...
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
New Age Colonialists of the World (hand it over)
For one reason and another I previously omitted to mention where we moved to, Khon Kaen. We live a little out of town quite close to the lake which takes a cute photograph at sunset. I first came here on my way back from Laos five years ago and distinctively recall the ultra friendliness of the locals and laid back atmosphere of the place. Situated at the heart of Isaan, most people converse in Lao dialect and drive like complete buffoons, the town is quite small and easy to get around but for the foresaid imbeciles.
I’ll try not to get too hung up on the locals’ lack of driving awareness but it really is bad. Being a small town we decided to take a little personal responsibility for Bamboo’s, Bamboo’s childrens’ (and so an and so forth) future world. Rather than buy an all air polluting, petrol consuming motorbike for our travels we invested in a pair of bicycles. Dtocky has a blue city (vicars’) bike and I have a red BMX. We are thanked for our selflessness at limiting our carbon footprint on Mother Earth by nincompoops driving motorised vehicles who regularly without warning make all manners of hazards; of us, themselves and the road in general. Of all the benefits of living in the countryside away from a big city like Bangkok I would say yokel style drivers have to be the largest drawback. My commute to and from school is never without hazard.
After nearly three years in Bangkok (on and off) making the transition back to the countryside is quite strange. After the equivalent of days as I’d had years there, retreating in the vicinity of some of the world’s most beautiful beaches my father commented ‘I miss Bangkok.’ At the time, I balked but if one has lived and survived in Bangkok for a considerable amount of time becoming acquainted with its city map, myriad methods of transportation, culture, language and lifestyle, one can leave Bangkok but Bangkok will never leave those (especially their alveoli). We have both commented how we especially miss lazy afternoons in Lumphini Park, perhaps the urban contrast of arcane hypertensive traffic flow in transition with the park’s quiet beauty (when the propaganda radios are switched off) makes its serenity all the more worthy of an occasional nostalgic look back at that distant metropolis we once suffered.
There’s definitely no going back, we live in a house in a cul de sac, there’s a dog opposite called Bonbon that barks at outsiders, on Sundays its owner family shoot hoops at an invisible basketball board whilst the sane half hang the washing out. Babies are everywhere and often we think it’s Bamboo crying when it’s not. Everything is within pedaling distance so we’re getting fitter and eating healthier.
More time spent off the sky train spent pedaling means more free time with the family, books and music channeled through a Sony Playstation 2 and portable television. On Sunday evening, enjoying Paul Simon’s Graceland and a book I realised I was turning into my Dad, I looked at the cover and was thankful it wasn’t Dick Francis.
I’ve never plugged a book specifically but then again I haven’t read a book as good as this in a long time: Freedom Next Time by John Pilger is one of the best exposes about ‘new age colonialism’ (a phrase I stole from Robert Mugabe quoted on Al Jazeera) that I’ve ever read, covering five chapters with some fantastic interviews (memorably Nelson Mandela who squirmed at the point of his official recognition of the Burmese incumbent junta, they supported the ANC you see), Pilger reveals the facts behind the British government’s theft of the Chagos islands including Diego Garcia (now a US military base from which Iraq is attacked and Iran will be) and the plight of its indigenous peoples whose existence was denied, it investigates the legacies of the British Empire’s lost colonies covering the Israel Palestine conflict, India, South Africa and Afghanistan. Paying attention to the stories ignored by the mainstream he interviews the voiceless and brings their stores to the reader, he then goes on to the policymakers and puts these struggles in perspective, to quote the writer "This book is about empire, its facades and the enduring struggle of people for their freedom. It offers an antidote to authorised versions of contemporary history that censor by omission and impose double standards."
It really is worth a read. I’ll cycle on home pull some jumps over sleeping police men, try not to get hit by veering motorists driving on the pavement and cheer on ASEAN for their long overdue and eventual marked criticism of the Burmese junta over the illegal imprisonment of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. Take note current Thai administration.
Blog On
I’ll try not to get too hung up on the locals’ lack of driving awareness but it really is bad. Being a small town we decided to take a little personal responsibility for Bamboo’s, Bamboo’s childrens’ (and so an and so forth) future world. Rather than buy an all air polluting, petrol consuming motorbike for our travels we invested in a pair of bicycles. Dtocky has a blue city (vicars’) bike and I have a red BMX. We are thanked for our selflessness at limiting our carbon footprint on Mother Earth by nincompoops driving motorised vehicles who regularly without warning make all manners of hazards; of us, themselves and the road in general. Of all the benefits of living in the countryside away from a big city like Bangkok I would say yokel style drivers have to be the largest drawback. My commute to and from school is never without hazard.
After nearly three years in Bangkok (on and off) making the transition back to the countryside is quite strange. After the equivalent of days as I’d had years there, retreating in the vicinity of some of the world’s most beautiful beaches my father commented ‘I miss Bangkok.’ At the time, I balked but if one has lived and survived in Bangkok for a considerable amount of time becoming acquainted with its city map, myriad methods of transportation, culture, language and lifestyle, one can leave Bangkok but Bangkok will never leave those (especially their alveoli). We have both commented how we especially miss lazy afternoons in Lumphini Park, perhaps the urban contrast of arcane hypertensive traffic flow in transition with the park’s quiet beauty (when the propaganda radios are switched off) makes its serenity all the more worthy of an occasional nostalgic look back at that distant metropolis we once suffered.
There’s definitely no going back, we live in a house in a cul de sac, there’s a dog opposite called Bonbon that barks at outsiders, on Sundays its owner family shoot hoops at an invisible basketball board whilst the sane half hang the washing out. Babies are everywhere and often we think it’s Bamboo crying when it’s not. Everything is within pedaling distance so we’re getting fitter and eating healthier.
More time spent off the sky train spent pedaling means more free time with the family, books and music channeled through a Sony Playstation 2 and portable television. On Sunday evening, enjoying Paul Simon’s Graceland and a book I realised I was turning into my Dad, I looked at the cover and was thankful it wasn’t Dick Francis.
I’ve never plugged a book specifically but then again I haven’t read a book as good as this in a long time: Freedom Next Time by John Pilger is one of the best exposes about ‘new age colonialism’ (a phrase I stole from Robert Mugabe quoted on Al Jazeera) that I’ve ever read, covering five chapters with some fantastic interviews (memorably Nelson Mandela who squirmed at the point of his official recognition of the Burmese incumbent junta, they supported the ANC you see), Pilger reveals the facts behind the British government’s theft of the Chagos islands including Diego Garcia (now a US military base from which Iraq is attacked and Iran will be) and the plight of its indigenous peoples whose existence was denied, it investigates the legacies of the British Empire’s lost colonies covering the Israel Palestine conflict, India, South Africa and Afghanistan. Paying attention to the stories ignored by the mainstream he interviews the voiceless and brings their stores to the reader, he then goes on to the policymakers and puts these struggles in perspective, to quote the writer "This book is about empire, its facades and the enduring struggle of people for their freedom. It offers an antidote to authorised versions of contemporary history that censor by omission and impose double standards."
It really is worth a read. I’ll cycle on home pull some jumps over sleeping police men, try not to get hit by veering motorists driving on the pavement and cheer on ASEAN for their long overdue and eventual marked criticism of the Burmese junta over the illegal imprisonment of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. Take note current Thai administration.
Blog On
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Peggies
I was sitting in our bed reading Noam Chomsky's Manufacturing Consent (highly recommendable) the other night whilst Dtocky was outside nattering to the neighbours, she knocked on the window and I shouted "I can't come out I'm naked!" So she asked "Which is closer to here Nong Khai or Ubon Ratchatani?" "Nong Khai" (of course).
This is the geographical and linguistic equivalent of three Lancastrians asking a Pole whether Bolton or Wigan are closer to Preston, but seeing as that the most topical topic of conversation in the staffroom is that there is now a Polish edition of The Sun that might not be a too distant vision.
On a side note one of Bamboo's front teeth has come through, not as nature intended however, he dangled precariously from a plastic style storage unit piled top heavy with unbroken glasses (for drinking out of). He lost balance, fell backwards (in slow motion) the glasses exploded everywhere and one of them slightly dinted his gum which seems to have provoked the emergence of the said tooth.
Take it East
This is the geographical and linguistic equivalent of three Lancastrians asking a Pole whether Bolton or Wigan are closer to Preston, but seeing as that the most topical topic of conversation in the staffroom is that there is now a Polish edition of The Sun that might not be a too distant vision.
On a side note one of Bamboo's front teeth has come through, not as nature intended however, he dangled precariously from a plastic style storage unit piled top heavy with unbroken glasses (for drinking out of). He lost balance, fell backwards (in slow motion) the glasses exploded everywhere and one of them slightly dinted his gum which seems to have provoked the emergence of the said tooth.
Take it East
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