We Love the King

Much has been written, photographed and video'd recently about the struggles of the Thai populace as it comes to grips with the information age and the emerging perception of rights for its working class.

The press and indeed most commentators resident or otherwise focus or are focused (by whom we should ask) on the contrasts of the internecine oligarch wars and the general person on the farm and how iniquitous his/her life is by comparison with the rich elite. The perception that its this inequity that fuels this "class" war stoked by warring elite faction leaders, is perhaps a ruse being promulgated by the media to polarise those that are within the debate, and to boor those of us who stand without such that we give it the usual 3 day outrageous indignation treatment then move on.

You see, Sompong on the farm is willing to be as rich as anyone else in the district. He has no problems with the consumer society. This is hardly a communist/workers unite scenario at all. Thailand has never really been that way inclined.

The real issue is all about the I am more worthy than you syndrome, distinctive in all societies royal (lower case intended).

What the heathen peasant underclass fail to accept is that Thailand is owned by a guy who tells everyone he is the King and hence above them and their rightful master. He is one of the richest men in the world, certainly the richest ruler. And his blood, so the fairy story goes, is different from yours and mine. His is blue. Stop laughing, Thai's believe it, why shouldn't you?

For his blueness, he gets to control vast amounts of land and to get everything for free and he also controls what you can say or not say about him and his royal court. Speak your mind and you end up in Gaol. Toe the line and he lets you pay taxes. Winner eh?

So what is a King (or Queen for that matter)? Why do they have this power to command us? They are not elected, they don't really contribute anything to our society, in fact they really don't even make good TV. They do monopolise land and create social structures which polarise us into courts royal and the general peasantry. They do pass their blue blood down to their kids and the fairy tale seems to perpetuate itself down the generations. Their eliteness is aided by their appointment of courtiers who are almost as elite as the king. Generals, clergy, judiciary, serious other land owners. They in turn promote this bluebloodedness on so that they have some clear societal differentiation. In other words, they are on top and you clean their streets (and their kids streets and their kids streets).

Maybe the Thai people have a need for an overlord. The Red Shirts may not agree with that. Cant say I do either. The king seems to think its warranted though as the advertising on TV, cinema and roadside hordings all to tell us how wonderful he is costs taxpayers a fortune.

Parasites.

Can we draw a few parallels here to other command and control structures? Appropriate land for the exclusive use of the elite on a higher force basis? Control the serfs, get them scared and in debt?

These people can only "lead" us if we let them. This scares the wits out of the so called elite. Given the massive information availability nowadays called the internet, their sham begins to lose its gloss and we see them dressed in our clothes, no blue blood, just people who take a dump in the morning like we do. 


So whats the justification for the class polarisation? Yep, thats right, nothing.

Same message to the god boys. Your time is well passed, stop sucking the people dry and go do something useful. 


Maybe the new rulers of the world might give the king of thailand a job if he ever gets honest and distributes all his billions to the real Thai people. MacDonalds has a good seniors program. Its an honest days work. The catholics could seriously decrease world poverty by giving up all their treasures they've snuck off with over the centuries.

Time for revolt. Don't accept that anyone anywhere is better than you are. Help your brothers and sisters understand. Don't be afraid, thats what the king needs, your fear to keep you loyal. Stand up. Think about it.

We love the king  

StrayLya

Mate.

Lets have another go at that spelling, Ozzztraeleeya. Yep thats better.

20 years later. A quadrillion frequent flyer points on the worlds shittiest airlines. I am deposited, like an empty bottle for recycling, back in my "birth" country. Woo, awesome, good food, nice air, civility and weather. That strange phenomena that makes the temperature fluctuate and the wind actually blow. And rain of course, not some massive 5 minute tropical dump of water then mega hot and sweaty, but cooling gentle rain. Cute eh?

So whats changed in my absence?

Let me digress a little bit (its my blog, and eventually you will get it).

A group of 12 year old boys would meet on a Friday night. After school, dinner etc. The evening would be spent watching early music videos (the show was called In Focus if my memory is still functioning), then the real entertainment of surf movies. Early the next morning, as in still dark, we would walk to the nearest railway (about 5 km) to catch the first train to the city. Then a ferry to Manly the closest beach.

All day we would surf, even if there wasn't any, we would still paddle out into the slop dodging the old sewer pipes (heritage listed now) and arguing with the lifesavers who always stuck their bloody flags where the surf was good. They would try and move us off, we would take great delight in tear arsing through the motley crowd of swimmers (lesser creatures in a surfers mind) until they either moved the flags or the swell direction/tide changed. Evil bastards life savers.

Then home, via the ferry, train and walk. A quick sleep, then Sunday, the same trip. Every weekend.

Dedicated? We were normal for the time. The concept of walking and long public transport hikes wasn't really something we ever complained about. Ya just did it. There wasn't really an option anyway.

Sustenance was easy. From stealing milk left at doorsteps (sorry yeah it was us) to great australian foods like fresh bread and devon, milk, hamburgers (not american style at all, even remotely), sandwiches, fish and chips. We would each have about $2 in todays terms. Quite often, we would accumulate change.

You would just leave your towel and thongs (sandals) on the beach. Go surf, come back and everything was exactly where ya left it. Mind you, we were not angels.

We drank water from a tap. Plenty of them around the city.

As we got older, we got mobile and weekends or weeks (school holidays) were spent tramping the coast. We would hitch hike our way north or south and live encamped on a beach, surf, eat, sleep, surf eat sleep. It was a wonderful lifestyle.

At age 15, a mate and I travelled all the way to Queensland on a hitch hiking road trip which saw us away from home for 6 weeks. We lived where we could. Caravan parks, camping grounds, in schools when it was raining. Our creature comforts were a spare t shirt, a sleeping bag, wax and a kerosene lamp (my Mum insisted that we take it, god bless her).

My name was (and still is) Mike and I was pleased to meet ya. The whole world was a wondrous place.

No mobile phones, no internet, no TV, no deadlines, no fear.

So do I see any changes?

Would you let your 12 year olds go wandering on weekends? Would you drink the water? Can you have a day out without  spending over $50 per head? How about walking 5 km to the nearest transport hub? Leave your stuff unlocked/unguarded?

Get my drift? I could go on and include the fast food invasion and the whole lifestyle convenience thing, but really what's the difference between the Australia I left and the one I just returned to?

Simple. Fear.

The beaches are still there, not many axe murderers catch the train and water is free. Half a loaf of bread and 250 g of Devon is still so cheap.  You can eat and drink what ya like so long as ya keep moving.

TV paralyses us into thinking the world is a nasty place. It rarely is any such thing.

Take a hat, walk out the door and off down the road, no need for the phone plenty of others have them if you really need them. Enjoy the sun and trust people. What a difference you will make.

I love youse all (unless your a lifesaver)

Islanders

A gentle breeze wanders sideways through my afternoon
I gaze abstractedly at the sea lapping below me dreaming where it might take me.

Another island day, punctuated with the change of tides and strength of wind, time itself seems irrelevant.

Islanders.

They come from everywhere and between them have done most things. None of it means a great deal in their present mindset. Nothing is rushed, no force, genuine people abound. Some work, some don't need to, all are accepted, religion, colour, sexual preference, ethnicity all celebrated, everyone welcome. All are coloured with a self reliance and a timeless spirit eager to share without any competitive thought. The vortex they create is magnetic, easily capable of overpowering.

Clothing is functional, shoes are for formal occasions. The goal of the day is to appreciate what surrounds.

I find myself finally unwinding and learning to celebrate the silences between conversations without any self consciousness. No longer a pregnant pause or a negative space to be filled by some form of entertainment such as music or TV. Now a chance to listen simply to the wind. Feel the rain on my face. Appreciate the suns warmth and the nights cool.

Manyana, tomorrow. Maybe I will find my shoes.

Treasure Island

An eagle glides majestically across the verdant jungle, rising to its eerie on the cliffs of the island.

My boat lies at anchor, 40 metres from the line of the shore.

I hear the play of monkeys in the forest, birdsong and the soft susurrus of the sea lapping at my side and breaking in small waves on the beach.

This is Langkawi. Malaysia’s paradise in the Andaman.

Two months ago, almost to the day, I flew in for the first time ever to finally join my new boat (well new for me anyway). I knew no one, and had not so great knowledge (other than books and conversations) of boats but a dream.

A strong dream, nurtured since I was about 10 years old and was walking down a wharf with my Dad where we found an old abandoned fishing boat. I could see its charms immediately, but Dad didn’t quite see how we could get it home.

Long years have passed and when I arrived in Langkawi, it was like walking into that dream.

My first impressions of the place on jetting in from fast paced Singapore were not great.

A bit grubby? Not much infrastructure, hellish hot. Maybe I had made a mistake.

Several weeks passed and my love for the boat I had bought increased daily. I was busy as a one armed wallpaper hanger learning and commissioning navigation systems, power and light, engine and batteries and of course learning about sails.

The camaraderie in marinas amongst cruising sailors is deservedly legendary. Here are people who have lifted themselves from the mundane and struck out on extraordinary journeys of self and world discovery. All of them help me. From parts to advice, from sail cleats to yoghurt recipes. I am amongst some of the friendliest people I have known to date. A striking characteristic of all these people is their lack of commerciality and their acceptance of all races. Quite remarkable. Considering I knew no one when I arrived, I now have family whose exploits on the sea I keenly listen to.

As I move around town and interact with the locals, buying fittings, engine parts, even food, I meet some of the loveliest unassuming people to add to this family.  I spend hours just pleasantly chatting, something I cant ever recall doing.

Days fly by, and it dawns on me that Langkawi is not about the towns and main island, its truly the people that make this place special.

Today, nearly 2 months after arriving as a novice, me and my boat lie at anchor in one of the most scenically picturesque islands I have ever seen. No one is around. Earlier I walked the beach, listened to the monkeys play, watched as eagles soared above and the hornbills flapped noisily squawking around the forest.

Only tracks left of humanity were my footmarks in the white sand.

Paradise found

For Pete, cause he did deserve to be here.

Honestly

Or was that Honesty.

First, let me mention how hot it is. As in ice cream just isn't an option here hot.

OK, 100 miles north or north east of where i sit now, this would NOT have happened.

As you do from time to time, I needed to buy bread, so into 7/11 (convenience store chain) I go and take a loaf of bread off the shelf, proceed to the check out counter with cash in hand, wait in queue and then my turn, pass the money, get some water as well and wait....... the check out clerk, looks at the use by tag on the bread and then replaces the loaf with a fresher one.

I didnt ask him. No legislation requires him to do it. He didn't make a big deal of it either. To him it was just important to be fair.

I am in a Malaysia. Langkawi actually. Kuah if you really want to know. Email me for the longitude and latitude :-)

North and North East of me is Thailand.

There, I would be charged extra because of my white face (well slightly sunburnt face, did I mention the heat?).

In Thailand, the rip off is an art form. Practiced from an early age. From the moment you arrive at the slightly new airport and are harassed all the way from the point of baggage collection to rent a taxi, until you leave by the same portal, the smiling faces always seem to want to sell you something. Always more expensive than it should be, but what the heck you're on holiday eh?

Having based there for quite some time, one gets guarded whenever approached on the street by a stranger (no not in that kind of way). My hand automatically covers my wallet. Thailand, land of a thousand smiles.

Back to Malaysia. The melody of the Mullah drifts through the heavy humid air. Languid. Oh yes, here the state religion is Islam.

I am approached on the street by a stranger. He says hi and asks where I come from. My hand flexes and covers. Guardedly I respond. Turns out he's a tourist like me, and just wants to chat. Nice guy, nothing to sell.

All over town, people say hi to each other, even old tourists like me. No one yet has tried to sell me anything. No one yet has been anything other than very polite and friendly in a genuine way. 100 miles to Thailand. 20,000 miles of cultural change.

I blame Islam for this, or maybe its the heat.

Salam Malam

Singapore 4

Noodles, noodles, rice or noodles, chicken, pork or seafood, too many
options. She senses my indecision and drifts away lips pursed in amusement
at another's folly.

A seemingly endless myriad of corridors and alleys wind my eye and
eventually feet away from the lunchtime aromas of the central hall where a
score of small stalls labor over lunch for the army which lives above.

This is Peoples Park.

The center of the housing development boards public
housing project in Singapore. A venture first promulgated in the 60's to
house Singapore's ever burgeoning population of workers in the island city.
A success story by any measure, its now aging denizens have a secure life
in a comfortable environment. Everything one could ever need is within a
short walk

Its easy to lose your way in the Parks sprawling commercial areas, as paths lead to shops lead to food stalls lead
to money changers lead to public transport lead to massage clinics, ever
winding and more confusing as only a grand Chinese puzzle could ever be.

Hoardings struggle for recognition amongst lucky symbols and lantern
shapes. Red is everywhere.

The afternoon buzzes with the serious chatter of Uncles and Aunties,
gathered in so many tea shops, all engaged in their favorite hobby. Gossip.

The tea choice is enough to cause comment, only the finest of what
China can muster is expected and its preparation is a serious matter.

Alone, I am mesmerized by the animation of these mostly octogenarians whose
banter and laughter electrify the surrounding air with mirth and sparkle.

An elderly gent walks to the middle of the main square, sets a small
speaker down and begins to sing Chinese Opera.

From the moment he begins to
intonate and croon out the characters of his performance, the crowd stops.
Onlookers quickly gather, even children visiting Grandma are hushed.

Total reverence. Dignity in his every move. Remarkable that we can sit quietly
over tea and watch.

And so daily, the populace dances from the serious business of food, to
tea, to thoughtful art, surrounded by cheerfulness in a setting of peace.

Peoples Park. Yes I can see that.

Singapore Three

OK you guys, quit with the antics la!!

I have trouble enough sleeping without the doors closing noisily and the creaking stuff. Give me a break eh?

Plus, I need those socks that got lost in the laundry back thank you, and I would prefer that you dont break anymore of my appliances.

Whew. Thats a lot to ask I guess, but i am an expat and we do quite press the point. What exactly do I have to give or do to create a bit of peace around here?

Probably easier to answer that, than why exactly do the Chinese consider the gates of hell open for this month? As in once a year the gates of hell open. And it's this month. Hmmmm, loose ghosts, pandemonium.

I'm serious. No one buys a car or a house during this month. No swimming at rivers or beaches and other adventurous activities whatsoever during this month.

No big business decisions either. Singapore, whilst not exactly grinding to a halt, takes on an air of caution. Consider that the general populace here is urbane and well educated this kind of creeps up as a bit of a surprise.

So, whats the story?

Evidently its a bunch of Hungry Ghosts.

Hungry Ghosts appear from Chinese ancestor worship. 鬼法界, 鬼界 is "the realm of the hungry ghosts". Some Chinese believe that the ghosts of their ancestors return to their houses at a certain time of the year, hungry and ready to eat. A festival is held to honor the hungry ancestor ghosts and food and drink is put out to satisfy their needs. Honor of ancestors is a big thing amongst Chinese. Might be a useful attribute methinks. Even the Buddhists get in on the act. The temple next door to me has been working overtime with chanting and horn blowing all weekend.

So little bins have started appearing across the neighborhood. A fire burns in the bottom and into this goes food, clothing (probably my socks) and anything else which could make the dead ancestor happier for the year ahead. They are never forgotten, and angered at ones peril.

Oh and money. Hell is not cheap la. It has its demigods and gate openers all of whom need to be "well oiled" for a comfortable existence.

Now, if you don't get with the swing of this, then certain little prompts start to help you appreciate the situation.

First it was the socks. Then the doors mysteriously opening and closing when i wasn't looking. Creaking sounds have woken me up in the last few nights. Now my appliances have started malfunctioning. Yesterday was the washing machine. Today the espresso machine.

The thing about superstition is you can say all you like about how silly it is, ill-educated nonsense, but......

Its been a superstition for thousands of years. Skepticism has only been a "science" for around 20 years. Its just a pup.

Me?

I pride myself on rational explanations and an understanding of natural laws rather than pseudoscience. Animistic beliefs I respect, they are born of long cultural experience. Skepticism only lasts until you are looking for that missing sock.

I am out tonight to make an offering of food to my local ghosts, and to also sling a few dollars for all my departed ancestors. I wonder what the exchange rate is and do they take Visa. Of course they must, hell is well populated with bankers hehe.

Just call me ill-educated :)