According to legend, he meditated for forty days and forty nights before the solution was clear to him. After his enlightenment, Siddhartha Gautama became known as the Buddha, or 'the Awakened One'. So began the practice of Buddhism.

For those of us in the West used to having our religions defined by theology and by faith, Buddhism comes as something of a challenge. In fact, many would not consider it a religion at all. Certainly the Buddha made no claims to Godlike status although many followers since have chosen to deify him. He himself said little on the issue believing it to be irrelevant to his teachings. He was far more interested in the practice of these ideas than in theological discussion. In this sense, Buddhism is more a philosophy, or even a form of psychology, than a religion. In essence, one can be adopt Buddhist practices without contradicting one's own religious beliefs in the slightest. A Christian employing these techniques is likely to end up a better Christian, a Jew a better Jew, a Hindu likewise.

At base, Buddhism is concerned with following a path that enables us to escape our essentially self-inflicted sufferings. It does this by getting us to follow ethical and disciplinary practices that aim to allow us to achieve a sense of space between our selves and the thoughts, emotions and concerns that monopolise our minds. Perhaps the most basic practice of all, and one which has been explored very thoroughly in Buddhism, is that of meditation.

Now, there are many, many different techniques of meditation taught within Buddhism and within other spiritual schools; far, far too many for an article such as this to go into in any depth. For the sake of simplicity I will refer to just two of the main practices: Anapanasati and Vipanassana.

Anapanasati may sound like a starter that you might order in an Italian restaurant but it has, in fact, little to do with Mediterranean cuisine. It is perhaps the most basic of meditation technique and is often used to help beginners at the start of their practice. In itself, anapanasati has many forms but they all revolve around the idea of paying attention to the breath. The breath was chosen as a focus in this way because it is always available to us. Perhaps the simplest technique within these forms is where one is encouraged to focus on the sensation of the breath at the tip of the nose; focus on the breath going in; focus on the gap as the breath changes direction; focus on the breath going out. That's it! It really is that simple. At the start you may wish to do this for 15 minutes or so. You can count if you wish, one as the breath goes in, two as it goes out. Or even countdown from ten to one with each cycle of breathing. It really doesn't matter too much which form you adopt but what does matter is building the ability to keep the mind focussed on a single point.

Anapanasati can be thought of as the mental equivalent of callisthenics, or basic exercises for the mind. You are simply building up the ability to stay with a single idea. Sound simple? Try it for 15 minutes and see how often your mind wanders off in that time. You may well be surprised. When it does wander though, as it inevitably will, don't scold yourself or become frustrated. This is where the attitude of acceptance comes in. You simply accept the fact that it has wandered and gently return your focus to your breathing. There is no 'fighting the good fight' here, no struggling with yourself, just acceptance, gentleness, and determination. When you first start this practice do not be surprised if your mind wanders dozens of times during that quarter of an hour but, over time, and much like physical exercise, you will gradually find that you are able to maintain that focus more and more as your powers of concentration grow. As they do so you may also begin to notice a certain peacefulness coming over your mind and your attitudes generally.

If Anapanasati is the beginner's exercise in meditation and concentration then Vipanassana can be thought of as the ideal technique for the more advanced. Having said that, it is still remarkable simple in concept and execution. Vipanassana, in the ancient Sankskit, actually means to see things as they really are. In that sense, it is perhaps one of the most profound of meditation practices. It is a process of self-observation and a realisation of the gap between awareness and the things that pass through awareness. Essentially, with this process, one becomes aware that thoughts come and thoughts go but awareness remains. Emotions come and emotions go, but awareness remains. All sort of mental activity comes and goes again, but that essential level of awareness remains. You learn, over time, to stop identifying yourself with the passing thoughts, the passing emotions and the passing mental activity and instead identify with that inner awareness; that which remains whether particular thoughts, emotions or mental activity are there or not. We tend to believe that we are our concerns, our worries, our fears. Using Vipanassana allows the practitioner the inner space and calmness to realise that we are not these things. They are just passing phenomena. They come, they go again; that essential awareness that we are at a deeper level remains.

Many Thais are taught these practices in monasteries and temples throughout the land. Some may spend many months in the practice, some even years. They then take these trainings and attitudes back to their local communities. Perhaps this is another reason why Thailand is known as 'the land of smiles'. People here are generally not 'wound up' the way that we so often are in Europe and America. They have a certain lightness of being that allows them to deal with the demands of life with an enviable equanimity. Many Westerners come to learn these techniques and spend weeks in retreats. Some of these retreats are of the silent variety. The would be practitioner is not allowed to communicate with others on the course, not even through gesture. It is that this outer quietness will reflect, eventually, on the inside. Often they will come out of the training profoundly changed. Their troubles may not have disappeared but how they respond to them has changed fundamentally.

To have this freedom from the need to control, to comment (internally or externally), to react to the passing problems and troubles we all have to face on a regular basis, is a liberation indeed. When one meets people who have just been through such a training one is often struck by the peacefulness and the quietness that emanates from them. They seem to feel no need to be anything other than what they already and truly are. An effortless, an ease, a calmness seems to pervade all they do and their every expression.

Some lucky souls seem to have this inner peace quite naturally. Somehow they escaped the need for self criticism and self correction that so many of us feel. No one ever taught them to be that way and it sometimes comes as a surprise to them when they learn of the struggles that the rest of us routinely go through.

 I remember years ago reading of the great golfer, Sam Snead, known for the beautiful fluidity of his golf swing (and for being an all-round pleasant individual). He was once asked by a coach what he thought about when he swung. The coach was interested in how he could use the great golfer's mental approach and technical understanding to improve his student's game. Snead looked at the man quizzically for a couple of seconds and then reflected on the question for a while longer. Finally, after considering his answer for quite some time, Snead looked back to the coach and simply replied: “Nothing – nothing at all.”

Lazy Bones

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Methinks me thinks too much....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Just do it!