Not quite what I expected

We decided on a mid afternoon visit to Ubon.  Nothing strange or unusual with that decision, except it was  a treat after three days working on the house in sweltering conditions.

The re-painting of Owerrrouse is almost complete - well at least on the outside.  I am certain we are going to paint inside as well, but one job at a time.  

So, on the motorbike and into Ubon.  Of course, in the west we take road safety very seriously and would not think about going out on a motorbike without a sturdy crash helmet.  The law is catching up in Thailand and it is now compulsory to wear a helmet whilst either driving a motorbike or as a passenger.  Except the law doesn't work in most rural villages and it is a common, often humorous sight, to see children as young as 12 or 13 riding a motorbike with great skill.  The bike looks twice as big as they are, and very often they don't even wear shoes, never mind a crash helmet!

The law is a bit more strict in the urban areas, so with due regard to our safety as well as the law, we comply.  However, there is a shortage of crash helmets in Owerrrouse, so we have borrow them.  Khamma's is new, looks good and fits her well and belongs to her nephew.  Mine is old, small and belongs to her cousin.  We find it on the floor of the porch covered in dust.  It is red and makes me look like an unlit match.  I think of myself as a Swan Vesta.  If something more severe than an ice lolly were to hit it, I'm certain it would crack my skull; the helmet not the ice lolly.  It is more a hindrance than an essential aid to one's safety.  It's no use complaining, I just wear it and sit on the back of the motorbike in a sulky silence knowing that I am complying with law, but in all probability if there were an accident, I am a goner.  Did I re-write my Will?  

I know next to nothing about motorbikes.  I do know that a motor drives a chain, which is connected to the back wheel.  This is how the bike moves.  Over time, the chain becomes slack and if left unchecked it will become slacker and start to make a clattering noise.  Today, the motorbike is suffering from what I describe to Khamma as a 'slack chain clatter'.  No, she didn't understand either.  However, we have a quick discussion and decide to call in at one of the myriad of roadside motorcycle repair garages.  Back in England I'm sure you would have to make a booking for about 2 weeks in advance, but in this part of world, you can just drive in and ask the man to fix the problem.

The man in question today I nickname after Kevin Webster from Coronation Street.  A cheeky grin, a sharp intake of breath and the words come out;

'Yer lookin at a big job 'ere pal.  It's goin to cost ya a bob or two.  Just sayin like!'

No sooner had I placed the top end of my Swan Vesta (the crash helmet) on the makeshift swing our Kevin had made out of old tyres, tow rope and an ancient motorcycle seat, than I saw two gleaming crash helmets in their dusty plastic bags.  It didn't long to convince me to buy one, and at 360 bhat (£7) it seemed a snip.

Meanwhile, Kevin (that's not his real name) was busy tightening the chain, which took him about 5 minutes.  He took the bike for a test drive, but his little daughter, who looked all of three years old, insisted on going with him.  She stood the bike, held onto the mirrors and Dad drove off, into oncoming traffic, round the block.  Luckily it was a quiet moment on Highway 2050 and they returned safe, both smiling, Kevin because he tightened the chain enough, daughter because she had been on ride with Dad.

Now here is where Kevin really impressed me.  Ever since we bought the motorbike (Honda Wave - what else?), the front nearside handle bar panel has rattled.  Experts and non experts alike have tried in vain to stop the rattle, but all have failed.  However, Kevin knew exactly what the problem was, and in less than two minutes dis-assembled the entire panel and located the issue.  An inner panel protecting the wiring for the lights, indicators and horn was not correctly fitted.  All it need was a thick rubber washer and the rattle was gone.  However, keen eyed Kevin also spotted some cabling that had become exposed.  This was confirmed by Khamma who said the indicators hadn't worked for weeks!  So Kevin wrapped some insulation tape around the cable, fixed the rattle, re-assembled the handle bar unit, tightened the chain and had the audacity to charge me 20 bhat - about 45 pence!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I get told off for not charging enough for a Will!

I am going back later this week so he can service the bike from front to back, top to bottom.  Customer service, first class.  I recommend Kevin from Yankerdow (the name of the village) for his workmanship. So we put on our helmets and began to look like proper bikers.  OK that's taking it a little too far, but set off again for Ubon.

Our slight diversion was at the expense of losing some daylight.  It goes dark in these parts at 6:00pm and it is wise not to ride a motorcycle in the dark.  The only thing worse is driving in the dark in a thunderstorm.  As we left Ubon the dark clouds of Issan assembled to rage their anger on the flat lands of north east Thailand.  It started to thrash with rain.  We bought cheap plastic rain jackets (like the old Pac-a-Macs) in the vain hope of keeping dry.  They were useful, but I can't think why; it just seemed the logical thing to do.  As we left Big C a shallow wave of water, only about a centimetre high, steady flowed into the car park like a tsunami, from the street.  Just outside the car park we were driving through a foot of water and in danger of drowning the bike.  Khamma's riding skills saw us through the worst, but not for long as stretches of the road, and the houses alongside it, began to flood.

We kept on going as it grew darker, rained harder and lightening struck in the distance.  My new helmet kept most of the water off my face, but my new cheap plastic rain jacket completely failed to keep me dry.  It was a difficult journey home, but Khamma has done this many times.

Now as I sit in Owerrrouse musing over the eventful afternoon, I marvel at the way the Thai people 'just get on with it'.  It being life.  They don't ask for favours, they are resourceful and very skilled with getting on with life.  Have we in the west lost touch with these skills and attitudes?  It is a bit like the bridge issue I wrote of earlier this week.  There's the problem, this is the solution, now let's get on with it and four weeks later everyone's life is better.  In the west we are too good at looking for problems, then forming committees to find a solution, listening to everyone from health and safety to regulation of standards and quangos, then deciding it is too expensive.  Result; the issue gets worse.  I know that's simplistic, but watching Kevin today made me a little humble and very thoughtful.  We have a lot to learn, still.

Temple Celebrations

The telephone rings - it's Khamma's Mama, and it is 5:45am, Sunday 26 August 2012.  I am, or was, in a deep sleep.  Khamma's voice rises as she reminds her Mama of the time and yes, she does know she has to make food for the monks and the special party at the temple - but it doesn't start until 11:00am, now go back to sleep.  Well at least that is what Khamma tells me she said - it could have been a lot worse from the sound of it.

I ask what party is this, because it is the first I have heard about a knees up.  I still don't know why there was a party, but it was something like a birthday, but not birthday.  Many important monks were coming from other temples to Thamuang to join in the fun.  Sounds like a good opportunity, so I checked if I would be welcome - no problem.

I think Khamma started to panic a little bit because she was ushering me to leave the house at 9:00 am.  I did notice a lot of other people, dressed in their finest traditional clothes, making their way to the temple and this seemed to 'hurry her up.'  Sadly Khamma's Mama did not attend.  She is still recovering from her illness and cannot sit or stand for long periods of time, so she is best at home where she can decide for herself.  A lovely lady though, who is deeply religious and obviously upset at not attending.

The old temple has been demolished and work has just started on a new one.  I suspect there is a lot fund raising going on, especially as the chief monk greets me like an old lost friend.  I am actually very flattered, and it goes down well with the onlookers.

The old temple

The new temple under construction 

The leader of the village is a family friend, and he quickly invited me to sit at the front of the makeshift temple, which was bit of an honour.  It also put me on show to the rest of the assembled crowd.  I cannot sit on the floor for very long without getting cramp, neither can I sit cross legged as my worn out knees and knotted leg muscles refuse to be flexible.  My heart sank as Khamma said this was going to be a long session.

However, it was interesting watching the arrival of the senior monks and the respect shown to their position in the temple.  They were greeted with humility, reverence and they responded with smiles and compassion.  I was very impressed with how they could sit on the floor without flinching or any sign of discomfort.  Unlike my position which was being threatened by a lack blood supply to my right buttock and right arm; due to all my weight resting on those body parts for the last thirty minutes.  The problem is, you have to be careful where you point your feet - do not point them, or the soles, in the direction of a monk.  This is tantamount to blasphemy, especially as most of village was intrigued at my lack of mobility.  Anyway I shuffled and somehow found a part of my backside that hadn't been rendered physically insensible by the pressure between body and concrete floor.

The climax was a long blessing and prayer from the assembled monks.  The chanting is deep and hypnotic - evidenced by a few sleepers, and goes on for a longtime, which was further bad news for the dead leg that had caught up with my numb bum.

I saw an opportunity when another honoured guest alongside me got up and walked to the side.  I did the same and limped out of the hall trying to get much need blood into my leg.  I noted I had been sat there for 90 minutes - 85 of them in agony!!

Leader invites me to sit at the front

The rest of the village were seated further back

It rains in Thamuang as it rains in Diggle

Yesterday a picture of the weather in Diggle was posted on Facebook.  At the same time there was some banter about the thunder and lightening and how it could be an interesting ride for the man on top of the Saddleworth Rushcart.  (The Rushcart is an annual celebration held in Saddleworth by various groups of Morris men).  Another washed out Bank Holiday weekend.

Diggle August 2012

You might think that I am enjoying good weather in Thailand - well it isn't cold, but isn't all sunshine either:

Looking out of the front door yesterday morning

Caught out by a flash flood

Threatening sunset tonight

Two villages Two bridges

This is blog post about how two different villages go about fixing bridges.  I hope to be very impartial (difficult) and therefore leave you to make up your own mind on the issues.

Diggle

A small village in Saddleworth, northern England between Oldham and Huddersfield.  The village lies in a valley with abundant small water courses, including a canal.  It is not known as flood zone, despite an average annual rainfall of (approx) 47 inches because the water courses effectively carry the water quickly downstream to the River Tame.  However, to those who are blessed with a keen eye, you cannot mistake that on three sides of the village there are steep hills, with Huddersfield Road (to the north) being the most obvious as it exits the village.  Needless to say, flowing down the road is a fair proportion of the annual rainfall with Thorns Clough, the little tributary to Diggle Brook running parallel about 50 feet below in the valley base.

More or less at the bottom of Huddersfield Road (north) is Carr Lane.  This is a steep road linking the northern end of the village to A670.  It is short but steep, probably classed as a single track road and at its lowest point there is a bridge.  Thorns Clough runs under the bridge and at it widest I would say it is three metres, in full flow.

It took the best part of a year and half to rebuild this bridge!  Well, I said I would impartial, OK the walls and banking along the road have been reinforced, which was a considerable job and as modern dry stone wall examples go, I would say cannot be bettered, but all the while the bridge was under repair as well.

A fine piece of civil engineering

Even when the project was completed there was a temporary closure as a good deal of the annual rainfall fell in 24 hours and cascaded, as it has done for centuries, down Huddersfield Road.  As we know from school physics, water is susceptible to gravity, and in this case there was a convenient right turn down Carr Lane to the bridge.  The result was that half Carr Lane disappeared and ended in Thorn Clough.  The bridge was fine, but Carr Lane was a mess.

A well engineered bridge to last until the next millenium

Disaster as the first flood washes the road away

If you are so inclined you can read more about the saga by following the link www.diggle-news.com/wp Photo above courtesy of Stuart Coleman - Diggle News

Now we move on:

Thamuang

A small village about 40 kilometres north of Ubon Ratchathani, north east Thailand, about 6 kilometres from Highway 2050.  The village lies on the flood plain on the River Sa, which eventually reaches the world famous River Mekong in about 50 kilometres.  There is a not a hill of any significance anywhere.  There is substantial annual rainfall of 60 inches (approx) most of which (55 inches) falls during the rainy season between May and September.  The problem arises when the river overflows.  The land is so flat, the floods rise without warning.  

The villagers have built houses on stilts to prevent flood water ruining their homes, or, as we have done, to raise the building land a couple of metres above the flood level.  

The main road into the village has to cross a small tributary that flows into the River Sa.  Without the bridge the diversion to the main road is about 20 miles (which is a long time on a Honda Wave motorbike).  The bridge finally succumbed and had to be replaced in August 2010 - the height of the monsoon rainfall.

The workman took about 4 weeks to replace it, and each and every one was a hero.  As I passed the temporary crossing, when it was available, they all waved a shouted out my name, a very friendly hard working bunch.

Construction of the bridge in flood conditions

A Just Do It attitude 

OK the water is warmer - but there's more of it

Temporary spans in place

Next day - more flood water

Serious construction work

The finished bridge

The finished bridge (Take 2)

As I have said, I want to be impartial in contrasting the two projects.  Therefore, I have summarised the prevailing conditions of both locations, the needs of each village and shown you how each working group performed and to some extent the results of their efforts.  

However, I must say the Thais have shown Oldham Council how to build bridges!  I received an email on 3 September 2012 stating the road and bridge are closed again for repairs - this is almost TWO years after the project started.

Jet Wash Day 2 and other musings

The Thailand sun is fierce today and by 9am I am already burning through my makeshift head gear sun protection.  Khamma has gone to the weekly market, which is held in the temple grounds.  On her return she announces there is a fine crop of mushrooms in the forest near where we saw the monkey last year.  This funny for two reasons: Khamma has never failed to impress me with her enthusiasm to pick wild mushrooms (she can spot a spore from fifty paces) and how the monkey sighting has become a point of reference, rather like we direct someone in England by reference to the pub.

Khamma's absence is soon forgotten in blistering heat and copious lashings of factor 15, which soon runs off in river-lets of sweat dripping into my already sodden shirt, once witness to so many corporate meetings in my former life.  My mind wanders again as the slime and dirt coagulating on the paths and wall over the past four years is stripped off in regimental patterns and washed away into the rice fields, where it belongs.

Khamma returns a little less enthusiastic than when she left.  The crop was not as big as rumoured, or she arrived too late, I think the latter because she says she is going tomorrow at dawn.  I smiled as she washed off the dirt in a bucket once used to mix cement - this is Khamma.

The Bosch jet wash and I are working as a team and the yard looks much better - even the neighbours and locals are commenting.  At close of play there is just the garden area to finish off tomorrow.  It is going to be a long job, but it should last for 10 years if the paint does what it says on the can!

As the sun began to sink over the lemon trees, I decided to go and visit Billy in the next village; any excuse for a well earned beer.

Just before tea Khamma and I sat outside and counted seven bats leave the loft like fighter jets leaving an air craft carrier.  She then informed me how she had found a dead snake in the loft after last year's floods.  Comforting pre-dinner chit chat, or what?  This goes with the two frogs and a mouse I have already found in the living room since Saturday.  Thailand no place for the faint hearted.

Rural Thailand Jet Wash Warrior in full combat gear

Jet Washing the Yard

There is some kind of mental relaxation in jet washing the yard.  It is, in a way, similar to mowing the lawn except the result is more satisfying.  Perhaps it is destructive and creative at the same time.  I don't know the answer, but today I have spent six hours in my own little world creating a new look for the yard that had started to become overgrown with a silty deposit created by dust, wind, sun and rain over the last couple of years.  I must say it looks good, and it has occupied me as well.

We bought the jet wash from Ubon Watsado (similar to B&Q).  It is an Aladdin's cave of stuff from taps to guitars, paper clips to wool.  It also employs most of Ubon's youth who do their very best to assist, but almost always confuse.  In the jet wash department there is proud display of several models to choose from. I selected the mid range Bosch model and wanted to inspect it for all its parts before going to the check out counter.  Company rules apparently forbid the customer from doing this, even though the box was open.  OK, you cannot beat the system so I reluctantly 'gave in'.  Needless to say at the check out I was so pre-occupied with the payment process (well it is Thailand, so I need some slack) I forgot to check.

I carried the box on my knee sitting on the back of the motorbike all the way back to Owerrrouse, only to find half of it missing.  This was a reminder of the frustration called Thailand.

Next day we hired Khamma's nephew to drive us back to Ubon to exchange the goods.  Whilst we were there we bought  paint, brushes, light bulbs, pens, a new headset for the computer and, one the way out of the car park, a bookcase!  On the way home, we stopped for petrol, called in Tesco Lotus Express and a roadside butchers where biggest blow fly I had ever seen was having a whale of time on the fresh flesh.

Eventually we got home and Khamma made Sunday lunch for ten!  We sat on the floor in the kitchen with a traditional Thai meal.  Half way through Khamma's sister called from France and we joined in a mobile Skype conversation.  A fusion of traditional habits and modern technology.  Amazing.  

After lunch I assembled the jet wash and made a start on the yard.  As the sun set I realised the investment in the jet wash was not only improving Owerrouse, it was therapeutic, and I couldn't wait for tomorrow to start work.

There was not a square inch of yard untouched by my trusty jet wash by the time I finished.  I was looking forward to a well earned beer and decided to visit Billy in the next village.  But just as I was setting off, Adrian passed by on his way for a beer with Mike, and my plans changed.  This is Thailand.

Back in Thamuang

The start of a 5 week break in Owerrrouse in Thamuang.  I have been looking forward to this for a long time as it over 12 months since I was last here.  The effort I have put into my business venture over the two years has been immense and I deserve a holiday.  I am really enjoying working for myself.  The freedom from corporate rules, regulations and politics is good and my clients are great.  I am certain that there some sceptics back in the 'corporate world' that doubted I could make a reasonable living out of writing Wills.  It has been hard work because when you do not know what is going to work out, you follow every single idea that pops into the head.  As luck has it, some of them worked, and a lot didn't.  Anyway, I might not be ordering a new Ferrari but at least I can join Green Flag to rescue me if the trusty Renault breaks down.

Khamma spent 6 wonderful months in Diggle over the winter, but returned to Thamuang in early May to start this year's crops and take over another 3 acres from her mother.  That's a lot of rice to nurture, but it needs rain to make it viable.  Every farmer in the world has two pet complaints: not enough rain, or too much!  Last year there was so much rain Khamma was filling sand bags to stop the floods coming into the front room, but this year there is not enough and you can hear the rice is crying from dehydration.  With all the rain we had in England this summer, it seemed like we should swap weather systems.  The surest way to achieve this is for me to go to Thamuang and take the rain with me.  This was a success and in the first 24 hours in Thamuang it has hardly stopped.  In a way I want it to continue as you can almost hear the rice grown and burp as it sucks up the moisture, but on the other hand I have enough of rain in England and could do with sunshine.

It is good to be here though.  I slept for 14 hours last night - sheer tiredness from the rush to finish off work for my clients and the journey via Doha to Bangkok en route to Thamuang.

Owerrrouse is really great and Khamma keeps it so clean.  It is 4 years since it was built, and looks as good now as it did then 

http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1382939990035485540#editor/target=post;postID=3037082224910377362

Over the next 6 weeks we plan to re paint outside and inside.  You might ask why don't we get somebody to do this for us.  The fact is that 'somebody' (ie your typical Thai local looking out for a quick bhat or three) does not know how to paint.  You can expect everything to be slopped on with more paint landing on areas where it shouldn't and most of it on the face of the Thai labourer who is convinced they know what they are doing.  No this is a job for me, at least supervising (controlling?) the labour force.

After that is air con, or maybe a new motor bike.  Now that Yo is at senior school in Ubon and sharing digs with Pell there is a huge demand on the only road worthy motorbike.  The other one is a clapped out Honda that was serviced in the last century.  It has a braking distance of 3 miles at 15 miles per hour.  Not good for touring round NE Thailand.  Wait and see on this one - Air Con or Motorbike - what would you do?

Pell had a 'nose job' last week.  In her never ending quest to change her already beautiful Thai features into something more 'European', she went ahead to have a bit of filler injected to change from a cute nose to a well 'cute nose'.  I'm not sure I can tell the difference.  It never fails to amuse me how Asian girls aspire to white Caucasian looks, whilst Caucasian girls aspire to tans to die for.  Pell and Khamma are not exceptions despite my constant 'yakking' for them to be as natural as they are already.

I hope you join me over the next six weeks for the latest in Life in Asia and Thamuang.