What on Earth are They Thinking About?

We all make mistakes from time to time, especially at work. Some of us live in dread of the consequences of a wrong decision here or a misplaced judgement there, and as you get older and wiser the fear of the mistakes doesn't diminish. But I suppose as one gets older other people's mistakes can be judged using an accumulation of experience gained over one's lifetime. But occasionally some mistakes of monumental proportion hit the headlines that it beggars belief what was going on in the person's head.

I have come across two such instances this week and I have to share them with you, dear reader.

Firstly there is the unbelievable admission by the owners of the new Wembley Stadium that the micro climate generated by the design of the stadium is detrimental to the growing conditions required by the grass on the pitch. Excuse me for being thick but isn't this the national stadium, designed at phenomenal expense, and over spent by who knows what the real amount was? Isn't the primary purpose of Wembley Stadium to watch football matches on a pristine pitch? I wish I could see the terms of reference and the objectives of the project. I bet somewhere it mentions football and pitch in the same sentance. It is a disgrace and an insult to the football public of England for FA to say we built you a stadium fit for a World Cup final, but we forgot about the pitch. What rubbish!

The other big monumental mistake was made in New York City Hall yesterday. Somebody in there gave permission for a 747 plane, owned by the President of America, and an air force jet fighter, owned by the US Air Force, to fly together at low altitude over the city. His mistake was he didn't tell any of New York's residents, not even the City Mayor knew what was going on. What would you do if you were walking down 5th Avenue, looked up, and saw these aircraft flying very low? Would you think 'Oh, look they are flying a bit low'. Or would you think 'Gez H Christ, get the *%^k out of here now' and run like crazy just in case you were about to die from a terrorist attack or yet another crashed aircraft that failed to take off from JFK, Newark or La Guardia? This city doesn't need reminding of 9/11, or airplanes landing on the Hudson river, but the stupid, idiot, moron 'son of a bitch' in the City Hall does! What a dense pillock.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_depth/8022881.stm

Double click on the link to see BBC footage.

Normal service will resume tomorrow.

More Songkhran and a School Re-Union

There was one more push to squeeze the final amount of money out of the merit seeking villagers. The band was to meet in the late Sunday afternoon sunshine, we then started in turn from several households scattered at the four corners of the village to escort the family through the streets back to the temple. During the morning the families were busy creating more elaborate floral displays with money inter twinned with wild flowers, leaves and other foliage in a bed of rice. Two or even three households teamed up together and there was unofficial competition between them to see who danced the best, who looked the best, which display was biggest and who was the loudest. No prizes except increased pride!

I was tired and my hand was sore, but I wanted to play and so I met the boys at roughly the arranged time, give or take an hour, and we walked a short distance to the first house. With the family in procession we set off in a noisy but rhythmic parade to the temple. The family danced, the children ran in between them, the cats and dogs dived for cover. This carried on all afternoon until the sun set. We made five or six escorts back to the temple and then collapsed in a heap. It was less formal than the previous day, but the band plays on and plays its heart out.

The next day was the main songkhran day. This is the day when everybody, and I mean everybody, gets a good soaking. The only exceptions are the old and frail, pregnant ladies and grumpy men. We decided to go to a beauty spot about eighty kilometres away called '3,000 boats'. I might have all of this wrong because I couldn't for the life of me work out why it should be called 3,000 boats. I am not even sure where it is, but never mind!

The plan was simple, it has to be because this is Thailand. We opted, well my mind played out the fantasy, for a military campaign. Our arsenal consisted of three huge water butts placed on the pick up truck full of high grade explosive water. The personal firearms were hand sized scoops used to throw the water over a twenty to thirty yard trajectory in the direction of the enemy. We climbed aboard and took up position and on instruction from Field Marshall Sir Thamuang Farang we set off. Those of you that saw the movie Kelly's Heroes will get the picture! We had travelled all of one hundred metres before encountering our first skirmish with a well armed but fixed position para-military songkhran unit (FPPMSU). They were six or seven strong and well armed with powerful but well used plastic ex US Army 'H2O grenade launchers; Made in China' supplied by Tesco Lotus Arms Dealership in Ubon. We took a hit on the offside of our troop carrier but manage to return fire with several rounds of water droplets from the hand scoops. No casualties except for a mild wetting of the upper garments. A good opening round to warm up.

The Toyota Troop Carrier is an ideal RTTC (Rapid Transit Troop Carrier) designed for off road warfare in rural Thailand

We advanced north towards Trakan Phutphon on the main 2050 road. There were several small groups of guerilla fighters on both sides of the road, but the speed of the Toyota troop carrier ensured we were not hit. There was an early problem with range finding on several of the hand scoops and it took a while to adjust the sighting mechanism and the WARF (Wind Adjustment Range Finder). The problem seemed to be related to the amount of water in the hand scoop and the speed of the troop carrier. Some of the platoon solved this quickly and were prompted to positions at the back of the carrier, some of the troops needed more practice and were given time but were reminded that a direct hit had serious consequences, and the rest couldn't get the hang of it so they huddled up behind the wind break and the FWD (Forward Water Deflector).

In all cases of rapid advancement by SUTC (Single Unit Troop Carriers) there is a danger of meeting the enemies mobile seek and destroy units (MSDU's for short). We encountered several high performance 4x4 Hummer type vehicles with the latest high powered polypropylene Chinese 'H20 grenade launchers; Made in China', supplied by 'Big C Arms and Defence Manufacturers' in Ubon. This weapon carries much more force and is able to lob huge globules of water for considerable distances with remarkable accuracy which explode on impact soaking the victim to the skin. We could not compete with this technology and suffered heavy causalities. Water everywhere and a clothes wet through.

Under attack from rebels at a fixed position para-military Songkhran unit (FPPMSU)

This strategy continued all the way to our target destination. We had to re-arm at a fuel dump but by then we had penetrated the enemy lines and we were marching towards victory. Police road blocks were encountered in several sensitive areas. An uneasy truce broke out in the area just before and after the barriers. Knowing that the enemy lies within at these road blocks, and 'Rambo' Songkhran tactics will not be effective, requires strong leadership. Field Marshall Sir Thamuang Farang was lucky to be advised by a first class platoon with immense local ground knowledge, and he was able to restrain the young tigers in his control from instant detention in the Ubon Ratchathani Police Hilton. Only once was Private Yo Sroikham allowed a single sniper shot at a police man. He hit the target across the chest and an instant soaking marked the policeman's pristine uniform. Our driver was too fast, and Private Sroikham's punishment was restricted to a wave from the laughing policeman. On the final approach we encountered remaining insurgent groups but they were easy pickings as news spread that the victorious Thamuang army had won.

A loyal soldier from the Thamuang Songkhran Army in full camouflage

After a quick walk round the beauty spot and a very poor meal we retraced our steps to Thamuang. After a few soakings I decided to pull rank and sit inside the cab with the driver to discuss navigational and strategic manoeuvres and have a well earned sleep.

Later that night Khamma and I went to the village school re-union. I expected a few people and polite conversation and maybe a beer if I was lucky. I was wrong again and amazed to see the school yard transformed into an open air restaurant with about 800 guests. There was a stage and a band and the lighting was just enough to make a very special event under the warm sky and twinkling stars. Being constantly surprised is a great reason to be in Thamuang. Apparently people had travelled from Bangkok and Chiang Mai (hundreds of miles) to be here and catch up on the gossip and fortunes of past pupils. It was a great night and a fitting end to a wonderful weekend.

Next day I travelled back to Hong Kong but I cannot settle. There is a way of life in Thamuang that cannot be replicated in Hong Kong, and there are family and friends in England I miss so much. Hong Kong is good but I will move on once the airport business is finished.

A year on

Today is the first anniversary of my 'Life in Asia' blog. It is one year old and over a hundred entries long. I pat myself on the back for my tenacity and comittment. But life in Asia, has it been worth it? Simply speaking yes it has. I have had the opportunity to visit Thamuang frequently and Khamma has spent time with me in Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong as well as going to England. We are very much together and in love.

That side of life is good, but there are downsides. I am missing my family and friends in England much more and becoming increasingly unhappy in Hong Kong. Right now my mood is not lifted as I look out over the Pearl River estuary towards the South China Sea and I can see the grey concrete apartments, the grey river, the grey harbour, the grey sea and layers of grey clouds all around. It is raining and this adds a thin grey mist across the bay. OK I know it rains in Hong Kong but give me a break!

The blog keeps me going and even though it is raining I find a little bit of sunshine from England, and a clear blue sky in Thamuang.

Thanks for reading whoever you are.

Drumming Up Funds for the Temple and a Songkhran soaking

Band on the Run

By now the village was in full flow and the holiday spirit and carnival atmosphere was being enjoyed by everyone as normal daily routines were put on hold. I was keen to join the band and parade around the village in the annual fund raising for the temple. It takes a fair amount of cash to keep the temple in good repair and to improve the facilities not only for the monks but so the village people can enjoy the solitude the garden provides. The temple is like a community centre in England. Each house hold is expected to contribute and the money they can afford is presented in a simple floral display which is then paraded around the village as at least one member of the household follows the band. The procession starts and finishes at the temple, but the early morning rain which dampened the warriors spirits at last night's gig was still lingering. This made the start time of the procession unpredictable, but the call of the leader over the village public address system sent everybody scurrying around and in no time at all villagers on bikes, motorbikes and on foot made their way to the temple.

The temple was full when we arrived and Khamma explained that the prayers and readings had begun at 4am. People could join or leave whenever they wanted. I saw Khamma's mama and she had been there since 6am, nearly five hours earlier. The boys in the band always appear to be on the fringe of the Buddhist activities, but when the music starts they become the aural if not the focal point. They gather together in a corner chatting amongst themselves and as I joined them they made me very welcome with handshakes and smiles. There are curious stares from people as they enter the temple and some of them are confused at the farang joining this motley crew. Others are casting a wary eye over all of us wondering what to expect from this strange gathering of men, young and old, with drums of different shapes and sizes and our own shrine made out of an old pushcart with wobbly wheels carrying over sizes speakers and an amplifier and the biggest and heaviest battery I have ever seen. Because it is raining it is covered with a dirty plastic sheet and will only be unveiled when guitarist is ready. It is marginal whether the dirt will fall into the amp and short circuit it, or whether it better to let the rain do it instead.

We drank our 'whiskey' and paid homage to something; I am not sure what but I join in just the same! The guitarist, or 'pin player' or even 'pinnest' (?) tunes his three strings into the key of 'yale', and turns up the volume to make sure everybody within a ten mile radius can hear. The Abbott and his followers are hit by a wall of sound. Eyes turn again in a curious bewilderment and resignation that 'boys will be boys'. Without any obvious sign or cue that this was the right moment the band began to play. Diddle um dum - dum - dum - dum; diddle um dum, dum dum. I just caught up on the second bar. The sound of the pin is piercing and already hurting my head.

We set off in a thin line two abreast and walked around the temple three times. We are completely oblivious to the solemn proceedings in the temple. Walking round the temple three times is a respectful to the temple and we gather momentum with every diddle um dum dum. The drums pick up their beats and it almost sounds like a samba. The rhythm is picked up by the two manic, energetic and skinny constantly smiling twenty somethings whilst the first and third beat is picked up by the deeper sounding drums belonging to the older ones. For my part I have to play the first, second and third beats - one, two, three; one, two, three; or even nueng, song, sam (in Thai). The less energetic play symbols but one of the struggles to keep the knot in the string to stop the symbol falling off and eventually gives up.

Outside the temple we pick up groups of party animals, mainly ladies, who are dancing in a morlam variation with lots of seductive arm weaving and hip swinging. I take up a position very near the back of the band but right underneath the speakers on the pushcart. I regret this but I don't want to lose sight of my mentor whose one, two, three is perfect. Nevertheless we walk through the village and I am greeted with waves and thumbs up as the farang of the Thamuang Gang.

The weaving of hands and swaying of hips

The procession picks up other people carrying their simple displays of flowers and notes of money folded and placed in bamboo sticks that have been split at one end and decorated with delicate multi-coloured tissue paper. In a way it is a display of 'whose best and gives the most', but the sheer number of these donations overwhelms even the most creative. Many households in Thamuang will donate much more than they can afford to, but it is their believe they are making merit and preparing for a better future in this world and the next. But every donation is given willingly and with happiness.

After walking round every street and up and down the main road we returned to the temple. By this time the first 'pinnest' had made way for the second. We started to play in confusion as the style was different and vacant looks were passed between us as we tried to make sense of what the new guy was playing. The dancers began to sway as a different beat knocked them off balance, two ladies nearly fell over, three bumped into each, three started shouting at us and some stopped altogether. The onlookers started laughing and pointing even more. But order was restored and a new Thamuang beat was discovered. Bearing in mind this band never practices new tunes or beats I think we did well to recover our composer, sorry composure.

Our second pinnest was replaced by a third one. He was a young boy, no more than twelve years old and playing like a master. His pin was his pride and joy and he was relishing his opportunity. His mother looked on with pride as he made his debut performance with the band. With re-newed vigour and energy the drums responded and I even ventured with a da-da, da, da or even a da-da, da-da, da. Sometimes I played a clear note sometimes I played a deep note from the middle of the drum. I didn't care I was in a groove. But my hand hurt like mad.

We arrived back at the temple and completed three laps whilst the monks and their faithful were still reading from the Great Scriptures. They had been inside for a marathon eight hours but the final notes of the band signalled an end and everybody gathered together in an open sided kitchen and dining area to hand over their donations. It looked fairly formal but I joined the hundred plus people by sitting at the back. As usual I was the butt of the joke about my knees not allowing my legs to bend underneath me, but that one is wearing a bit thin now.

The Abbott was accompanied by a more senior Abbott and there was a short prayer ceremony followed by the senior Abbott walking around spraying the blessed water over us. The formalities were now over and everybody queued up to hand over their donations that were meticulously recorded in giant ledgers. It was estimated 50,000 baht had been collected. That is 1,000 GBP.

There now followed a short respite for lunch, but at 4pm we started all over again!

This time the band was required to leave the temple (after three laps) in a procession behind a paper-mache effigy of an elephant which was carried in the back of a pick up. The elephant is sacred amongst Thai Buddhist and the idea of this procession was to adorn it with the same sticks used in the morning's fund raising activity, but with more money. We walked through the streets past the crowds who eagerly handed over their sticks with 20, 50, 100 and the odd 500 baht notes and before long the elephant had a garland of money sticks around its neck. We paraded much further this time and the weariness was beginning to tell on each of us. We had a short break on the edge of the village where a party was in full swing and obviously the spirits were flowing in every sense of the word! We marched on out of the village and I was wondering when and where all of this was going to end. But soon I could see several monks in a field by the side of the road sitting under a tree, and a gathering of people sitting on mats in front of them.

The elephant was positioned to the side of the monks and faced the gathering, the band sat down some distance away and opened up the whiskey. I joined Khamma in the gathering. The pushcart with its wobbly wheels was man handled into position to the other side of the monks and the leader handed a microphone to the Abbott who was more or less sat in the middle. A long piece of cloth, decorated with scenes from the Buddha stories, was encircled around the gathering and the monks. This made the open air service more intimate as if the blessings and prayers could not escape, or it could have been to keep the band away. Then there was a short pause and a realisation that the monks had forgotten to bring the gong which is an essential part of the service. The pick up driver was dispatched back to the temple, but the elephant remained with the crowd. By now a group of eight ladies started stifling giggles, then there were three loud guffaws and a couple of snorts, which led to more giggles and a signal for everyone to join in. Then several more guffaws and snorts were released that had the Abbott smiling. This was sanuk (good fun at the Abbott's expense). The novice monks started giggling too and then everybody had the giggles, except the band who were fast asleep and the driver who cursed his bad luck.

Once the gong arrived and was sounded the Abbott turned the serious business of prayer and blessing. I found a comfortable position for my knees and decided it was much easier sitting on a soft surface than the hard floor of temple. The Abbott finished and then walked amongst us splashing the blessed water for everybody. I definitely got a soaking!

After the blessing the monks climbed into the back of another pick up, the elephant was loaded back on to its pick up and the band was woken up from sleeping. The monks quickly went on ahead and the crowds formed a long single line and started walking, carrying the banner to their side, with the band lazily bringing up the rear. We marched towards the temple but were ambushed by the novice monks as they soaked us with water! Songkhran had official started!

At the end of the day I was weary. I didn't think it was going to be such hard work and my hand was sore from all the drumming. We were in high spirits and everybody was happy, and Khamma and I triumphantly walked back to Owerrrouse to the soft drumming with my good hand - da-da, da, da; da-da, da, da. Khamma said 'This is Raymond!'.

A Weekend of Fun - Thai Boxing and Morlam

My weekend in Thamuang coincided with the annual festivities of raising funds for the temple and Songkhran. Khamma and I and most of the family made the most of everything that was going on in the village and from Friday night to Monday night there was never a dull moment and hardly a nano second to take a breather. It is testament to the spirit of the village community that so many events were organised and well attended. Of course we have village fetes in Diggle and the Beer Walk and the Whit weekend band contest that are firm favourites and well attended. The atmosphere is different in Thamuang because everybody knows each other and there isn't that uneasy feeling of half knowing someone through watching them drive to work at 7.30 every morning but not quite familiar enough to say hello face to face. When I was more permanent in Diggle I hardly saw my neighbours from one month to the next. Often, as I cleaned my car, I would cast a half a wave, more in hope than expectation, that I would engage in conversation about something or other with a neighbour. I always had a good chat with John, one of the rare breed of neighbours who genuinely enjoyed a natter, Sarah Jane would say hello, but usually she was off somewhere in a hurry. I don't know much about the rest of my neighbours even after nine years living in the same house.

In Thamuang it is different. There our neighbours drop in for a chat and a glass of water, or bring some surplus mushrooms and bamboo shoots. It is an echo of my childhood in Hazel Grove where neighbours would take in your washing if it started to rain, or help with the shopping, or lend a cup of milk. As you walk down the road in Thamuang people ask where you are going, what have you got and how much did it cost. In Diggle we would tell these nosy parkers to 'bugger off' and mind your own business, but the Thai openness and superficial inquisitiveness make it as natural as, well, getting on with your neighbours.

So it was with spring in our step that we strode purposefully to the temple for the annual Thai boxing and Morlam music concert (or gig as we would call it in Diggle). The temple was transformed from the usual open and peaceful and tidy sanctuary into something resembling a fair ground. Lots of mobile fast food stalls selling fish balls (?) meat balls, fried grasshoppers, BBQ chicken, beef, pork to be consumed with spicy sauces laced with chillies, garlic and ginger were parked on the main road. These vendors had a steady trade from the Thamuang faithful who turned out for the event. I was taken aback by the controlled access into the temple grounds and somewhat astonished to see Khamma's cousin smartly dressed in the khaki uniform and shiny black boots of the village security corps. He looked very smart but completely out of character wearing a riot helmet and carrying a sizable truncheon in his right hand tapping the side of his leg. He was one of many similar dressed trying to look menacing with a look in the eye that indicated they were there patrolling the grounds to prevent trouble, but if anything started they were unsure how to stop it!

We moved into the Thai boxing area which on every other day of the year does nothing except bake in the fierce sun, but for this night only was hosting a floodlit boxing ring with ringside seats for the judges and dignitaries and the famous. There was a commentator amusing the crowd with his comments and wit. There was a beer stall also enjoying a brisk trade on this hot humid night under the Thailand stars.

Altogether there were fifteen bouts starting with the young kids of about ten years old rising through the age groups to the top billing of the champions (I think). I had not been to a Thai boxing event before and soon realised I didn't know what was going on, for example how do they scored points and decided a winner. I have been to professional boxing in the UK and like to watch out for local heroes like Ricky Hatton and Amir Khan. As a kid I enjoyed sitting round the radio with my Dad listening to the Henry Cooper fights against Sonny Liston, Floyd Patterson and of course Mohammed Ali was, and still is, my all time hero.

No such legends were on the bill tonight at the Thamuang Temple, but there were plenty of feisty young kids and it was a very entertaining and enjoyable evening. I remember one young boy who was about three foot nothing ducking and weaving like the champ, then a kick where his leg spun his entire body round and his perfect balance brought him back to the start all in the flash of eye. This was serious fighting with prize money as well as pride at stake.

The smell of the boxing liniment, the glistening muscular bodies shining in the lights. That first contact where the impact of the irresistible force against the immovable object explodes into a spray from a mixture of sweat, liniment and water and is silhouetted against the clinical white lights of the ringside spotlights. It was a great atmosphere egged on with the crowd backing their favourite and 'oohing' and 'aghing' as every punch and kick landed on their opponent.

I think this is close to a true sport as you can get. Then a spotlight bulb fell out of its socket onto the ring. Luckily none of the barefooted fighters trod on it.

We met up with Adrian and Rattana our new friends from down the road. It is good to meet farang to have a chat and compare notes and I'm sure we will be sharing more beers together in the months to come.

We moved onto the Morlam gig. Morlam is the music of Isaan area of northeast Thailand. Tonight was a fusion of normal drums and guitars with a traditional 'cann' and singing in a deep monotone style. In its way it is similar to English folk songs, but it is much more popular and the people of Isaan love to listen and dance and sing. We took a spot near to a group of friends and family and watched the 'cann' player weave his music around the stories spun by the singer. They were backed up by the band and the men were distracted by the 'eye candy' of the dancers who did an excellent job contributing to the visual effects of the music! Everybody on stage was performing well and the crowd was dancing in front of the Buddha. I looked around and caught a glimpse of the monks looking on from their dormitory, smiling and no doubt wishing they were dancing with everybody else. It did occur to me that it seemed incongruous for the temple to open itself to all this cavorting, but the senior monks are just as part of the community as everyone else and as this is an event to raise money for the temple so, I guess at worst they tolerate it and at best they enjoy it as much as anyone else.

But suddenly, on the stroke of midnight, a shock wave poured through the crowd from the dance floor. Screaming and shouting displaced the band and the stage was being evacuated part in self defence, part in an futile attempt to restore order. The pent up anger of local youth which had been festering over the last twelve months burst open like an angry boil on the back of your neck. Local gangs clashed and now targeted males were being beaten senseless. Of course drink was the catalyst, but the event itself was the obvious draw for this kind of trouble. Entirely predictable, hence the local security from Dad's Army, but nobody could keep the rivals apart. There was a panic for a while but after twenty minutes the band re-appeared and started all over again as if nothing had happened. Dad's Army re-appeared from behind the temple to assure the crowds they were in control, but a glance around the grounds showed that nothing was further from the truth and it was only a matter of time before round two would kick off.

There have been gigs like this in Thailand where guns have been produced and the violence is more serious. Luckily this is Thamuang where fists do the the talking. Khamma and I had seen enough so along with Yo we walked back home under the stars to the sound of the frogs in the fields.

The comparison to England is the same. Drink fuels violence whether it is in Thamuang or Diggle. Young men will always strut their stuff wherever they are, whatever their creed and culture, whenever they have drunk enough to let their bravdo surface and take on all comers. The guns are also there as we saw in Bangkok last Friday and was affirmed today by the now underground leaders of the red shirts. It is a pity that some in the world want to be like this whereby the majority just want to get on with their neighbours.

The normal things

At the end of my first day I reflected on normal daily life around Owerrrouse. I have been in Thamuang for over a year and have slowly collected some memorable experiences and images on almost all aspects of life in the village. My understanding about how the community interacts is beginning to be more mature and not just built on first impressions. During this short holiday I was to discover more about family values and to learn how to have fun - Thai style. But right now Bung wanted to go fishing, and he was determined he would empty the pond and gather up the remaining fish before the rains start to be more frequent. Everybody, well almost everybody, joined in.

He rigged up the water pump and soon the pond was becoming empty. Bung's young son is called Tao and is the same age as Yo, Khamma's son, but unlike Yo, he loves to get muddy . Tao was relishing every moment of catching fish in the squishy warm mud and was joined by two of his real cousins larking around. Yo meanwhile had caught a bird for the fun of it.

In the space of a couple hours about sixty fish had been caught with a couple of sizable ones taking the top prizes.

Tao with the pick of the catch

As usual the women folk prepared supper and the surplus fish sent to neighbours to enjoy. There is no concept of keeping the fish in freezer for another day because the freshness will have gone and they will not taste the same. With vegetables and spicy hot sauces with a choice of sticky rice and steamed rice, we had yet another feast. The whiskey on ice with soda was good, but not as good as the Leo beer.

We talked into the night with friends dropping by to see what was going on. The insect life is a little daunting, especially if like me, you are not used to it. Flies can be everywhere and the lizards, geckos and other things of the night are close by. There was one night where we had to shut all the lights in the house because a plague of freshly hatched mayfly type flies swarmed in on anything giving out light. The next morning the floors inside and out were littered with wings, but the bodies were nowhere to be seen.

Schooling is very important to everybody as it is seen as a way to improve the chances of earning better money and therefore not spending a life in the rice fields struggling to make ends meet. Khamma and I are committed to make sure Pel and Yo have the best educational opportunities going for them. Pel is currently in her second year at Ubon University and is enjoying some work experience as part of her course. She is working in the filing department at one of Ubon's police stations, and whilst she finds it a little tedious she is learning and trying to impress. Yo is about to start his 'big' school and will go through that painful experience of leaving the village school where he was a big fish in a small pond, to the high school where he will be a small fish amongst 3,000 other students! He will have Tao for company which is a blessing.

Yo and Tao in their new class room

I wanted to see the new school so we drove to Trakan about ten miles away and Yo proudly gave me a tour round. He doesn't officially start until 4 May, but he is required to attend several Saturdays as orientation days, and Khamma is required to attend with him as well. I am not sure any learning goes on but they do get to know how the school operates and they have to queue to buy the uniforms and books and stationery necessary for a term's work. It is also a good way to get the family integrated into the school and to manage expectations. The teachers work hard on this part of their job and the families join in appreciatively.

Every school has its big kids

The is some building work going on to make new classrooms, but I was intrigued to work out how the school could accommodate 3,000 and with the average class size being 45, this means they need about 60 or 70 classrooms! Most of the rooms are open sided because of the heat, and building cost, and I can imagine the noise and an environment that isn't particularly conducive to learning. But we have every confidence. This is Thailand!

In the class room the desks and chairs have obviously seen a lot of service and the graffiti etched into them probably goes back to when Khamma was a school girl, but they do the job well enough. The rooms are swept clean but being semi-outdoors you can see a lick of fresh paint wouldn't be a miss. The posters on the wall were also quite old and depicted the Royal family, and others explained different religions for example Islam, Christainity and Judism. Nothing was disfigured and even though it looked scruffy it is obviously treated with respect. There is emphasis on sport with football pitches, basketball and volleyball.

A very interesting morning and I wish Yo 'chok dee' for the five or six years he will spend there.

Thamuang Update

Khamma returned Thamuang after two weeks in Hong Kong and suddenly there was an emptiness in my apartment. It was short lived though because I had booked my Easter leave and was eagerly looking forward to spending a week's holiday at Owerrrouse. Very fortunately for me this coincided with the Songkhran festival which is the equivalent of the Thai new year, but more on this later.

The house looked splendid in the morning sunshine as our taxi turned into the lane and suddenly Hong Kong was a long way away. I changed into Thamuang attire of shorts, scruffy tee shirt and flip flops and at once I relaxed into the slow pace. The events over the next week were to be centred on Songkhran and temple fund raising. There was something going to happen everyday and most evenings, and if there was a lull we could go fishing or to Big C. I fastened my seat belt and jumped onto the Thamuang whirligig.

Although the weather was extremely hot I wanted to see the rice fields and the extent of what Khamma and her brother are intending to cultivate this year. They have extended the fields even further by doing what I recalled from my A level geography lessons, as 'slash and burn' technique, except nowadays it is more like 'bulldoze and burn', or more precisely 'Kamatsu / Caterpillar / JCB and burn'.

Creating more land to grow rice

The scene was unrecognisable from twelve months ago and the lunar type landscape just about doubled the land available for planting rice. From this they can expect to increase yields but whether they will make a healthy profit depends on the price they get at the market and the additional cost of labour they will need to employ to plant the rice in July and harvest it in November. You may remember last year Khamma's Mama experimented by planting a field of potatoes.

http://lifeinasiaandthamuang.blogspot.com/2008_06_01_archive.html see 2 June.

Unfortunately this was not a success and we can safely conclude that the Sroikham family are excellent rice farmers but will not be continuing to diversify into potatoes!

The old potato field

As we ambled around the fields I could sense that Khamma was mentally preparing for the hard work ahead and the plans about what to do with each field were spinning round in her mind. She enjoys the farming very much and it is marvelous to see her excitment when she is explaining what will happen here, and what she plans there. Although she knows she will be exhausted, she is immensely proud of what she does and wants to improve every year.

Eventually we came across a cluster of out buildings which housed a few pigs, chickens and cows and belonged to one of her many cousins. I have often remarked that nearly everybody in Thamuang appears to be related to one another, but the word 'cousin' is often used to mean a special friend as well as blood relation. Another mystery solved.

The noise of the rice threshing machine was coming from the largest shed. These machines are fascinating and for me they epitomise and bring together the skills the Thai people have as farmers with the ingenuity they have as engineers. There must be thousands of these machines in rural Thailand, but each one is special and needs creativity to keep them working to churn out the refined rice. You can almost feel the soul of the machine humming away as the raw grain is tipped in at one side and clean edible rice is spurted out at the other. It is the final process in the production of rice and as much work and care goes into this part as it does in the fields. It would be foolish of me to romanticise this too much, but when the rice is poured into a sack ready for the cooking, it marks the end of a remarkable journey for the rice and the people growing it. The rice growers are proud and determined and each day as they eat the rice, they are fuelling up to commence cycle again in a few weeks time. It could be easily written off as subsistence farming in the A level geography books, the government policies, the UN food programmes, but this ignores the individual passion and the collective concern the farmers of Thamuang have for their rice. It ignores the beautiful changing landscape as the rice matures through the rainy season. It ignores the co-operation between families and neighbours to make sure every last bag is collected. It ignores the meals sat outside in the evening warmth eating as a family with the fruit of labour being presented in many different ways through the recipes handed down from mother to daughter. There is so much more in a bag of Thamuang rice than just rice.

The remaining outbuildings reminded me of the nature of the ubiquitous 'garden shed' in England except here it is on a much bigger Thai scale. There is a reputation in the UK that the shed is a hideaway for the menfolk where they can drift into a timeless and possibly meaningless world of eccentricity without the nagging of the other and often better half. The latter knowing that at least if her husband is pursuing some mind numbing activity in the solitude and cosiness of the shed, at least he isn't up to any other mischief. Or is he?

Follow this link for an analysis of the different types of shed heads in the UK - http://www.backyardgardener.com/article/green/1577.htm

This collection of buildings had the same playground workshop feel about it. I found broken concrete casts of Buddhas, drying cow hides, tools, old cans of oil, pig pens, old clocks that hadn't worked for years, cobwebs, rickety chairs and a radio. Nothing much different from my granddad's shed from forty five years ago with his collection of old bikes, a work bench and the smell of oil. Even today my dad likes to keep a corner of the garage for the collection of gardening tools, old pots and pans and other stuff he cannot bear to throw away. He was very unhappy when his shed had to be pulled down about four years ago and in the clear out he unearthed old engines, tins of oil, tins of paint, tools and cobwebs, old clocks and radios! Same same?

The contents of a Thai man's shed

Hanging cow hide to dry for new drum skins

Later that evening we relaxed at Bung's house as everybody returned home from doing whatever they had been up to during the day. We ate a substantial amount of food and I couldn't help thinking about the journey the rice on the plate had been on. It was the end of the day but there was an exciting prospect of a week of fun, or sanuk as the Thai's call it. Bung announced that tomorrow he wanted to go fishing and have a BBQ. Sounds good to me. Up to him said Khamma.

Sad news about Cookie

Poor old Cookie. Missing presumed dead.

A few weeks ago I wrote that we suspected Cookie had been in a fight with a snake and probably had venom sprayed in his eyes. At first he was sick and off his food as well as having swollen eyes and a loss of balance. The vet, who happens to be a family friend, gave him medication and for a few days there was an improvement. But just over a week ago he disappeared and has not been seen since. Cookie has either gone walkabout driven delirious with the pain, or simply sat down somewhere quiet and died.

I have often said it is tough being a mutt in Thamuang. There is no such thing as eating Pedigree Chum and going for walkies in the morning and early evening. There is no tender loving care from the owners and training to sit when told. Life as a Thamuang mutt is brutal. The dogs soon learn to eat the leftovers whether it is fish or rice or spicy hot or fried or steamed. The rule is simple; you don't eat you starve. There is the freedom to come and go and they are fiercely territorial and it is common to have four or five dogs in a pack. They protect their patch and are the best early warning system of visitors in the day and night. They have the freedom of the rice fields and amazingly have an understanding of each other's likes and dislikes which leads to an occasional gnashing of teeth, but nothing more serious.

Churlon eats what his given

Life could be worse but it is very much better being a western dog than a Thamuang one. It appears that Cookie must have disturbed a snake, possibly a cobra, and licked the venom that was spat at him.

I grew very fond of Cookie who loved being stroked and often sat next to me on the porch enjoying the evening sun. I wish he could have let us know where he was going so we could say goodbye, but life goes on.

We still have Churlon, Lucky, Pepsi and Jackie. We had ten chickens until we ate one of them for dinner last Sunday, but the good news is one of the others hatched nine chicks on Monday. We also have eighteen ducks. There is pond that is minus about sixty fish that were caught last Friday. We also have a gecko, several lizards, a toad, a snake, frogs, bats and more insects than I care to think about.

Gecko in the kitchen Thai

Snake on the drive

Toad in the garden

Ducks in the shed

The Car on String and the Buddha Dollar

34 metres high including the podium - the world's biggest, seated, bronze, outdoor Buddha statue - honest!

Whenever I visit a town or village in Asia, I am sure to stumble across a Buddhist temple or relic proudly displayed and in regular daily use by the local folk. There are many different temples from the ornate to the simple, from the large complexes to the shrines tucked away in a corner. Lantau Island in Hong Kong is no exception, but, in my opinion, has a slight twist to the way in which the Buddha presented. Here on this lovely island there is a Buddha claimed to be the world’s tallest seated effigy of the Buddha.
The local guidebooks and even the respected Lonely Planet have given the statue and the temple a big build up and the promise of an enlightened day out. I have read of open air restaurants where pilgrims can enjoy delicious free vegetarian meals whilst contemplating in the beautiful gardens tended by monks in saffron robes. I should have visited the statue last time I was in Hong Kong and so it featured high on my list of places to visit. My anticipation fuelled by my vivid imagination of a celestial paradise transcending into a Buddhist world where simple answers to difficult questions are freely given and meaning at last being attached to most the complex values of this fascinating belief.
I wanted to approach the statue and temples by walking a few stages of the Lantau trail in a sort of pilgrimage in which I had earned the right to contemplate the surrounding beauty and meditate whilst absorbing the panoramic vista from the 2,500 feet vantage point. Unfortunately, in the week’s preceding Khamma’s visit, the cloudy weather prevented me from realising this part of my dream as I did not feel the urge to walk these beautiful mountains without seeing anything but mist. However, now that she was here, I thought the next best approach was to set off with Khamma who has an innate spiritual understanding and would appreciate the journey’s end as well as the journey itself. But rather than walking the strenuous twenty or so kilometres from sea level, we decided to go the tourist route. In doing so I began to cynically think that this particular Buddha statue has more to do with extracting hard-earned Hong Kong dollars than it provides in spiritual understanding and enlightenment. The statue is situated about five miles away from Hong Kong’s Disneyworld. I thought this was far enough away to preserve tranquillity, but the glittery stardust from Mickey Mouse and his friends has caught a westerly breeze and floated over the mountains before raining down on the statue and cascading in spectacular floes down the steep mountainsides towards the town of Tung Chung.
We began our journey by catching the MTR train to Yung Chung from Hong Kong station Central and after saying ‘have a nice day’ to the Disneyworld expedition members we were soon at the end of the line. At the side of station, we found the start of the cable car ride to the distant mountain passes on the high, cloudy horizon. It was also the start of my cynical thinking about the whole set up. The cost of the round trip ticket was the equivalent of about sixteen British pounds and I couldn’t help comparing this to a day pass in a European ski resort which is about thirty pounds. A ski pass gives you access to vast areas of mountains and scores of lifts and the only limitation is your skiing ability. As we stood in line I remembered the queues in the ski lift as we jostled with clumsy ski boots and carrying skis and poles and trying to retain coolness and ‘ski cred’. This queue was made up of loud families of Chinese on a day trip and thus my suspicions were beginning to germinate in my over active mind. But the delight on Khamma’s face broke the spell as we sat in our cabin and hooked onto the cable and set off above the sea with spectacular views of the airport. She called it the ‘Car on string’. Another one of Khamma’s endearing English phrases that are so much better than the original.

The Car on String

In the cabin was a notice reminding every passenger to smile at the monkey waiting at the arrival station who was going to take a photograph of our ecstasy of having completed the twenty-five minute ride in the ‘car on string’! This did nothing to quell my growing belief that the marketing was aiming at the dollar extraction rather than creating an inner belief of Buddha’s teachings.
I ignored the monkey.
As we exited the station that is the lofty mountain home of the ‘car on string’, we were guided, that is to say, corralled into the ‘village’ consisting of restaurants catering for every national taste between Los Angeles and Hong Kong, gift shops selling everything you thought you needed but believed didn’t exist, theatre shows, film shows, public displays of Chinese acrobatics and whatever else because by this time I was convinced the Buddha statue was a big con and a subject of the imagination of some overpaid and too smart for his own good, marketing executive.

Ming Ying and Lady Yang

There wasn’t a Buddha, temple or monk to be seen anywhere until we had walked the gauntlet of village street vendors and low and behold, there it was, high in the sky on top of a hill about half a mile away. We felt slightly better at this sight but decided to eat before setting off on a hike, and we re-traced our steps to find a Vietnamese kitchen selling over priced noodles.
After filling our stomachs and emptied my wallet we followed the red brick road to the end of the village and joined a very normal Hong Kong style pot hole rutted road pass several authentic noodle houses and road side eating shops. I felt cheated because the glitzy Mickey Mouse village restaurants had suckered and conned us!
We reached the steps leading up to the Buddha statue and found signs regarding the veggie meals. Alas these are not free anymore but at $60HK it was a better bargain than Mickey Mouse’s Vietnamese noodles. We were too late anyway, so I didn’t let it overwhelm me and instead gritted my teeth for the lengthy climb to enlightenment.

260 steps to the Buddha

Predictably the view was shrouded in mist but the statue was impressive enough although a little too big to be photographed properly. We enjoyed the moment and took a little time to read up how the statue was sponsored by the Hong Kong Electical Company after the British had donated the land in the 1980’s.
Following our decent, we explored the temple complex and we concluded it was a little tired looking and did not compare with the temple in Thamuang. So with time marching on we climbed into the ‘car on string’ and returned down the mountain as the sun began to set.
Back in Tung Chung we explored the shopping centre and enjoyed a bowl of Thai Tom Yun soup before returning back to the Gold Coast.
My curiosity was satisfied but as you no doubt have gathered I despaired that the exploitation of the Buddha statue to generate tourist dollars was greater than its value to teach the wisdom of Buddhism.

The best value of the Buddha Dollar was the free sunset!

China Scene seen in the China Daily

Hong Kong has a rather good free daily newspaper called the China Daily. It is the equivalent of a broadsheet back in the UK and usually headlines with world stories but from the Chinese perspective. Usually the news is represented in a fair and recognisable way, at least compared to the BBC World Service, but with a slight spin here and there to represent the nationalistic perspective.

There is a section called 'ChinaScene' which relates news from other newspapers throughout China. The stories are only a paragraph or two long but they give a great insight to daily life and attitudes in China. I have selected a few gems for your entertainment.

Woman carrying acid to boyfriend's home is burned: Wen Wen was on her way to visit her boyfriend, who had dumped her, to try to reconcile the relationship. But she was severely burned when the acid she was carrying in her pocket leaked out. She explained her boyfriend had refused to marry her.

31 bombs found under farmer's home: A farmer unearthed 31 bombs from under the house he had lived in for 20 years. He realised something was wrong when a magnet in his house moved strangely.

Beijing man kills wife, hides body in balcony: A Beijing man is on trial for killing his ex-wife and hiding her body in a brick wall. He killed her because of a dispute over their child and property. He strangled her and hid the body so the child could not find it.

Woman donates new pair of wheels to dog: A dog that had its front legs amputated and was forced to hop like a kangaroo has received a wheel chair and is now moving about like a normal dog. (?)

Burglar's antics expose him as a bad neighbour: Xiong stole a computer from his neighbour's dorm whilst wearing a face mask to hide his face. When the neighbour woke up and cried for help, Xiong ran away and hid the computer in his own room. He then returned to his neighbour acting breathless and pretending he had chased after burglar. The neighbour saw through the trick and called the police who found the stolen computer in Xiong's room.

Excited mahjong winner swallows false tooth: A mahjong player needed emergency surgery after he swallowed a false metal tooth as he celebrated by laughing out loud on winning a game. Doctor's said the tooth almost broke his aorta because it was lodged in his gullet.

Couple arrested for selling infant baby: A couple sold their son, who was born in January, for 30,000 yuan ($4,390) because they had money issues.

Husband furious over wife's 'missing you' SMS: Peng wants to divorce his wife of 20 years after he read a text message on her mobile phone. He was wakened by his wife's phone as it received a message. The sender wrote that he, or she, was 'missing' her very much. Peng's wife didn't know who sent the message so Peng called the phone company to enquire if they could trace the sender. They told him it could be an April Fool's joke.

It makes a change from quantitative easing and the state of the world's finances.

Running for the New Manchester Children's Hospital

I recently received an email from my daughter, Clare, which was titled 'Manchester 10k'. It intrigued me because it could only be about the annual mass 10k race held each May around the streets of Manchester. I ran the race in its first couple of years and it is a good day out, but being in Hong Kong made it impossible for me to think about entering this year. So what was the email about?

Clare was announcing, more like committing, to run the race and raise some money for the New Manchester Children's Hospital.

I was absolutely delighted she was doing this and felt quite proud of her. Clare has not really been interested in participating in sport. She preferred to extend her incredible music talents whilst at school and became very proficient playing the oboe as well as enjoying singing and playing the piano. She gets this from her mother's side and I am very envious that she can perform extremely well in front of large audiences, the likes of which I can only fantasise about. My musical performances with the blues harmonica are reserved for private audiences only and the occasional blast on a Friday night at the end of a hard week and a couple of pints at the Tunnel End in Marsden! I digress.....

Clare has joined a group of colleagues from work and risen to the challenge. She has started a training regime and so far she is on schedule and, more to the point, enjoying it. A slight injury to her knee caused some concern last week, but it was something and nothing.

I would really like to join her and I have half an idea to run 10k on the same day at the same time in Hong Kong. Sadly my knees have reached the stage where they are starting to wear out and I cannot run too far without starting to hobble. But there are a few weeks to go before 17 May.

I really hope Clare gets to the start line feeling fit and raring to go. She will have a great time and the atmosphere in these events is very special. Any reader wanting to donate can leave a comment and I will send on the details.

Good luck Clare.