A weekend in Thamuang; Day 3 Always Expect the Unexpected

Dawn broke and shed its watery light across the fields and the first rays of the sun broke through the tiny cracks in the window shutters of the bedroom casting a deep golden spotlight on the far wall. Small specs of dust floated silently in the beam of light and the geckos scurried back to their sleeping holes in the gaps between the wall and ceiling. I slumbered in a half sleep and listened to the sounds of another day in the village. The distant chatter from the kitchen, the motorbike along the lane with dogs running behind barking and marking their territory, or wanting to play, I don't know which. There's the call of the rooster, a duck quacking in the next field and the low bellow of the water buffalo. Now the twitter of birds revelling in the cool dewy morning swooping on the abundant insects in the rice fields. I was in a dream state happy within my soul where I was flying high and my eyes could clearly see the village below, yet someone was shouting;

'Tirak'. It was Khamma in a familiar yet unusual tone echoing off the tiles in the living room. The harsh and piercing syllables interrupted only by the sound of a door opening.

She continued to invade my dream, 'Tirak! Get up we meet my cousin to go to Ubon for table. Breakfast ready.'

There goes my lazy day, it was 7.30am and we are off again.

I showered and shaved as if my life depended on it, quickly found a clean T shirt and presented myself in the kitchen Thai. Breakfast was rice and eggs with selected pastes of fish, chillis and other Thai delights ranging in spice heat content from 'hot' to 'too hot for farang by far'!

Apparently Khamma's cousin was coming round in the pick up at 8am to take us to a particular shop in Ubon where Khamma had seen a beautiful table, but as she delightfully put it, 'Oh, expensive, Tirak. Sorry but I think expensive. What you think?'. Well until I could see it I couldn't think, but I knew Khamma's psychology was working very hard at this early hour and I felt I was being painfully, even unfairly in my drowsy state of mind, manipulated to a position where I knew there was only going to be one outcome.

I waited patiently and on the stroke of 10am the cousin arrived. On Thai time again, well it was Saturday (as if that makes a difference). So without further delay we jumped into the Toyota pick up and drove the half hour to Ubon. The table was still in the shop with big discounts draped all over it and hungry staff eager to please and to sell something on this slow, hot, baking hot Saturday morning. It was a one horse race because this table was the furniture makers equivalent of a Michelin 4 star restaurant. It was a round table with an inlaid marble base and a turntable in the middle in the Chinese style which makes handing round the food much more civilised. The six chairs were each inlaid with a marble 'eye' that is great fun when you shine a light through it. The deal was quickly done and the excitement and celebration that followed was enthusiastic, and that was just from the staff in the shop. I joined in by buying a wooden reclining chair, at which point I was elevated into celebrity class by the staff and received a plastic clock for my extravagance.

With the table and chairs safely loaded onto the pick up we drove away waving to all the staff promising to visit again. Foolishly I thought we would be going home and was beginning to plan my afternoon of reading David Guterson's unbelievably good book 'Snow Falling on Cedars', when I realised we were driving in the opposite direction. We were going to visit Khamma's aunt apparently to give her an invitation to a wedding. Khamma's niece is getting married on 1 March and it is the biggest wedding I have ever known. There are apparently 1,000 people invited, I'll write that again 'one thousand'. I don't know 1,000 people well enough to invite to anything let alone a wedding. I digress because this has to be reported on later. But we arrived at Khamma's aunt's place, and I would dearly love to have written 'house', but I can't, because there wasn't one! Well technically that's not true because they are building a new one and it is about one fifth finished. They are living in the yard. Kitchen, sitting room, bathroom and bedrooms and TV right in the middle of the yard with electricity cables running precariously from extension box to extension box and covered in mud and dust. At least the sun was shining. I would have reached for my phone to contact the UK's Channel 4 TV programme 'Grand Designs' if I had had it with me.

More out of sympathy to get Khamma's aunt out of the 'house' we ended up going to a restaurant and along the way apparently inviting more family to come and join, at my expense of course. In the end we had to put together 4 tables to seat the 12 guests at this impromptu dinner of mouth watering Thai cuisine at its best.

We eventually left the restaurant but we couldn't let the opportunity to visit Big C pass by. Actually I could but I had no say in the matter. So after buying enough washing powder to do a week's washing for the 2nd Battalion The Royal Gurkha Rifles based in Afghanistan I declared 'enough' and we started for home.

We arrived back at Owerrrouse and lovingly assembled the new addition in its prime position in the dining room. But news travels fast in Thamuang and in no time at all there was a steady stream of neighbours calling in to see what the fuss was about. Mostly the reaction was 'WOW' but the impact of the table on the family was to rearrange the dining arrangements from the kitchen Thai to the dining room. A meal of chicken and rice was quickly put together so we could christen the table and celebrate with a 'Chok Dee' toast in the new wine glasses Bell bought from Big C.

We sat around the table all evening chatting and joking. Bell stole my chair and watched TV, but at last I could indulge in a few pages from Mr Guterson's book before drifting to sleep trying to work out if Kabou had murdered Carl, or if the racial prejudice of post war US was looking for a scapegoat.

A weekend in Thamuang - Day 2; Fishing

After the morning's tumultuous events with the band and the monks' ordination there was barely time to catch my breath before Khamma reminded me that her brother and nephew were fishing with a couple of friends in a pond in the rice field at the back of Owerrrouse. In fact it was the same pond I mentioned in a blog in April last year.

http://lifeinasiaandthamuang.blogspot.com/2008/06/fishing-thamuang-style.html

The pond had been previously excavated and the soil deposited on the 'make tall' wall of Owerrrouse following it's partial collapse after heavy rain. It was now about two metres deep in places and the water pump was used to drain out enough water so that it was possible to stand up without drowning! Good progress had been made and by the time we had arrived the boys were wading neck deep trawlling a net behind them in the hope the fish would get tangled up. Their movements were slow due to their feet sinking into the mud and silt on the bottom of the pond and the weight of the net they were pulling. I was reminded of synchronised swimming as they weaved across the pond trying to make a 'basket' out the net to be lifted up out of the water by the enthusiastic onlookers. I wasn't actually sure this elaborate ducking and diving was in any way co-ordinated, but it was much better to watch than participate in, about that I was certain! I wasn't invited to take part and I didn't let my enthusiasm get the better of me, saving my ineptitude for another day.

They had a good first trawl with some fairly large catfish type specimens but mainly medium sized fish, that should really have been given a second chance, in my humble opinion.

For some reason they decided to use a second net, but this ended in comical fashion. The mesh was too fine and the water couldn't pass through making it difficult to pull. Khamma's brother, Bung, was hilarious as he tried to move forward in the sticky mud pulling a dead weight. He succeeded in quickly going nowhere except for the occasional ducking as he slipped under the water. They caught nothing and I am sure I heard the fish laughing as loud as the experts who were gathered on the edge the pond in the shade of a convenient tree.

Meanwhile Bung's son was pulling out fish from under the bank and received the unwanted attention of a leech who had taken a good hold on his shoulder. A third net appeared from somewhere and this proved to be the most successful because it had a chain weighting down the bottom edge. A few passes up and down the pond added to the catch and about 50 fish were ready for their fate on the BBQ.

As the fishermen showered and cleaned up the fishermens' wives gutted the fish and prepared several Thai style recipes including fish soup with herbs, BBQ fish basted with chilli, fried fish with vegetables and spices and tonnes of rice. There was plenty of Thai whiskey, the odd glass of beer and much needed fizzy drinks.

We all sat around the outside table in Bung's yard and chatted away talking about the ordination, the farang in the band, and I imagine a lot of other gossip I wasn't privy to.

Eventually I took myself away and left them to it. Khamma's friend had called round and they were busy chatting about husbands and children and looking at the photos from England. Occasionally I was asked a question, but I was happy to hear the lyrical tones of their chatter and imagined they were singing rather than gossiping.

The day ended with a magnificent orange sunset. The dark descends quickly and announces the end of the day and time for sleep. Thamuang's pattern is the same everyday; it is alive when there is daylight with many adventures and surprising things to do and see, but as soon as darkness arrives it is time to sleep and be at peace in this amazing place.

A weekend in Thamuang - Day 2; Playing with the Band at the Ordination of Three Monks

The previous evening Khamma had asked me if I wanted to play in the glawng neeow (the drum band). This is the village band consisting of drums of various sizes played with the hands and a single guitar like instrument with only three strings, not necessarily in tune, called a pin. The band played at the house warming last July and I was allowed to play with them as a guest. But this time was different because the band was required to lead the village procession in the celebration of three novice monks being ordained into the temple. This happens in Thamuang about two or three times a year and is a very important event for the village, and more public than a wedding. Of course I wanted to play. I had the chance of playing in the band and getting a close up view of the ordination. We quickly walked round to the village leader’s house to ask his permission. The leader said ‘yes’ and I was in!
In Thailand events such as this are ritualistic and as such they follow a certain sequence and order. Everybody seems to instinctively know what the sequence is, but nobody bothers to let me know, until somebody decides the time is right to get on with it and it’s anybody’s guess how long it will take to finish. Remember? This is Thailand.
We met at the leader’s house at 7am and I was presented with a red England football jersey, complete with the three lions badge. This is the band’s team strip for any public performance. I felt proud wearing my country’s shirt and of being a member of the band on its own terms. Before we left the house my drum was re-tuned using a block hammer and a piece of bamboo to increase the tension of the skin and produce a tighter sound.

The delicate art of drum tuning!

We walked through the village to the temple and the locals were surprised to see a farang carrying a drum with the obvious intension of playing in the glawng neeow. They laughed in good humour and, I think, were pleased a foreigner could enjoy their culture. Apparently the village leader had announced that a farang was performing with the band in his early morning broadcast around the village. As we waited at the temple the rest of the band were encouraging and guided me through the necessary rituals which pre-cede a performance. Today there was a kind of ‘wake’ for a member of the band who had recently died. We arranged the drums around the cart that carries the battery and amp and speaker for the pin and knelt down behind an assortment of the articles that must have meant something to the departed. There was Thai whiskey, cigarettes, cooling talcum powder and various flowers. A couple of candles were lit and placed on his drum and it seemed to me we just sat there for five minutes in celebration of his life. The whiskey and cigarettes were passed around for those wanted an early morning snifter and/or gasper. At this point the cooling talc was applied to the neck and face and rubbed into the hands and onto the drum skin. We were now ready, apparently, for the rousing opening number after which the procession started.

Remembering a friend

Becoming a monk is a tremendous event for a family. It is a statement by the son (girls cannot become monks) to repay his parents for his well-being, education and upbringing as a boy. I cannot see this catching on and becoming popular in England. It is one of the fundamental differences between our cultures and is founded on respect, which is something generally missing in the west.

The young monks to be

The procession round the village

The three monks each around 20 years old sat in the back of pick up trucks looking slightly embarrassed and nervous about being centre of attention. They each carried three lotus flowers, three incense sticks and a candle and were dressed in white delicate jackets. Their freshly shaven heads glistening with sweat reflected by the morning sunshine as the procession left the temple for a parade around the village. Their very proud parents and families were dressed in colourful traditional Thai suits and dresses and followed behind the pick ups carrying gifts of the practical things required for life in the temple. Next followed a group of friends and the some senior ladies of the temple who danced to the rhythm of the band which brought up the rear with me, the proud farang, trying hard to pick out the best beat for the tone of drum I was carrying.
We weaved our way through the village and those that weren’t in the procession were dancing and moving to the music as they lined up outside their houses and shops. Unsurprisingly I was picked out and pointed at and victim of comment liberally doused with the word ‘farang’. Khamma told me afterwards that the comments were friendly and generally complimentary about my playing and having the guts to join this loose bunch of the village’s men folk.

The band and the dancing girls

Eventually we arrived back at the temple and circled the temple three times before the monks to be descended from their lofty perches and threw paper flowers into the multitude which were fought over by the children because each one contained a one baht coin. This symbolised the renunciation by the monks of their worldly goods and possessions as they left their ordinary lives behind to find their Buddhist faith and beliefs.The monks then entered the sacred temple to join the already assembled most senior monks from the surrounding areas. Women are not allowed in this temple but for some strange reason they didn’t seem to mind a farang in a red England football shirt to go in a photograph the proceedings. I felt very unsure that I was doing the right thing but there were a couple of other photographers and the senior monks appeared not to care that I was present.

The serious side of the ordination

The ordination events commenced and the three monks received their new robes and changed from their white garments into the new ones. I could sense at this point it became more solemn but I stayed in the temple with my back pressed against the back wall trying to be invisible, but fascinated and taking everything in and snapping the odd picture. Soon a portly looking monk of about thirty years old got up walked to the back whilst fixing his eyes in my direction. I learnt later he is a cousin of Khamma’s but he certainly didn’t look as though he was coming to introduce himself to me. He walked outside and must have said something to somebody because as he returned into the temple he was followed by a man who could speak a little bit of English and I was politely invited to join him outside. I was very embarrassed about this as I certainly did not want to cause to offence or appear to be rude to what amounts to the most highly respected part of the village life. I didn’t know the protocol, but you can imagine how I felt as I emerged from the temple. My curiosity had a last got me in trouble and I was red carded on my debut! As I write I offer my sincere apologises to the monks and the temple and I seek a pardon for my ignorance. I have learned since that a few farangs have been in exactly the same situation. It was a very humbling experience.

The very serious part of the ordination

In fact most people had, by this time, left the temple gardens and gone home. Khamma and I did likewise and got ready for the next adventure; the afternoon fishing trip and BBQ.

A weekend in Thamuang - Day 1

I arrived at Ubon Ratchathani airport at 9am on Thursday morning and was greeted by Khamma. She looked very smart in a new black and grey dress which complimented her dark skin. It was good to be back.
On my last visit I had ordered a new pair of spectacles to replace the ones I had broken when I fell against the plate glass window of a 7/11 store in Singapore. From time to time, over the passing weeks, thoughts had crossed my mind,in preparation for the inevitable, about the various things that could go wrong. At Top Charoen opticians we were greeted by a trio of smartly dressed staff and I was instantly recognised as the ‘farang’ customer from a couple of months ago. My new frame was gently placed on my face and various measurements taken to ensure the lenses would be fitted correctly. However after a conference involving everyone except me it was decided my nose was too big! This was pretty obvious really because when you take a look at the average Thai specimen and compare the two, you will conclude the farang nose is rather big and mine is a little bit bigger than most due to genetics and getting bashed several times in my youth whilst playing football. So here is something to remember; spectacles for the Thai market do not cater for the average farang snout. There followed a lot of activity to find a replacement pair with a wide enough bridge to fit me. The search resulted in only one suitable frame out the whole stock in the shop. For better or worse, probably both, I settled for them and the lenses were fitted into their final resting place.
The one thing that cannot be done in Thailand is to rush things along at an English pace, and this is especially so in Ubon Ratchatani opticians shops when trade is slow. So about an hour later the final product appeared from out of the back room. I was asked into the fitting room, the gleaming spectacles were placed on my big nose and I was requested to read from a prepared card. I just stared at it and there was increasing concern until the three assistants in their smart uniforms and Khamma in her smart dress, realised the card was written in Thai. Laughter all round and eventually a happy ending.
We left the opticians and discovered the bus to Thamuang was not leaving for another hour so we decided to eat and Khamma chose a café that made Greasy Gwens roadside takeaway look like a Gordon Ramsey Five Star! We had the ‘all in’ beef noodle which would give a Big Mac a run for its money. It literally included the guts and intestines as well as the chewy meat and gristle and noodle designed to look like the entrails. It was surprisingly tasty but I thought I was letting myself in for trouble with a dose of the early morning Thamuang two step shuffle.

The new garden

The new chicks

The rising football stars

Back in Thamuang I found a few new additions to Owerrrouse. A vegetable garden has been created and is coming along nicely even though the hot sun this time of year is parching everything to a cinder. But chilli peppers are thriving and the tropical shrubbery will need some harsh control in about six months time. Most surprising is the addition of half a dozen four day old chickens. I don’t think we can afford to become too attached to them though because they are being fattened up for the table and will ready in four months time. In the rice field directly behind the house a football pitch has been created complete with bamboo goal posts. Each evening from about 4.30 it seems nearly every boy in the village aged between 10 and 15 turns up for a game. It reminds me so much of my youth at ‘the Rec’ where each summer we play everyday regardless of the weather and how many on each side. I hope Peter Reid the manager of the Thailand national team is reading this because he could do worse than keep an eye on the young tigers from Thamuang. Eventually when it is too dark to see the ball everybody goes home. It is an amazing gesture from Khamma and her brother that they allow all these kids to run around in what amounts to their back garden every day. Even the ball they use is the one I bought for Yo about a year ago. The boys are so well behaved and they follow the rules very fairly with no arguing or fighting. But not content with just a football pitch there is also a beach volleyball court.
After a family meal Khamma and I left the whiskey drinkers and joined other party animals at the local temple where there was a fairground and a stage with live Morlam music. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Morlam it is ‘the music of Issan’, which is the name given to this area of Thailand. Some of it is actually quite catchy as it basically follows a western rhythm and beat, but there is a hard core element that is very similar to story telling and therefore a little bit beyond the understanding of the farang. The gig was predictably hard core and everybody seemed to be enjoying the festivities. For me the main focus was on an instrument called a ‘karn’ (possibly wrong spelling). It is a version of the pan pipes but produces an ethereal sound, very earthy and mysterious. It doesn’t look that easy to play but the additional skill seemed to be following the singer as she weaves her story about daring adventures and comical stories from the Issan region.
So the eventful first day back in the village drew to a close, and on the way back to Owerrrouse we could see the stars and galaxies, and I couldn’t help thinking that the global economic troubles, wars and suffering was passing by this part of the world, leaving it in peace to have fun.

The Morlam gig at the temple

Hong Kong's Brighter Side of Life

I am, on the whole, a person who likes to make the most of whatever comes my way. The last weekend was full of opportunity and surprises and now I am basking in that blissful state that is enjoyed after everything has gone well and every minute has been packed with fresh and exciting things that will be looked back on with fond memories. Except Monday was a pig of day back in the office. However..........

The only disappointment was the weather and whilst it didn't rain, it was cloudy, humid and warm. But I had to bear in mind what the weather was doing and what it might do, and plan accordingly. Throughout the previous week I was looking forward to walking high in the hills, but sadly as the day dawned on Saturday morning the cloud was shrouding everything above fifty metres and it was pointless spending effort plodding upwards and seeing nothing except the droplets of sweat dripping from the end of my nose. So I decided to visit the town of Stanley and hope, rather than presume, that the weather would be different on Sunday. Well of course it wasn't but that gave me the opportunity to walk around the island of Cheung Chau.

Stanley by the sea

Stanley is odd name for a town and it evokes memories of explorers in Africa, footballers in Newcastle, Blackpool and Accrington and a comedian called Stanley Unwin once famous for mangling English pronunciation (Goldiloopers and the Three Bearloaders), deep joy, oh yes! Hong Kong's version is a sea side town which, in my opinion is a little trumped up. I wasn't sure whether it was promoting its market, its closeness to the sea, its many restaurants, or just a good place to go enjoy all of these things and be seen by everybody else as you do. On the whole it didn't do a great deal for me except satify my curiosity, and I was grateful for a grey Saturday afternoon in which to do it. Maybe it was because Saturday was Valentine's Day and whilst Khamma and I had spoken first thing in the morning to exchange our love for each other (OK, I'll spare the gush), the place was swarming with 'Love's young things' publicly expressing what they probably do all year in private anyway, or, maybe at last they had found the romantic excuse to really say what had been burning in their hearts for so long, but couldn't just find the courage, or the moment, to come out and say it before.

'Love.....is the principle means of escape from the loneliness which afflicts most men and women throughout the gretaer parts of their lives' Bertrand Russell

Sunday's weather promised as much as Saturday's did, so I decided on a low level stroll on Cheung Chau island which is about a 45 minute ferry ride from Central Hong Kong. The boats can carry up to about 500 people and they sail every half hour, and amazingly they are always full. Well at $16 each way it is a rare bargain in this town. The city buildings quickly disappeared in the mist on a day when the sky came to earth.

Hong Kong's misty shore

A huge spider like creature surfaced silently from the depths of the South China Sea

The ferry was announcing its arrival with solemn, long, dull drawn out drones from its fog horn and fishing boats appeared like giant spiders on the calm flat sea as we entered Cheung Chau Wan. Onshore we were greeted by a colourful dragon dance display accompanied by raspingly out of tune symbols and drums being enthusiasically bashed in no particular rythmn by a band of young men still celebrating the Chinese New Year. The town was busy with an array of restaurants intermingled with cheap souvenir shops, super markets and everything else the shopkeepers tell you you need but somehow, you have a spent your lifetime so far surviving perfectly well without it.

Dragon Dance

I walked to the south and before long was free of the town centre and the crowds and entered a car less, couldn't careless world which was so laid back it was almost flat on the floor. Every few yards or so there was something new; the group of laughing and giggling Filipino domestic helpers packing under sized boxes with over sized goodies for their families back home. The long boats used to race across the harbour, the temples, the sampans, the wobbly bikes with their equally wobbly riders.

The concrete ribbon hugging the shore

The sign posts pointed to Cheung Po Tsai cave but it was disappointing as caves go. The concrete path stretched out like a grey ribbon hugging the coastline with occasional steps carefully inlaid where it was too steep. By magic the sun appeared as if it knew I wanted to meet and greet it. Passing by Reclining Rock I found the picturesque Pak Tso Wan beach deserted except for a group of boisterous youths enjoying a swim and having a BBQ. Onwards and pass by the cemetery where briefly the mist rolled in from the sea making it difficult to define where the graves ended and the sea began.

The dead centre of Cheung Chau

Further pass the squatter houses, the religious retreats for the Catholics, the Buddhists, the Luthereans, the Bible Society, the Salesians, the Salvation Army, the Alliance Bible Society and the Xaverians and the Jockey Club of Hong Kong. Not to mention the temples, the shelters and sitting out areas and even the Round Table. If that isn't enough to guide or rejuvenate your spirit and belief there is the Self Help CARE village presumably extending a warm welcome to come inside and join in and well, help yourself!

Nam Tam Wan

I had lunch at Nam Tam Wan where there is a temple that keeps turtles in a strange concrete structure that may once have been a water butt. The bay is perfect and I watched a young man painting a sheet of corrugated iron with gloss paint and then reattach it to the roof to make a metal patchwork quilt. The path changed into a endless track of carefully laid cobbles which was affectionately called the Mini Chinese wall. I can image it will still be there in a thousand years time like its big brother in the north. Back along the beach to the north of the island where there is steep climb followed by steep drop to the isolated Tung Wan Tsai which is littered with plastic bottles and polystyrene foam blocks washed up from the sea and displayed on the beach as cheap trophies won by human mankind in the race for materialism , by you and me actually, the guardians of the planet. This eyesore was in stark contrast to the contribution made by nature and the beautiful dense bamboo trees spilling down the headland in a tropical garden overflowing with bird life. Nature's full force defiant to the ribbons of smelly rubbish washed up and dumped on the beach.

The Mini Wall of China

Looking to the south

Taken from the same spot looking to the west

Back on the trail and over the hill to the west coast and back to town passing the ice factory, the ship yard, the rickshaws and the endless restaurants and more shops selling more stuff. The ferry goes back every thirty minutes so the only decision is when to leave this part of Hong Kong where the brighter side of life shines through whilst the rest of Hong Kong was in its shroud of mist.

The Gold Coast - 'Where the Livin is Easy'

Looking back from the Golden Beach towards the concrete towers of Gold Coast Residences

At last I have replaced the camera that was stolen over Christmas and with the glorious weather over the weekend there was no excuse to delay trying it out. I decided to walk along the Gold Coast beach to the town of Tuen Mun about a couple miles west of where I live. The golden sandy beach stretched out before me and the water wasn't as cold as thought it might be, well at least for paddling it wasn't, swimming would be a different proposition. The weather was warm enough for sun bathing although I don't think the Chinese like to stay in the sun and they share the Thai pre-occupation for turning white. But there was plenty of activity and families with small children enjoying building sand castles and frolicking in the zone where the waves break on the beach. I imagine the beach will be crowded in a few weeks time when the weather really picks up.

I wandered around and eventually found a small pier with a sign that informed the reader that fishing was banned. Needless to say there were about ten people trying their luck for a fresh fish supper. Nobody caught anything whilst I watched for twenty minutes or so.

Hopelessly optimistic - but it passes an hour or two

Walking around a small bay I came across the fish market although it was the wrong end of the day to see it in full flow. In Chinese fish markets the fish are kept alive and are only killed when they are sold. This guarantees freshness but they have to swim in confined tanks for a few hours. In some of the very local markets you see filleted fish with the heart of the fish still beating which I presume continues to pump a little blood around its body. It is hard for me to have any feelings one way or the other. I can only guess the fish are less than delighted about their fate, but this has been going on for centuries so who am I to criticise. There will be things we do in the west that just as debatable to the eastern cultures. Anyway it is still interesting to see the different varieties of fish and shell fish and octopus.

Snails

Behind the market is a fence that has been half pulled down by people wanting to go through onto a very long pier that looked as though it was going somewhere, but I couldn't see where. That morsel of curiosity was enough for me to go through and walk to the end. It was very untidy and littered with all sorts of rubbish, and signs warning that rat bait had been set, but the boats moored up either side were great photo opportunities. I expected to find a body disposed by some gang in a revenge attack over a shady deal that went wrong, but all I did find was more hopeful fishermen with more patience than fish to eat.

I walked back along the Golden Beach and returned home just as the sun was setting.

View from the front room

Over the weekend I received the sad news that a distant friend had died whilst climbing in the English Lake District. He was a very modest, quiet and friendly person. The type of person it was easy to get along with. He was an excellent climber and one I looked at in awe of what he could do. But I will always remember meeting him at Dove Stones in Saddleworth whilst I was running and he was walking. We chatted for ages about this and that but mainly that he just retired from teaching because he was disillusioned about the system. A bit of the rebel was inside him, he was swimming against the flow. Most of my friends are like this and so am I. So it is real shock when news like this filters through. It is very close to home.

His death is untimely of course but it is a reminder that life is short and unpredictable. You have to go with your instinct because you just don't know. One second everything is ok, the next one it isn't.

Any news from Thamuang?

It has occurred to me that I haven't mentioned anything about Thamuang for a long time. The thing is there is not much happening. It is the season where the rice fields are just left to recover and attention turns to repairing, building and maintaining the houses and machinery. Many of the menfolk have been lucky to find building work in various temples or house building projects, but this work is often in far flung villages meaning they have to stay away from home for a few weeks. The womenfolk are making gardens or burning charcoal for the Thai kitchen cooking pots. Khamma is working hard burning all the bits of wood left over from the house building. She makes a fire then buries it in soil and lets it smoulder for a day or two after which it is transformed into charcoal. Easy as that but it is hard work and as far as I can gather the production isn't all that high. It is a traditional low cost (no cost) way to make fuel and even though she doesn't really need to, Khamma is very keen on maintaining this way of life.

She has started to make a vegetable garden in a corner plot at the front of the house. She will grow chili, coriander and that sort of thing to supplement the mushrooms and bamboo shoots. One her main problems is to stop the free range chickens from destroying her efforts. It is a relatively stress free life she leads! Thankfully Khamma is fully recovered from the illness she had in England.

Khamma's sister is getting married to Jean Luc from Toulouse in France this year. There has been lots of 'toing and froing' to Bangkok to get visas, but it looks like everything is getting sorted out. The wedding will take place in France and then there will be a Thamuang wedding towards the end of the year. Also one of Khamma's many nieces is getting married to a local young man in March and I have been asked to play in the band following my debut performance at Owerrrouse warming last July, but sadly I cannot be there. The groom is expected to pay a dowry or 'sinsot' to the bride's family. It is an old tradition and to be fair most of the money is spent on the party which can last all day and all night, but I expect some money will be kept back one way or another. The sinsot and buying gifts can add up to quite a bit, but worth every penny.

There have been some events at the school with the boy scouts putting on a gang show and Yo apparently had some part to play which was very good.

The weather has been blisteringly hot with no rain so I imagine by about mid-day everybody stops work and either sleeps or chats for the afternoon whilst lying in a hammock sipping tea.

I am looking forward to going to the village for a long weekend in a couple of weeks time. There is a just a hint in the Thai newspapers that the unrest seen towards the end of last year might resurrect itself again at the same time. Unbelievably it is the red shirts this time around that are unhappy with the current government and Thaksin is making stronger claims he is going to come back to Thai politics. First one side then the other each demanding the impossible. Still if they do close the airport for a couple of weeks I can make sure the chickens don't eat the plants in Khamma's garden.

Yu Sheng - the Symbol of Abundance, Prosperity and Vigor

This week I returned to Singapore for a few days to review some work. It was like returning home and although I had only been away for a couple of months I quickly blended into the familar surroundings. Singapore is much cleaner, less hectic and more friendly than Hong Kong and it is obvious straightaway.

I like the way the city is divided into cultural districts and I wandered around Little India, Bugis and City area near Raffles. The airport is quiet after the Chinese New Year but like everywhere else around the world they are feeling the pinch as passenger numbers drop and those that do travel are not spending anywhere near as much cash.

I met up with colleagues who have become very good friends and visited a restaurant in the airport called 'The Soup Restaurant'. Inside it is decorated in an old traditional style with bamboo walls, round tables and low stools that look drums. It was easy to forget we were in the airport and I must have passed the place a hundred times before without going in. The restaurant style is based on days gone by when red and blue hatted womenfolk worked as labourers in the rebuilding of Singapore. They were known as Samsui and they were frugal, dogged and hard working. They originated from mainland China and moved to Singapore to earn money to send back to their families. There are overtones here with the Filipino domestic workers. Their favourite dish was chicken served with a ginger sauce and cucumber wrapped in a lettuce leaf. Today the dish is served on a huge plate with the chicken and cucumber beautifully arranged around the centre piece of ginger sauce. It is a very tactile dish and can be a bit messy, but it is delicious.

The Chinese New Year seemed to be lingering in Singapore as we ordered a traditional dish called Yu Sheng which is eaten around the second week after the New Year day. It consists of some twenty seven ingredients but predominantly raw salmon, shredded carrot and turnip, with a mixture of oils, spices and seeds. There is also pepper, Chinese crackers, limes and a hint of plum sauce. It is brought to the table on a large plate and the colourful display demanded respect and conversation as we told by the waitress how this dish is supposed to bring good luck, fortune and health. The idea is that the people eating the dish should pick up their chopsticks and mix the dish in a frenzy of laughter whilst shouting loud wishes for good luck, health and prosperity. The higher you toss the food the stronger the wishes become and the louder you shout the greater your chances of achieving your wishes. It is great because you can make a mess, make a noise and make friends with everybody else in the restaurant as they watch and share your amusement and desires. The odds that the wishes will come true are better than those for winning the lottery jackpot! The taste was amazing and even though it was just an appetiser I could have finished another plate.

But the best bit was that the next day we did it all over again in the office. What a fantastic spontaneous time we had. About twenty of us joined in and created a great atmosphere where for a few moments we were joined together in a great Chinese tradition where we were all equal and created spirit and harmony. I know that has a hint of a Chinese cliche, but it was true. It was also something we could learn from.

Sadly I returned to the hard faced competitive city of Hong Kong where the spirit is wandering about and doesn't know how to spin its web to bring people together like its cousin in the south.

Yu Sheng

We'll Keep a Welcome in the Hillside

This is the title of the one the greatest Welsh choral pieces and sums up the spirit of comradeship I have always found in the hills and mountains of Great Britain. In the Powsers we often mused over the greetings between fellow mountaineers and how it varies from the car park to the top of the mountain. You will find that car park greetings, or the exchange of a cheery 'good morning', at the start of a day can be restricted to a muffled 'hello' at best, or, at worst totally ignored. In truth the latter example is usually the behaviour of the car park tourist; the specimen that rarely leaves a radius of 100 yards from his car and has his lunch in the pub. He never goes to the Lake District or North Wales between September and May and usually wears white trainers, his favourite team's football shirt and a baseball cap with NYC on the front.

As you move away from the car park and start a long energy sapping climb up a steep hill and meet other like minded groups you can often not only exchange a greeting but a comment or two on either the weather or steepness of the climb. A kindred spirit and a recognition that you are conjoined in the simple pleasure of walking.

Then as you reach the open tops and stride out in freedom and fresh air and with the breeze blowing in your face you meet others going their choosen way and spontaneously start a cheery quippy conversation on the lines of; 'It's a bit blowy today init?', or 'Hey up, you're goin well, pal'. The witty response would go something like 'Aye! It blows out the cobwebs dunt it' or 'There's along way to go yet, but it's a grand un today int it?'.

When you reach the summit of a big hill you often find that others there will greet you like an old lost favourite cousins from years ago. The joint sense of achievement, pleasure and enjoyment have transcended everything. Everyone around you is your alley and you share your love of the mountains and all that goes with it.

It is often the same at the end of the day as you sup on that thirst quenching pint of Jennings bitter (if you are in the Lakes), or a good pint of Robbie's (if you are in Wales), or a pint of Black Sheep (if you are in the Peak District). The comradeship draws a conversation and the banter begins. You had better watch out because everybody gets a share and you have to give back as good as you get!

I think this is typical of the British sense of humour and it is a rare find outside the brotherhood of British mountaineering. The French mountaineers can be 'stand offish', perhaps taking things too seriously. This is especially the case in the Alps if you happen to cross the path of guide, he will go out of his way to cut you up for daring to go onto the same mountain as him. The Scandinavians just show you up with their expert skills and innate confidence. In Nepal the Sherpas will bring you early morning cups of tea and do everything they possible can to make sure you are having a great time.

These are good times that make walking in the hills a great day out. The fellowship of man and a welcome in the hillside being stoked up and kept warm for the next time you go out, rain or shine!

Unfortunately the pleasure of 'sharing the good times' with 'your fellow mountain walker' hasn't reached the hills of Hong Kong. Whilst on yesterday's little jaunt, although I didn't see a great number of people the majority I did see were Chinese, and they passed by as if I was invisible. With eyes forward and head still there was no way they would say hello or share their thoughts. Hell bent on moving in a straight line. I tried to coax an utterance on several occasions and received looks as though I was about to mug somebody. I met a few Germans, a cluster of French, a bevvy of Aussies and a fit British bird and received greetings from each of them that brought a spring in my step. But the Chinese contributed nothing. Not a sausage! It was as though we were in the middle of Kowloon each protecting our own little space. Pity really.

Walking in Hong Kong's mountains

Despite Hong Kong's large population there is a distinct shortage of decent bookshops. Eventually I found the Kelly and Walsh store in the Pacific Place shopping mall in Admiralty, and even that is quite small when compared to Borders or Waterstones in the UK. But my luck was in because I purchased the rather grand sounding 'The Serious Hiker's Guide to Hong Kong'. I noted three points about the title; firstly the correct use of the apostrophe after the shameful decision by Birmingham City Council to totally ignore correct punctuation and drop it from all their roadsigns! Secondly the similarity to the title of the book 'The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy' and the thoughts that conjures up! Finally the use of the word 'serious', and I dwelt on the last point because it seemed more practical. I thought as I am living on my former glories as a 'serious' mountaineer, I qualify at least in part to be a serious hiker, after all I am still a member of the Powsers Mountaineering Club and the Rucksack Club. But I wondered how 'serious' it could get in Hong Kong. I also bought a good map of the North West New Territories and also 'Terrorist' by John Updike mainly out of curiosity because he died this week and was very much acclaimed by the BBC World Service on the radio.

After purchasing a cheap pair of 'all terrain' trainers I was armed with the essentials and I spent Saturday evening studying the book and the map to work out my first Hong Kong route. On Sunday morning I got out of bed early and promptly changed it to something less ambitious by deciding on walking a section of the Hong Kong trail.

My first challenge was to get to the start of the route and that meant catching a number 6 bus from Admiralty. Given that I had no idea where the bus stop was I was pretty lucky to find it without too much hassle but then I was quickly on to challenge number two; where to get off it. This was a little more tricky but I figured that bus had climbed steeply out of the city and had reached a col where the descent into Stanley could be seen. This had to be the stop but I was assisted in my decision making by a mass exodus from the bus as about twenty odd other like minded citizens alighted at the same stop. That was the hard bit over now for challenge number three; the walk from Wong Nei Chung Gap to Tai Long Wan. It doesn't have the same ring as Kinder Scout to Laddow Rocks but it is about the same distance, and there the similarity ends!

The walk itself was straightforward and there was no need for a map although the guide book was useful with little descriptions and stories with historical anecdotes. I suppose what struck me was the magnificent views overlooking Hong Kong and Kowloon; it is a huge metropolis and I wondered how it copes with all the people who live amongst it. The other point was a distinct lack of people walking in the hills which are only a twenty minute bus ride from the city. There was a real sense of being at one with the sun and wind at my back.

At first I thought the concrete steps and paths had been laid in selected places where the erosion must be particularly bad. The heavy rains will leave their mark as the water cascades from the hills, but after walking for more than an hour with concrete underfoot I realised this was the policy of the Country Parks Commission of Hong Kong, and to be fair it is mentioned in the book. At times it spoilt the walk, and it played havoc with my knees and feet, but the concrete ribbon does keep everything in its place in this fragile environment. The views distracted me from this irritation and I was determined not to be grumpy about it.

The view from Jardine's Lookout over Hong Kong and Kowloon on the opposite shoreline

Looking south towards Stanley

That said the first section had a couple of 'big pulls' up fairly steep hill sides which got the pulse ticking and the sweat glands mobilised, and every 'up' seemed to have an equal 'down' to keep the equilibrium and I still find myself asking the question 'is it easier to come down, or is it easier to go up?' The concrete steps featured very strongly in trying to answer this question, but I still couldn't decide.

After leaving Jardine's Lookout at 433 metres and passing over Mount Butler at 436 metres I arrived at Tai Tam by descending 599 concrete steps (no I didn't count them the information is conveniently supplied in the book)! The next section was easier but involved walking a fair distance on a tarmac road which was traffic free and through a pleasant wood. There was a short section through some idyllic woodland (on proper dirt!) until I popped out at Tai Tam Bay and crossed the road to join the water catchment drainage system that contours around Obelisk Hill. This again is on concrete but the path was made when the water catchment drains were constructed. I can only assume that this foresight opened up the area for outdoor enthusiasts like me, so that's ok. Again there were few people on the trail as it wound its way round the hill and through the trees which gave way occasionally to views of the coast and the sea below.

Tai Tam Bay

Eventually I finished on the beach at Tai Long Wan and enjoyed a small beer with a plate of egg fried rice. That was 15 kilometres (or 11 miles in old currency) and overall it was good value.

Tai Long Wan beach

There was still a challenge to get back home and this involved climbing 600 steps to the road and the number 9 bus back to Shau Kei Wan and the train. The climb was a true sting in the tail but the bus arrived as I reached the top of the stairs and it dropped me off right next to the station.

It was a good day out and I thoroughly enjoyed getting back into the hills, perfect weather and an excellent introduction to the 'serious hiking' of Hong Kong. One final thought; I decided the use of the word 'serious' is directed more towards the concrete and the steps. Now I am forewarned.