I'd rather be at the Beach but...

Stuffed!

2010-09-24T08:11:00.002+08:00

I’ve just spent what began as a tedious hour in my local shopping mall (do we call them malls over here?). It was full of Stuff and it got me thinking. This is a rare occurrence so I thought I’d put my thoughts down on paper. I immediately bought some Stuff – a pen and a notebook.

The mall had so many shops selling a mountain of items. There were clothes, shoes, jewellery food, kitchen utensils, and furniture, not to mention the clothes and shoes. There were toys novelty shops, picture shops, newsagents, coffee shops and shops selling shoes and clothes – have I already mentioned these? Further along I found jewellers, cobblers, bookshops, phone shops, electrical appliance shops, travel agents, music shops, amusement arcades, computer hardware and software shops, and department stores – these were mainly clothes and shoes with a scattering of perfume, music, books and furniture. In addition to this there numerous clothes and shoe shops – but I think I already mentioned that. And as I wandered along in my usual state numbness (this is what shopping does to me) it just hit me – this is all just Stuff.

Does it really matter if your shoes cost $90 or $130? Are you going to get $40 of extra wear out of the more expensive brand? And if so, how are you measuring that? Can you judge whether they’ll be $40 more comfortable? No matter how you look at it, it is all just Stuff. A $100 watch, a $10 T-Shirt, a $1000 suit, a diamond ring, a $35 book, a $30 compact disc, a $25,000 car, the new $200 hiking boots with $20 socks, or the cut-price gold necklace for $199.99 – it is all simply Stuff, no matter how you try to justify it. It seems the human race is addicted to Stuff and will do all it can to collect it. We really like the best Stuff and compete with our neighbours to get it. My Stuff is better than your Stuff!

However, the problem with collecting Stuff is that there is always more Stuff being made, so we need to buy more Stuff to keep up. Companies bring new and improved Stuff each year. Computers are overtaken within 6-months of their purchase, the washing machine is outdated after two-years, cars need to be replaced every few years, each year a new colour or clothing style is ion fashion and there is yet more Stuff in the shops. We can never have enough.
Where do we put this Stuff? Our houses are getting bigger, but that big, so we sell it, throw it away, or just let it pile up in the attic or garage. It seems we quickly get bored with our Stuff and need different Stuff. Life is full of Stuff.

I often ask myself why we need all this Stuff and I can’t really find a reason. I don’t think we do need all this Stuff. I certainly don’t begrudge people wanting a more comfortable life – why would I? I want a more comfortable life, but I don’t think accumulating Stuff will give it to me.

We seem addicted to shopping, always wanting shops open for longer, but how much do we need? To be able to buy more Stuff we need to earn more and therefore work longer hours and want the shops open later – it seems like a vicious circle. Perhaps if we didn’t have an obsession with Stuff, we wouldn’t feel the need to work ourselves into the ground to earn more to keep up with the ever elusive and mystical Jones’. Unfortunately, it seems that our economy is built around the purchase of Stuff, and we are bombarded with overt and covert advertising to remind us to buy more Stuff. This will keep the economy going and people in jobs.

We now need so much Stuff that it is being made overseas because that makes it cheaper. We can’t afford a lot of expensive Stuff, so we need it to be cheaper and will happily buy the cheap Stuff, and convince ourselves it is good Stuff, even if it falls apart within a year or two. The good quality Stuff is still made, but it takes time and skill, which makes it expensive – we’ll stick mainly with the cheap Stuff. Good quality Stuff is therefore becoming scarce. This has a perverse irony. Good quality Stuff is built to last and, while it is more expensive, it will probably outlast numerous poorer quality competitors, leaving the poorer people eventually spending more on four or five cheap models than the cost of one good quality model. We encourage this through our purchase of cheap Stuff. It will lead us down a path of perennial mediocrity.

So there we have it – a world full of Stuff; an artificial means of keeping the economy going and food on our tables. So after a while I asked myself, while temporarily disorientated at yet another meeting of wide aisles of shops, when Adam Smith was philosophising, did he envisage a world where we were subservient to the economy? I always understood the economy was there to serve society and make it work by distributing wealth and services. All this Stuff and our desperation to purchase it, led to me to wonder whether we have got it all wrong and are simply on a treadmill of never-ending economic slavery for the simple purpose of making and buying Stuff. This was indeed food for thought.

After an hour or so walking through the mall I was well and truly stuffed and needed some fresh air. I am not ashamed to say that I felt an overwhelming feeling of escape and relief as I exited through the doors and out into the sunshine. I was no longer surrounded by Stuff, and it felt really good.

Salute the Adventurer

2010-07-05T13:25:00.003+08:00

The rescue of round the world sailor, Abby Sutherland, has been making the headlines recently, attracting the usual debate concerning whether we would should pay for her rescue or not. Some time ago, Yann Elies, competing in the Vendee Globe round-the-world race was also the subject of some uncharitable commentators highlighting the monetary cost, and before that there was Tony Bullimore and others. However, many fail to see that there are costs should these people be discouraged from their adventures, costs to society as a whole.

Those, particularly in Australia, that criticise the cost of such activities should bear in mind that many would not be living where they are today unless someone with an adventurous sprit had not boarded a boat and sailed into the unknown. While a comfortable and sedate experience is what many people long for, the human race would stagnate without those who try to push the boundaries in all sorts of fields and endeavours. There are indigenous races that may rue, and with some justification, this adventurous sprit, and one cannot begrudge them this opinion, but exploration and competition appear to run in the blood of much of the human race.

Those that wish for the quiet life have every right to seek that experience, but they should not begrudge assistance to those who seek more active and physically challenging experiences. Just as some follow the suburban dream and conventional career paths, others dream of scientific discovery, sporting achievement, sailing the ocean, climbing mountains, or perhaps even going into space. These people often provide inspiration for others and so contribute something that can’t be measured in dollars.

And what about the cost? Why do we accept that the world should be run by accountants? Does the financial cost of something always have to be the deciding factor? And is the cost that is often quoted real? Where navy ships are concerned, are the navy sailors not paid irrespective of whether they are at sea? Perhaps they get paid more at sea, but how much more? Is the fuel not going to be used at some point or another in the year- if not this voyage, then another? So what is the real cost of a rescue that wouldn’t otherwise be expended? I would hazard a guess that it is much less than the figures that are often quoted.

So what is the cost discouraging these adventurous people? Will we start to get generations who are inward looking and caught in a spiral of ever-decreasing inventiveness? I’m serious; we see the same in research – people discouraged from pure research because it has no immediate commercial or practical application. That is very short-sighted because this very research is often the foundation of many new ideas that have great benefits to humanity. Just recently a plant species has proven to be useful in combating cancer, highlighting the benefits of funding basic botanical research. The same is true for adventurers, they inspire people to do things, and they show what can be done with determination and application. Sure, some come a cropper, falling through the ice in the arctic, getting knocked over in the Southern Ocean, or getting into trouble climbing mountains and needing rescuing, but I hold no grudges that my taxes go toward their rescue. I am a lot more worried that my money goes into subsidising tax breaks for investors, politicians expenses, the private education system, and many, many more things that systematically siphon money away from more needy areas and cost far more than the one-off rescue of an adventurer.

The cost of discouraging adventure and risk is a bland and timid society. We are already letting the economy run our lives, rather than using the economy as a tool for helping society. We are not here to serve the economy, the economy is there to serve us, and I think we can lose sight of this sometimes. I won’t go into the GFC, but making money for money’s sake has not proven to be a great idea, it has cost us trillions of dollars. Don’t worry about a few million dollars spent on rescuing adventurers, when we condoned financial practices that have sent countries broke and major institutions to the wall. Where is the sense of perspective here? Why is this even an issue?

I applaud those who still find ways in which to be adventurous and challenge the elements. They remind us that humans are a curious and dynamic animal that seek out new experiences. We need to keep climbing mountains, sailing the oceans, exploring deep caves, the sea floor, the deserts, and the universe. The alternative is that we become a risk-averse race that crawls along, afraid to take chances and nervous of challenges, always worrying about cost.

Why should everyone be chained to their job? Why criticise those who choose to push the limits? In the long-run, their spirit of adventure benefits all of us, shows that the world can still be a wild and wonderful place, and reminds many of us of the origin of the cities and countries where we live today. People got on boats, or camels, or horses, and went out into the wide blue yonder to see what was there. I am grateful to them for that and sleep soundly in my bed each night knowing that there are adventurers out there who dare to dream.

Across the Nullarbor by Train in 1993

2010-04-09T14:19:00.000+08:00

Perth in winter was quiet. In 1993 there were not a great many occupants at the Francis Street Youth Hostel. This is where I had stayed when I arrived in Perth; it had a nice feel to it. Ross and Linda ran it, and they made the hostel, in my opinion, the best place for backpackers in Perth. They were friendly people, and Ross was making improvements all the time. There was a chance to work for your rent as well. I had no hesitation in returning. The weather was overcast and the temperature a chilly 18 degrees Celsius (that is chilly for Perth). It also rained a fair bit.
Life quickly became just a little bit tedious. There were only so many pubs, museums and galleries to visit; even playing on the kid’s toys at SciTech lost its lustre after a while. How many times can you mime in front of a blue screen to John Farnham’s Pressure Down song? Quite a few, if you want my opinion, particularly when there are fake guitars and drums to play. We needed a visit to the pub after that!

Then, on the spur of the moment, I decided to visit Sydney. I had met some people just after I arrived and they had all gone east to stay in the Glebe Youth Hostel. A friend of mine from Plymouth University was also in Sydney. I took the train to East Perth Station to see when the next train to Sydney left. It was sitting in the station and I was reliably informed that it was leaving in two hours.

After buying a ticket, I had only ninety minutes to get back to the hostel, pack a bag, check out, and get back to East Perth. In such times, the gremlins ensure that the local trains are running late. I waited for what seemed like an eternity before a train came to take me back into central Perth. Ross was nowhere to be seen when I wanted to check out (I think I might have left a note saying I would be back in three weeks). I need not have panicked; the train was half-an-hour late in leaving and I made it with fifteen minutes to spare. Next stop Sydney! Actually, it was Midland just little bit further east, and then Kalgoorlie, and then Adelaide etc. I’m sure you get the idea.

Some of you would be asking, ‘Why take the train when you can fly?’

The answer is simple. I had a lot of time to spare, at least four weeks, and I enjoy travelling by train. For many years, travelling on the Indian Pacific had been a dream of mine, and I was now in a position to make it happen.

I have always liked riding on trains. There is something quite relaxing about the smooth motion, and ease by which you pass through the countryside. This was no exception. To aid matters I had managed to get on the same carriage as a group of medical students from Adelaide, who had been to a conference, or something. I could not quite make out where they had been, because wherever it was, they had been celebrating for a few hours.

Being sociable sorts they wouldn’t hear of me not having a drink with them. Well, all right then, twist my arm if you have to. We partied on into the night before, one by one, calling it quits. Fortunately, we had two seats each, the carriage only being half-full. This, and the anaesthetic effect of the beer, meant that we all slept.

I woke up somewhere east of Kalgoorlie, staring up at my feet. There are only so many ways to sleep on a train seat, and the flat torso, head on armrest with feet and legs vertical against the window, is an accepted method. It also leaves a significant ache at the base of your skull. After some considerable effort, I managed to get myself into a sitting position and consider my hangover. The glare from the desert outside was not helping.

Once enough of us were conscious and able to function, we played a game. It was very similar to the game kids often play in the car. You know the one. I-spy. However, there are only so many times you can you can say, ‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with S,’ and get the same volley answers.
‘Sand dune.’
‘Sky.’
‘Scrub.’
‘Sandwich.’
‘What?’
‘Sandwich. I got it from the restaurant car.’
‘OK then, but we were looking out the window.’
‘Oh. Right. Slightly singed tree?’
‘Where?’
‘Only kidding. I was looking at the sand dune.”
That exhausted at least ninety-percent of all possibilities.

The day’s games became less and then died out altogether. There is only so much you can do to pass the time, and most people gradually withdrew into their own personal method of dealing with the endless hours of travel. My own method was to sit and stare out of the window in a semi-trance, hypnotised by the endless landscape that refused to stop passing by. In places it was so flat that I fancied that I could see for fifty kilometres. I think it is only possible to see about five because the curvature of the Earth, but I was in my own little world.

The Nullarbor Plain, for that is what we were trundling across, is famous for not having any trees. It is Latin for no trees. The train line has a straight stretch of four hundred and seventy-eight kilometres that crosses this unique landscape. It is also very flat, except for the occasional patch of sand dunes.

The promotion for the train says that you will be able to see a great deal of wild of wildlife. The plain is a limestone plateau covering about 200,000 square kilometres. It stretches over 1000 kilometres at its widest point. It used to be an old seabed that has since been uplifted and is riddled with caves. Some of them are huge. Cocklebiddy Cave in Western Australia is one of the largest, being over six kilometres in length. Most of it is filled with water, but that hasn’t stopped intrepid cavers from seeing how far they can go. The record is just over six and a half kilometres. Nobody knows how much further it goes? This limestone tableland eventually reaches the Southern Ocean and terminates in cliffs that fall straight down to the water, some 70 metres below.

Another reason I remember Cocklebiddy is from when we drove over to the east from Perth, when I was about eight years old. We stayed in a small motel and were kept awake all night by the breeze blowing off the land towards the sea. I don’t know who decided to call it a breeze, it was a howling gale that rattled all the windows and shook the walls. Loose bits of galvanised iron bashed against other galvanised iron in a symphony of metallic screeching. As you can see, it was burned into my memory. The flat plain provides not protection, so this wind just blows as much as it likes. I preferred cruising past in the comfort of the train. The train also arrives in three days, while driving across would take at least a week.

The promotion for the train says that you will be able to see a great deal of wild of wildlife from the window. This is probably true, but only if you haven’t become totally vacant, focused on a speck of dust on the window, and are now dribbling in a catatonic state.

There are eagles and other birds of prey that occasionally glide majestically by on their thermals; there are wombats, kangaroos, emus and even camels, but I can’t remember seeing many. The Eyre Bird Observatory near the Western Australian and South Australian border has recorded somewhere in the region of two hundred and thirty different species of bird. I only wish that I could have spotted some of them.

The day dragged on.

And on.

And on.

It was, however, comforting, even out here in the middle of nowhere, to have the traditional unexplained stops and then periods of trundling along at only just above walking pace. There is probably a good reason for this; hot tracks, perhaps a train coming the other way, but it seems that it is company policy wherever you are in the world not to tell the passengers what is going on.

The train occasionally passes old towns, or just abandoned stations like Forrest, a lonely wooden building that has been left to suffer the tender mercies of time. We stopped in Cook, named after the sixth Prime Minister of Australia, Joseph Cook. This was a welcome chance to get off the train and stretch our legs. It was hardly a town at all, just a collection of three or four buildings next to the railway with a dirt track heading off into the flat tableland. There are four people who live here, the rest moved when it ceased to be an important stop once the railways were privatised and support operations moved elsewhere. It was very quiet. Adelaide seemed a very long way away.

We managed to arrive in the South Australian capital on the second morning. The usual contortions had resulted in the usual ached and pains so I took the opportunity to get off the train for a couple of hours and have a really good fried breakfast. A short tour of Adelaide was offered, but why would I want to get on a coach? just I had been cooped up on a train for a day and a half, and had another similar stint ahead of. Was he mad?

The day passed uneventfully enough. My medical mates from Adelaide were now safely home and the carriage was much quieter. Late that afternoon we pulled into Broken Hill. This is where the journey became even more of a drag.

I had managed to get a seat in a non-smoking car, because of the scarcity of people on the train. My ticket, the only one left when I bought my passage in Perth, was for a smoking car. I had been able to ignore this restriction up until now, however my luck had run out.

I moved to the smoking car and spent the rest of the day sitting next to an old guy who smoked like a chimney. He did apologise, but that did not help very much. When I left England, I had not realised how many people smoked. I played cricket, and one of the clubs I played for had developed a grey haze by about eight o’clock on a Saturday evening. A lot fewer people smoked in Perth, and I now found that sitting in the smoking car was making my eyes sting.

Consequently, I spent at least half of the third day standing in between the cars staring out of the window. Sydney could not come soon enough.

After yet another night of gymnastic sleeping, this time with only one seat and a carriage full of smoke, we pulled into Sydney early on the third morning, some four thousand three hundred and fifty-two kilometres after leaving Perth. I was exhausted and crawled into the first taxi I could find, mumbled, ‘Glebe Youth Hostel,’ before I passed out.

Helicopters - don't you just love'em

2010-03-10T12:29:00.001+08:00

Helicopters. It is about time I discussed them. I cracked my helicopter virginity in the Kimberley. There is something quite exhilarating about these fragile-looking machines. When the side doors are removed and you are skimming along some twenty metres above the tree line, the breeze blows across your face and you are king of the landscape. Even in the cooler dry season, the air is warm and pleasant as it funnels past. As you are hurtling back to your campsite for a well-earned meal and the sun is dropping, casting a soft liquid light across the faded green trees and giving the outcropping of the Drysdale River escarpment an orange and purple glow, it is difficult to think of a better place to be.

This is all very well, but when I grabbed a lift back to Kununurra to catch a bus to Alice Springs I found at what it’s like to be in a small helicopter being buffeted by powerful winds at 9000 feet. This is an altogether different experience. Thankfully, my pilot (I’ll call him Dave) had re-attached the doors for this flight.

As I clutched the seat and tried take in the magnificence of the Cockburn Ranges and Pentecost River, Dave motioned for me to put on my headphones. My nervousness was undoubtedly obvious; I presumed he was going to put me at my ease. And look, I’m sure that’s what he intended. Our conversation went something like this.
‘Hey Pete, you’re looking a bit nervous’
‘You can tell can you?’ I would probably have grimaced at him.
‘Not half, but you should know that we’re safer up here than we would be flying just above the trees.’
‘Is that right?’ I know I did not sound convinced.
‘I’m serious. If anything goes wrong down there we’d be crashing into trees in a second. Up here, we might drop like a stone for a while, but we’d auto-rotate and probably land safely.’
‘Probably?’
‘Well, there are no certainties, but I’m pretty sure we would.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘I could demonstrate if you like. I’ve had to do it a number of times.’
‘Exactly how many?’
‘Oh, a few.’
‘Well don’t feel you have show me…I’ll take your word for it. No really, I will!’

He laughed at my last response. Bastard! Anyhow, we made it to Kununurra and I stayed overnight before catching a bus south.

It proved to be an eventful evening. I met Byrne, the owner of Ellenbrae Station. We had a few beers, and a few more, and a few more after that. I got to know the locals quite well in a short time. I crawled back to the motel. The next morning I was up at 5:30am and on the bus by 6:30. I didn’t feel at all well, but at least the bus was air-conditioned! It was another fifteen hours to Alice Springs.

Now, back to helicopters. There are two types of helicopter pilot. The first one, lets say his name is Simon, is a trained professional. He maintains his machine with care and flies conservatively. When you point out your next sample site to him, he does a few circles, decides the where the best landing site is, and puts you down within a hundred metres. You know he has radioed back to base and people know where you are.

The second type of pilot is also a trained professional but probably has post-traumatic stress disorder from his time in combat. We’ll call him Wierdo (these pilots all have disturbing one-word nicknames like Mental, Gorilla, or my favourite, Psycho!). He has a slightly different approach. Once you point out the sample site, he will yell, ‘Geronimo!’ fling the tail rotor out quickly in both directions to lose speed, and then drop like a stone into a clearing that he’s fairly sure is big enough for his helicopter.

He may take a few small branches with him on the way down. Wierdo is also occasionally forgetful, and when you point out the flashing red light on his control panel, is liable to say, ‘Fuck! Looks like we’re out of fuel mate. Don’t worry, we’ll auto-rotate down if we run out before we get home. I’m pretty sure I told the office where I was going today.’ He is easily spotted at the mining camp by his constant nervousness, borderline alcoholism and propensity to talk about
I was blessed with both types of pilot.

Oh how I looked forward to another Wierdo or Psycho when it was time to go out stream sediment sampling once again. Surprisingly enough, it was the ‘Simon’ style of pilot that produced most of my dramas.

One day I was out sampling with Geoff, and we had just been dropped off for our first sample of the day. It was about 8:00am and when watched the chopper leave. It took us half an hour to locate a suitable trap site for heavy minerals where picro-ilmenites (indicator minerals for diamonds), or even diamonds, may drop out of the river during times of flow. The half hour was usually because after we had identified the site, the endless circling of the pilot had severely disorientated us and we were no longer sure which way the now dry stream would flow. You can’t easily find trap sites if you don’t know this.

About forty-five minutes after we had been dropped off we had sieved a forty-kilogram sample and were waiting in the shade to be picked up and taken to our next site. At nine-thirty we made jokes about being forgotten. At mid-day we began to get seriously worried about whether the helicopter had crashed and we would be left out here for days. We had maps, but it would be a long walk back to camp, a very long walk (we’re talking a couple of days or so) over extremely tough terrain. After visiting a nearby gorge to escape the heat for a while, where we dipped our toes in some soothingly cool water, re-filled our water-bottles, and startled some freshwater crocodiles, we went back to our improvised landing site (clearly marked with pink flagging tape) and thought seriously about getting ready to stay here overnight. In the bright side, it was a very beautiful and peaceful place.

Thankfully, a helicopter did come to pick us up. It was a Wierdo behind the controls. How exciting! We went off to pick up Tony and Joe, via a plummet and grab stop, and made it back to camp before dark.

Now, seriously, despite my somewhat flippant description of the pilots, not one of them ever put me in any danger. They did leave my stomach behind a few times and make remember my slight fear of flying, but the feeling that comes with travelling in a helicopter is addictive and I would do it again without hesitation. In fact I already have in my current job.

Morning in the Bush

2010-03-09T08:35:00.002+08:00

I'm currently writing a book...maybe one day it will be published. It is, among other things, a ramble through my days as an exploration assistant. Anyhow...here we go with a little excerpt.

Do you know what a summer morning is like in the Australian bush? If you don’t, then let me describe it for you.

It is cool. The sun is not yet above the horizon, but the sky is a soft blue colour infused with white. It is perfectly still; branches hang limp. There is a sweet smell in the air, a cool damp aroma that comes from the vegetation. It’s as if someone has doused the country with air freshener. Condensation clings to leaves and the makes the soil moist underfoot; it also carries the smell into your nose. The chorus of birdcalls that greeted the first light of dawn some half and hour ago has ceased. There is only silence.

This is as peaceful as it gets anywhere in the world, as serene as you can be. Soon the drilling will start and it will be time to work. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to experience this again.

That is one the lasting memories of my two years working as a field assistant in Western Australia. I worked in the East Kimberley and Northeastern Goldfields. Of course, I also remember the days when it was over thirty degrees at 7am and steadily rose to over forty-five degrees, sometimes with high humidity. There were the days when I was covered in sweat mingled with red dust, producing a facemask that cracked every time that I smiled. Some days I drank five litres of water in the middle three hours of the day, and wondered why I had chosen to do this work.

On balance, I prefer to remember the sunrises, the peace and serenity of the bush, and the lovely waterholes of the Kimberley. However, these can get boring after a while, so I’ll also talk about the other stuff!

Another song...lyrics only.

2010-01-13T10:33:00.002+08:00

Wasting Time

There’s so much I have to do, apparently
The endless jobs that must be done
According to some unwritten law
That he who dies with the most tasks done
Has won

But I’m just sitting here wasting time
Strumming my six-string and writing lines.

Hey you, in your Armani suit
How rich do you really think you’ll be?
Working twelve hours each and every day
With an house and family
You never see.

And I’m just sitting here wasting time
Watching the sun set and drinking wine.
There’s no such thing as wasted time
When I’m playing my six-string and drinking wine
The only wasting I do
Is at my desk until the workday’s through.

Why would you want to waste your life
Chasing status, youth and gold?
You can keep your career and high flying jobs
I am going to taste each day as I grow old
Outside the mould

So I’m just sitting here lost in time
The sun and wind on my face and feeling fine.

Now correct me if I'm wrong but...

2009-12-08T12:00:00.001+08:00

I thought the economy was here to serve the needs of society, and not that society was here to be subserviant to the needs of the economy.

Maybe I'm just strange, but that appears to be how we live now.

The Promised Land

2009-11-16T12:09:00.003+08:00

It's time for something different. Yes...time to publish some song lyrics...I'm afraid you'll have to imagine the world-class music that goes with them!

The Promised Land

He arrived in San Francisco, back 1849
Came round the Cape Horn searching for his fortune
Followed all the wagon trains, running from his life
Climbing over mountain trails to where there was a fortune

He’s a gold prospector
Burning in the mid-day sun
His water bottle empty
His nuggets all hard-won
Digging in the dirt
With bloodied, blistered hands
A Frisco 49er
Searching for his promised land.

Left his golden dreams, buried in a riverbed
Went back to San Francisco, still without his fortune
Found himself out on the street, reduced to eating bread
Came across a pack of cards. Time to win his fortune.

He’s a desperate gambling man
Choking in the blackjack hall
Down to his last dollar
Waiting for the cards to fall
Through weary, bloodshot eyes
He’s bluffing with an empty hand
Drinking with the local whores
And dreaming of his promised land

Sleeping in an empty doorway, he’s a man who’s all alone
Sheltering from a vengeful wind, ten thousand miles from home
A shadow of his former self, he’s pawned everything he owned
Now huddled tight against the cold, dreaming of a golden road.

He’s a man without a home
A nomad with a wandering soul
Searching for his life’s big break
Waiting for Fate’s dice to roll
Haunting all the streets and docks
His dreams now turned to sand
Believing each new ship that comes
Will take him to his promised land.

Tips for enjoying life No. 1

2009-11-12T15:42:00.002+08:00

Have you ever just sat beneth a tree, closed your eyes and listened to the wind rustle through the leaves above? I recommend it.

A glass of red wine helps too!

Travel: Snowman Trek (Part VIII Days 19 - 21)

2009-10-27T10:03:00.015+08:00

Day 19

This was a shorter day as we trekked along the undulating plateau. We were treated to a sparkling clear day and magnificent views of this barren landscape as well as a clear panorama of the surrounding mountains. The landscape can only be described as severe, with jagged mountains and shattered scree covering slopes in every direction, caused by the freeze-thaw action of water. There were more lakes and streams, many of which were in streambeds far bigger than their current volume required – an indication that during the snowmelt vast quantities of water tumble across the plateau before thundering down to the valleys below. We also came across small glaciers that were carving their own valleys. At this altitude, even the 100-metre or so climb to the two passes we went over, including Loju La, felt difficult, however we persevered and eventually reached our camp at Jichu Dramo.

(View from Loju La)

(View across the plateau)

Day 20

Today we climbed over the highest point on our trek, Rinchen Zoe La. This pass is recorded as anywhere between 5360m and 5600m, so I will settle on 5450m and hope that is somewhere near the right answer. Below the pass was a milky white lake full of sediment from melting ice. We spent a while at the pass getting photos and generally enjoying the ‘peak’ of our trek and looking at Gankar Pussum, at 7561m the highest moutnain in Bhutan. Then it was down, a long walk past some lakes with some occasionally boggy areas to walk across. We descended a steep-sided valley and found a campsite on the flat valley floor at about 4400 metres. The additional oxygen down here was immediately noticeable after the best part of three days over 5000 metres. The dinner that night was very enjoyable as we celebrated the biggest pass of the trip. We had just one pass left to conquer and that was a comparatively modest 4655 metres.

(View of Gankar Pussum)

(Lake on the way down from Rinchen Zoe La)

Day 21

Our yak herders had already left early, racing to get the best campsite for the next night as there were limited choices. They left at a run! It has snowed in the night and we had a cold start, but it did wake us up. We carried on at a more sedate pace, descending below the tree line and down towards the valley floor. As we reached the bottom by the river, the valley became extremely narrow and steep – a real v-shape. It was like walking between two walls. We found a pleasant, if somewhat muddy, clearing where we had lunch. It was used as a campsite by yak herders and had copious amounts of yak dung lying on the grass.

(It was cold in the toilet tents this morning!)

After lunch, which was a good opportunity to rest weary legs, we carried on and found ourselves climbing up the side of the v-shaped valley. This was a tough climb that took us about 3 hours. It was a winding path up through the forest that gave us magnificent glimpses of the valley falling away below us. As we neared the top of the climb, the slope eased and we were treated to a sheer rock face rising at least 100 metres above us. Then it was up alongside the waterfall, a very steep and demanding section, and then over to the lake where our campsite was situated. A short half hour walk around the lake and we were there. Our yak herders had won the race and we had the best site. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground and snow-capped peaks above. In the evening light, the lake was a magnificent blue against the mountains and sky, and was framed by the rising evening mist from the valley below. It was a cold night, but tomorrow was the last pass.

(Evening at Tampe Tsho)

The Ashes is back in English hands (the 5th Test)

2009-08-24T09:19:00.004+08:00

So the Urn is back in English hands…hurrah!

Freddie Flintoff did bugger all in this match, but his mere presence on the field seemed to be enough to spur Stuart Broad on to great things. He did run out Captain Pout…so we can’t ignore him entirely. It was a good note on which to retire.

Captain Pout spent far too much time gobbing on his hands and far too little time at the crease. But he cannot be blamed for this loss – unless his psychic abilities that failed to win him the toss are considered.

Nathan Hauritz probably needs treatment for depression after missing out on the best turning pitch of the series. He was a forlorn character for most of the match as he watched each puff of dust with an agonised expression.

However, the performance of the series goes to…the Australian selectors. Nobody can deny that their steadfast refusal to play a specialist spinner at the Oval was the single most influential performance of the whole series. North toiled away stoically, however it was not ever going to be enough.

There were, however, some other notable performances. Shane Watson made sure that everyone was worried about the pitch by nervously looking at it and constantlypatting it down. His psychological attack on his own team must go down as a crucial act in this test. They spent 5 overs getting the first five runs and after that it was such a struggle. Australia’s batsmen made the pitch look like a minefield, and then England cantered to almost 400 on it. The pitch was not a factor until the last innings.

Even so Strauss appeared very reluctant to win. He did his best to ensure no wickets fell early by refusing to put in close catchers and giving the batsmen an easy ride. I think he was probably beaten up after day 3 and told not to be so soft on poor Aussies.

Ian Bell, showed how is apparent inability to hit a straight ball was, in fact, just a ploy to lull the bowlers into a false sense of security. His seventy in the first innings was vital. However, I don’t think it was necessary for him to use the ploy of being unable to make the grade again in the second innings when England needed runs. That was just showing off.

Scattergun Johnson once again struggled to find a good length, and sometimes struggled to find the cut surface. He tried to break his own foot with a bouncer (perhaps he thought that injuring himself might result in a proper bowler being used!), but merely sent it ballooning over the batsman’s head for a wide. He managed to take the same number of wickets as Siddle at about the same average – but without anywhere near the same impact. Once again Hilfenhaus was the best bowler – the quiet achiever.

And what about Hussey? Too little, too late...but maybe there is more to come.

Normal Service has been resumed - The Headingly Test

2009-08-11T16:04:00.000+08:00

Ok. Normal service has been resumed in the Ashes. As collapses go, England showed that they are the masters of the triple bogey, double summersault spineless capitulation. At least they improved in the second innings with some spirited batting by the new boys. Time for some changes?

I wouldn’t normally say that after one defeat, but the next test decides the Ashes so this is no time to go for youth over experience. England has had a gaping hole in their batting between the openers and number 6, a hole wider than the Grand Canyon that needs to be filled up quickly.

On to specifics though.

Stuart Broad played as if he had some aggression about him, both with bat and ball. I thought the snarling and staring showed the Australians a thing or two. It might have had more effect if England were not 300 runs behind at the time and looking decidedly shaky and the game was, to all intents and purposes, over. Still, it was good practice for the future.

England’s bowlers showed their true spirit with an act of charity that must go down in history as one of the best. The way they studiously avoided bowling any dangerous balls for the vast majority of Australia’s innings showed what gentlemen they are.

Scattergun Johnson finally got some reward for bowling his brand of random deliveries with a haul of 5 wickets. Imagine the surprise of the batsmen when he managed to bowl more than one straight ball every ten overs.

Peter Siddle’s liberal application of sunscreen on his lip finally paid dividends with the resultant glare getting him a bagful of wickets by blinding the batsmen and umpire at the same time. This is just as I predicted.

Ravi Bopara is saving up his big innings for The Oval. He has successfully lulled the Australian bowlers into a false sense of security and will light up the ground with a sublime double hundred. Mark my words (unless of course he isn’t picked – in which case he will languish on the sidelines with Bell-like grumpiness).

Ian Bell showed why he has been overlooked for the England side for a while. I assume that his selection was just a form of ‘ground truthing’ to make sure his initial dropping was the right thing to do.

Harmison took a wicket in his first over and then relaxed into his normal Johnson-like randomness, with the exception of a spell where Watson, for some reason, played as if the lights had gone out. I foresee a rest for Harmie.

But who is that I see in the shadows…is it Mark Ramprakash once again averaging over 100 in the county season (Third time in four years), is Marcus Trescothick averaging 78 this season and pondering whether he can do one more test for England, or is it Ian Trott, young and keen and averaging over 80 this season. Or is it all three?. My betting is that England will change at least two batsmen and drop Harmison for Flintoff. If they don’t change at least two middle order batsmen, they are buggered. This is one test that has to be won and not one where youth is to be nurtured.

PS. And Captain pout didn’t pout. Hallelujah. I didn’t check to see how much spit he layered onto his hands in this test.

DiVenuto and Harmison in fine form - but for Durham

2009-08-04T08:05:00.003+08:00

Yes...Michael DiVenuto scored 254 this week...and Harmie took a few wickets. And a test was played at Edgebaston in between the rain periods. Harmison looks like his form is on the wane though, and this probably means that he'll come into contention for the Oval test match - a flat batting track where underperforming bowlers get hammered. The selectors will wait until he achieves Mitchell Johnson-like accuracy and then pick him - dropping Broad who is starting to look like a test match bowler.

But on to the test match.

Phillip Hughes was dropped and then whinged about it on Twitter. He's looking like future captain material. Watson came in and looked like an opening batsman, before playing Freddie Flintoff into form with some pop-gun bowling. Haddin was awarded the Glen McGrath medal for injuring himself in the warm-up and allowing Graham Manou to make his test debut.

Johnson once again bowled some surprise straight balls, although I must admit that he did find a few more than usual scattered between his randomly directed thunderbolts. Hilfenhaus once again shouldered the burden of bowling England out - surely he's now running classes on swinging the ball for other Australian bowlers. Siddle

I also noted the return of sledging to the game. Or perhaps they were just passing the time of day during the dull parts of this match. Maybe Broad was explaining to Johnson about bowling and the art of getting it to go straight? Who knows, but Swann was certainly doing that and it paid dividends when his coaching finally paid-off when Johnson got his wicket. This is what all coaches live for. I'm sure Swann felt a warm feeling of satisfaction as he walked off. He may also need to coach Captain Pout on playing off-spin too - judging by the large gap between bat and pad that Punter obligingly left for him to exploit in the second innings. Memories of Harbajan Singh must have come flooding back.

The Edgebaston pitch become a bit lively with the rain, but then realised its reputation was at stake and settled down in the last two days to become the featherbed we all know it is. Once this happened there was no danger of either side winning.

The return of Ian Bell caused no waves whatsoever - I was hoping this well known whinger would compete with Captain Pout, but alas he kept quiet, obviously content with the amount of whinging he'd already done about being dropped from the team in the first place. With his colouring he reminds me of a mimime Boris Becker - but without the power, the sense of humour, charisma, or physique or the tennis racket (boom boom).

Michael Hussey showed that he is master of leaving the straight delivery...few other batsmen can have shown such a skill as he. Michael Clarke showed that he is possibly the best batsman on either side and ruined a good match by stubbornly batting through the last day. Surely the crowd derserved a batting collapse or two...but it was not to be.

And one point to raise. I have noticed that Captain Pout reached a milestone to be remembered. I'm not talking about him becoming Australia's highest scoring batsmen by passing the gritty and far grumpier Allan Border (although Border did have good reason to be Captain Grumpy given the sides he had to captain and frequency with which he found himself facing the might of the West Indies and watching a spectacular batting collapses while he himself stoically batted on).

I am infact referring to Captain Pout becoming the greatest ever spitter. It is a little known fact that no cricketer has ever directed so much sputum onto his hands in the history of test cricket. He has kept up a steady stream of spit into his palms and during this test reached the milestone of 100 gallons. He is to be commended and it seems unlikley that anyone will pass this record. Well done Captain Pout.

Of umpires, 'scattergun' Johnson and Freddie's knee - Lord's Test 2009

2009-07-21T09:38:00.001+08:00

England have broken their Lord’s hoodoo against Australia, and done it in style. There were some questionable decisions but, as I can attest from personal experience, people tend to remember the decisions that go against them when they lose and don’t worry too much if their team won. Having said this, the umpiring has not been of the standard required for test cricket. Perhaps this is because umpires are now trying to second-guess what the TV replay is going to show – I don’t know.

But on to the cricket. Phillip Hughes has to stop trying to tread on the square-leg umpire’s toes every time a short ball is bowled at him – imagine him against the West Indies of old – he’d have had a test career with the longevity of an ice-cube in an oven. Toughen up son! Get your back foot in line and you won’t have to worry as much about edging to the slips. You looked like a timid schoolboy.

Michael Clarke looks the goods, and Hussey managed to get some semblance of form and was a touch unlucky (just a touch!). Punter did a magnificent job of keeping Broad’s confidence up. I think he’s trying to keep him in the side for the next test and trying to keep Harmison out. But Harmie will play in the next test – take my word on this. Broad will need a haircut and this will be just the excuse England need to drop him.

But what of scattergun Johnson? He once again got wickets with his elusive straight ball. Keep him in the side I say…he’s great entertainment. Perhaps he’ll be kept in for his batting.

Nathan Hauritz continues to do his best to disprove my theory that only his mum would have selected him for Australia. Perhaps his mum should have picked the whole team. He continues to masquerade as a test-class spinner, and seems to be doing a good job of it.

Freddie once again proved that only having one good leg is not enough to stop him single-handedly wresting the Ashes from Australia’s grasp. Personally, I thought Strauss missed an excellent opportunity in the first innings to send Freddie in at number three when England had just put on 186 for the first wicket. A quick 40 or 50 would have been the equivalent of a few solid punches below the belt. It would have been worth the risk. I predict that by The Oval, Freddie will be roaring in, in a wheelchair, and still delivering 150kmh thunderbolts.

KP continues to limp and this means that England is two legs short of a fit cricket team. Surely a team with only 20 legs between them did not beat Australia. Bopara continues to promise a Gower-like innings without actually delivering one, Collingwood still refuses to smile while batting, Prior just belts it, and is very entertaining as a result, and Cook is looking bewildered by the crap bowling he gets to play him in at the beginning of his innings and the way his technical flaws are studiously ignored until he has got some runs. Strauss can obviously only go downhill from here!

Graeme Swann finally showed some of the flight and guile that has taken him so many wickets in the last year. Possibly the ball of the match that got Clarke.

Punter Ponting has some decisions to make. Is Lee fit and will he better his bowling average of 40 in the last series if he is selected here? Is Stuart Clarke fit, and will either of these bowlers replace Johnson’s stoic batting at number 8? But Punter he has re-affirmed his faith in Johnson and Hughes – surely the proof that their places are in jeopardy – but there is no reserve specialist batsman.

The Saga of Punter's Bottom Lip - Of time-wasting and the absence of Warne and McGrath (1st Test)

2009-07-13T08:05:00.005+08:00

The first test ended in a draw...Siddle didn't take a bag of wickets, Hauritz outstripped expectations (including mine), Punter scored a magnificent hundred as did three others, the umpiring was woeful, Collingwood showed enough guts for the whoe team, and KP played perhaps the worst shot of his career - so far.

However, as I predicted, Punter's bottom lip was in evidence in the last session. His unhappiness about England's time-wasting tactics was more from frustration that he couldn't land the killer blow. One session, three wickets needed, a new ball, and batsmen of the class of Panesar and Anderson, and he still couldn't finish it off. Don't let the time-wasting issue distract you...Australia weren't good enough to bowl England out twice in the time available - with the aid of a bit of rain.

Also, as I predicted, Mitchell Johnson got wickets with surprise straight balls. Poor old Cook was so worried about his off-stump he forgot to hit one that was going to hit middle. Johnson struggled get anything near the stumps for 90% of the time. This hardly boded well for his ability to bowl out the tail - those guys simply aren't good enough to hit anything wide to the fielders - and so it proved.

It is now clear (as it always was to true cricketing fans) that without Warne and McGrath, Australia would win less tests. The batting is still OK, although they weren't really tested this time, but the bowling is average for test match cricket.

Umpiring. My god...I can remember at least four LBWs given not out that were clearly out (2 on each side) and I saw Andrew Strauss robbed of a run when the ump gave a leg-bye to a ball that missed the middle of his bat by a centimetre or so. Even so it was a gripping last day and good for the series. It's all still alive.

My sources (and they are as reliable as rain in the Sahara) tell me that Harmison is a shoe in for the next test, and that Siddle is looking for a brighter zinc cream. They also tell me that Simon Jones watched the England bowlers this weekend and reckons that he could do better even if he only has one good leg. Watch this space...who knows what could happen at the England selection table.

That's all for now...keep tuned in for the exciting installment of The Saga of Punter's Bottom Lip

Punter's pout or Flintoff's knee - what will have the biggest impact on the Ashes?

2009-07-08T15:06:00.006+08:00

OK, the Ashes are starting and it is time for me to start staying up until the ungodly hours of the early morning to watch the action live. Who will win? Some people may say ‘Who cares who wins,’ but they are philistines and do not deserve any attention. Cricket is, after all, the best game in the world. Anyhow, on to important matters.

I foresee that the series will be close and that England will win (I think the couple of nights staying up watching the Tour de France have already made me delirious). In between the following events;

Punter Ponting sulking when things are not going his way,
Andy Strauss suffering anxiety attacks every time he watches Flintoff running in to bowl (wondering which part of his world class all-rounder is going to break this time),
the whole of Australia, except his mum, wondering why Nathan Hauritz was picked and what he’s going to do from now on,
and the whole cricket world wondering why on earth Cardiff was picked to host the first test and what on earth the Welsh know about cricket?. I suppose they did give us Simon Jones and that can't be underestimated - England could do with him now.

I think England will win 3-1.

Some further predictions:

Peter Siddle will probably take the most wickets for Australia assisted by the glare coming off the zinc cream on his lips (no one has told him the sun doesn’t shine in the UK).
Michael Johnson will settle into a line a whole metre outside off-stump and take wickets with his surprise straight ball.
Jimmy Anderson will befuddle the Australian top order with his swing bowling hoping they are good enough to get an edge. He will have a better than even chance of having nervous break down as they keep wafting and missing causing him to question what he has done to deserve such poor luck.
Alistair Cook will vainly try to bend his surgically straightened front leg and not to fall to Stuart Clark’s unerring off-stump line.
Flintoff will break both his legs and still carry on resolutely taking a series-winning 5 wicket haul in the final test.
Punters bottom lip will cause bad light to stop play as it blocks out the sun when things are going against Australia.
Steve Harmison will magically re-find his form in county cricket and be ignored by the England selectors for the whole summer.
Shane Warne and Ian Botham will be called upon to don their whites due to injuries and have a gripping battle as Botham tries to score the quickest hundred in test history while saving England from defeat.

I kid you not...this will all happen. I stand by my predictions and will wager at least 10 cents on the outcome.

Enjoy your existence!

2009-04-02T08:44:00.002+08:00

I have a question, and it may cause me to sound a little selfish. Why do I have to fill my day full of jobs and activity? What is the purpose of all this activity and the stress that results from it? OK, that’s two questions, but I’m sure you get my drift!! It seems to me that there is an underlying ideal that suggests it is somehow wrong to have spare time, as if this will result in some awful calamity. Our modern society is finding more and more ways in which we should fill our days, and this is sent our way through advertising, work, peer pressure and even government. We shouldn’t waste time.

I think that filling a day with activity that you don’t really want to do is, in fact, wasting time. Succumbing to this mania for being busy and turning it into the belief that there is no alternative is really quite insulting to the universe in general.

Consider how many planets there are in the universe; trillions I expect, or an even bigger number. Consider the chances of life being found on them – very slim in need, in fact millions and millions to one. Consider then how lucky we are that our atoms have managed to organise themselves into coherent beings, irrespective of how you believe that has happened. Are we not, therefore, duty bound to spend some time simply enjoying our existence?

So enjoy a lazy day in the back garden enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin, or listening to the wind rustle in the leaves (if you still have any trees left on your neighbourhood!), or simply being able to daydream. Keep away that nagging feeling that you should be doing something else. This takes a bit of training, but I can attest that it is very possible to do. This is certainly not wasting time, despite what your peers may say.

Spend some time marvelling in the fact that a thin layer of ozone is stopping you being fried on the spot you sit. Be amazed at how thin the atmosphere really is, and that without its accompanying magnetic field you would be exposed to the solar wind - and die very quickly. Spend some time thinking about the structure of the planet that provides this magnetic field. We live a relatively fragile existence and are here against all probability – probably.

So forget concepts like ‘productive’, being ‘time-poor’, or even the whole concept of wasting time, after all it is yours to do with as you wish. Physicists suggest that time might not be absolute after all – who knows what lies ahead; it might already have happened!

In these times of crisis and strife don’t forget how lucky we are to exist and be able to use our senses to enjoy the world. Don’t get too caught up in the politics, the financial crisis, or even, dare I say it, the environmental challenges we are facing. Life is about more than this, much more. We could be hit by an unknown meteor next year or next month, so think about what you can take with you when you go.

Well, actually you can’t take anything with you, and that is the point. The only thing that can be of any use when you’re lying on your deathbed (other than being able to reverse time – I’m sure aforementioned physicists are working on this!) is your experience of life. And we only get one go at it, unless you’re convinced that there is something to reincarnation. One go, that is all.

Don’t dream about what you want to do if you could only free yourselves of your chains, use some of your precious time to do that which you can (but ask your partner first, they might get a bit of a shock if you suddenly call them from half way up Mount Everest!).

Remember, a wasted life is one that you haven’t enjoyed…so enjoy it, and put modern society into its proper perspective. There will always be people telling you how you should live your life, but you are the only one that can make the decisions. And also remember that old adage – time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part VII - Days 16-18)

2009-03-27T09:27:00.018+09:00

Day 16

This was a long walk. We began by crossing the pass above Green Lake (Keche La – 4665m) and then began a long and steep descent into the valley of the Pho Chhu. It was not a particularly challenging descent and we came across some villages on our way down including Tega, where we stopped to take in the views of the valley and look at a local Chorten. Across the valley there were hanging valleys and waterfalls cascading down from the plateau above. Below was a sheer gorge with a raging river. It was quite relaxing!

(View into the valley from Tega)

From Tega we descended before coming across a bridge that took us over a waterfall entering the valley. It was loud and a bit wet, but another good place to stop and take in the views. Once we reached the Pho Chhu we came across two of the local girls who were collecting wood. They kindly posed for a photo. It was interesting to see the significantly different clothing they wore compared to the Layaps. We walked along a very rocky trail before climbing up the steep banks (about 20 – 30metres) to the village of Lehdi. It was raining now and there was a cold wind; we were glad to find some shelter in the lee of a hut where we could eat our lunch.

(Some locals near Lhedi)

All that was left was a long walk up the valley to Chozo. In our way we glimpsed the magnificent Kungfu Kung (7100m) as it appeared out of the clouds. This wasn’t a particularly steep walk; however the final climb up the valley through large boulders seemed to take a long time. I think we were all glad to see Chozo when we came around the final corner. The village was bathed in soft sunshine that was spearing in through the clouds. I looked to the east to see Table Mountain, however all I could see was a cascade of cloud tumbling down the west face, the summit and top half of the mountain being obscured. We had a rest day to look forward to and I was not going to waste it!

(Arriving at Chozo)

Day 17

I did very little on this rest day, other than wander around the village. Miriam and I persuaded one of our guides, Ash, to take us to look at the monastery. This was also a fortress, the only one in the Lunana region. It was the only traditional designed Bhutanese monastery we had seen, however we were not able to gain entrance as there was no caretaker around. It is said to be over 600 years old.

Some of the group, only two (perhaps three) went to visit the nearby village of Thanza, somewhat closer to the base of Table Mountain. Now…Table Mountain. This is an awesome piece of rock; there is no other way to describe it. It rises some 3km from the valley floor to its flat summit (approximately 7100m). The summit stretches for kilometres and has a cornice of snow on top that must be a couple of hundred metres thick. It dominates the view east from Chozo with its seemingly vertical west face. Simply magnificent!

(Table Mountain)

The locals came to visit camp and chat as best they could with us. The lad with the big purple hat was a standout among the locals! There was also a house blessing going behind the camp, so there was an opportunity to visit and experience this ceremony. I felt (rightly or wrongly) that I would be intruding so stayed at the camp.

I could have spent the whole day just staring at it, but I had washing to do and lunch to eat, as well as morning and afternoon tea etc. One of the guides showed me the route we would be taking the next day up on to the Lunana plateau. It didn’t look too bad. I ended up thinking that it was a good time to have a rest day.

Day 18

After a chilly start to the morning we crossed a short bridge over the Pho Chhu and began the long climb up to the Lunana Plateau. By golly it was tough! Even the yaks were puffing and panting when they finally caught us and left us behind. We climbed up over 1000 metres to Sintia La, and it took me about 5 hours. We stopped for lunch on some rocky outcrops not far beneath the final pass. Up here there were small glaciers coming down from the craggy plateau edge and a view back towards Table Mountain and Kungfu Kung that was ample reward for the hard work. We were even rewarded with a spectacular avalanche on Table Mountain. We had heard the rumbling of a few avalanches in the morning; however we only saw this one.

(Avalanche on Table Mountain)

Once we reached the plateau we came a across a beautiful, if barren, landscape. It was rocky and framed by snow-capped peaks, with small lakes and streams cutting through the rocks. There were more of the strange alpine plants unique to this part of the world, and we were blessed with clear, crisp weather. While our path was reasonably easy, off to the east were large craggy peaks beside deep valleys that had been incised into the plateau. We strolled with comparative ease across this landscape but the altitude did eventually start to tell. We were staying up at about 5000 metres for two days. By the end of the day, the campsite at Tsho Chena could not come soon enough.

(On the plateau)

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part VI - Days 13-15)

2009-03-10T12:37:00.010+09:00

Day 13

After a windy night we awoke to a cloudy day that proved to be a poor photo day. We climbed up to a valley that was quite open and it was here that we saw some of the rheum nobile – a cylindrical plant that was either red or yellow. It’s a strange plant and I am sorry to say that none of my attempts to capture it on film were successful due to the light (or perhaps my ability with a camera?). Another steep climb followed and we got tantalising glimpses of a big mountain high up in the clouds. A lot of the day involved climbing over moraine and rocks and it proved to be reasonably challenging. By this time we were at about 4900 metres. It was cold and I looked forward to having dinner and then climbing into my sleeping bag.

(Our yaks and yak herders appearing through the mist)

Day 14

I awoke on Day 14 of the trek aware that the tent felt rather warmer than it probably should, given that it was snowing when we went to bed the previous night. As I managed to focus my eyes I could see shadows on the side of the tent. At the same time as I touched them they moved with a ‘sssshhhhh’ sound as the snow slid down towards the ground. A cursory look outside the tent revealed a white landscape that was gloomy under the blanket of a thick mist.

After we had breakfast the mist lifted and we were treated to a magnificent view down the valley with the sun casting a soft light on the snow. We could see for miles. Many miles. There were peaks stretching off in the distance as we looked west towards Nepal. Opposite was Gangla Karchang, a magnificent, sheer rock that reached up to 6300 metres. It was difficult to understand that it was over a kilometre higher then we were – it seemed almost close enough to reach out and touch. The scale of the landscape was very deceptive.

It was a short climb up to the pass (5020 metres) during which time magnificent, if small, glaciers were visible, along with the seasonal deposition lines in the snow. After crossing Karakachu La we began a long descent. Very early on I was able to catch an avalanche on film. This morning was one of the most spectacular on the whole trek. The clear sky and crisp morning snow made the thin air much less tiring, and the view from the pass was awe-inspiring with 7000 metre peaks marking the border with Tibet. Below the peaks was a precipitous valley some 3km lower. These views made the 1000 metre steep climb down from the pass into the valley more seem easier than it actually was. There were plenty of opportunities to stop and admire the view and the rhododendrons.

(On the way up to Karakachu La)

(View from Karakachu La)

(Avalanche on way down from Karakachu La)

Once we reached the valley floor it was a three-hour walk along the flat valley floor to the camp. However, because we had spent so long talking to our Bhutanese guide, Sonam, about the flora of the area, we ended up reaching the camp in the dark using torches. It has been a hard day, but the views were easily the best yet and made the effort seem a small price to pay to see them.

Day 15

We started today walking through the bottom of a glaciated valley that had many large boulders strewn along its length. The river, Tarina Chuu gurgled happily beside us, making the walk rather pleasant, although there were some rather muddy patches.

(The Tarina Chu)

We then began a long climb up towards the village of Woche. This was, as usual, quite demanding and took up until lunchtime. At Woche we lay on the grass and had lunch in the afternoon sun, and watched the locals at work preparing their wheat. It was quite idyllic, however we did need to move on to the next camp.

(Kids at Woche)

We left the village and crossed a large moraine deposit which involved many short, steep climbs before we got to cross the Woche Chuu. As we came down towards the bridge one of our yaks fell in the raging torrents (it’s a reasonably wide river) and we watched as the yak herders kept their heads and managed to guide it back on to the shore. If we had lost the yak, we would have lost everything attached to it for good. However, I’m sure the yak was even more please than we were with its survival!

Just to finish off the day, then came to a very steep climb up to our campsite. It was at least 50-70 metres and proved to be a real effort. Just what we needed. The camp was right next to Green Lake and gave us a great view of Kangphu Kang (7200m) to the north. The lake was indeed green and provided a much-appreciated place to stop for the night.

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part V - Days 10-12)

2009-02-18T08:42:00.006+09:00

Finally got around to the next installment of the Snowman Trek. Read for days 10-12.

Day 10

Only a half-day walk today. Four hours and only sixty metres of climbing and we would be in Laya. As in all cases when the day promises to be easy, it is always just that little bit harder than expected. Nonetheless after leaving camp and walking along an undulating path with lots of short, sharp climbs and descents, we came over a ridge and found ourselves on a plateau and only a few minutes walk from the village of Laya. Having flat ground was a bit of a novelty, as was a collection of houses greater than a handful.

(Arriving in Laya)

After finding our campsite, having a hot lunch in one of the houses (adorned with a very clear picture of a penis – apparently a holy man came through Bhutan a few hundred years ago and his teachings included putting such paintings on houses protected their occupants from bad luck and evil spirits) and spending some time watching the locals go about their business sorting the grain and wheat, it was time to do the usual chores that come with time at a campsite – generally washing and dying clothes. There were also a couple of shops that became apparent after some looking around.

(Layan Lady)

Our leader had thought that, as we were all travelling well, we could ignore the scheduled rest day and keep on moving the next day and give ourselves an extra day ‘in the bank’ in case of trouble later on in the trek. However, our change of yaks had not yet arrived and would not be arriving until late tomorrow. So could relax and rest instead.

(Typical Bhutanese architecture in Laya)

Day11 (Rest Day)

So, what do you do for a day in Laya? There were some shops to go and explore, there were view aplenty to sit and gaze at for a while, and there were hours to snooze and regain some of the energy that had been lost on the previous leg of the trek. Some of the guys visited the local school and had a good time talking with the teachers and children.

One of our crew livened up proceedings by finding a plank of wood and fashioning a cricket bat. We made a ball out of whatever we could find – lots of tape, and then the game was on. Cricket at 3900 metres! A good indication that I was over the altitude effects was that I could run around now and my headache had gone. We played around for an hour or so, repairing the bat when necessary, and providing some entertainment for the locals.

That evening we were treated to some traditional local dances and some local Black Mountain whisky. We partied on into the night, even getting up and trying to learn the dances, which were not that difficult, although some found them more challenging than others. I was happy that we had had a rest day. I felt refreshed and ready to tackle the next leg.

(The author drives through the covers in Laya - photo courtesy of my wife Miriam)

Day 12

Today we started going down; all the way down below 3300 metres. This was cruel, because we then had climb back up to 4200 metres. Once we had reached the bottom of the valley and crossed the Mo Chhu, we then began a long 100 metre climb back up to our camp for the evening.

This was a long climb up to Rodophu. At the start we made our way through often muddy and rocky forests with sharp, steep turns that provided very few places where we could move out of the way of our yaks when it was time to let them past. Like many other days, the yak’s passage gave us an opportunity to rest for a while. This was a seven-hour climb and it was relentless, particularly where there were high rock steps to climb up. The landslides were also interesting; they gave us an opportunity to look right down the precipitous slopes to the valley below.

On the bright side we saw yet more rhododendrons and pine trees, and the forest sheltered us from direct sunlight during the morning. It became cloudy later in the day, and rained a little bit. While we were still in the valley there were plenty of waterfalls coming down from the clouds above. We arrived at camp fairly late in the day and were happy to rest our feet. We were treated to a old hit, which sheltered us during dinner from the cold wind that was blowing in the evening. Well, partially sheltered us as there were no windows in the hut, but it was nice to sit inside. We did, of course, sleep in our tents. Tomorrow we would climb yet again to our highest camp to date, at just below 5000 metres.

(The camp at Rodophu)

Philosophy: Patience really is a good thing!

2009-01-22T08:41:00.000+09:00

Patience is a virtue. This is an often quoted sentence and one which appears to be becoming increasingly ignored.

The ever accelerating nature of society and its desire for instant gratification has led to a widespread attitude that everything must be had now. If we can’t have it now, then we have to go and look for something else that is instantly available. Then, once we have whatever it is we obtained, be it either an object or an achievement, we are then immediately looking for the next step rather than enjoying or appreciating what we have.

The rate at which modern society loses interest in new things, on both an individual and societal basis, shows that not only are we losing patience but also that boredom is the result of this loss. Life has become more focused on achievement rather than the journey to achievement. This leaves people in a constant state of stress – unable to relax because there is always another goal which must be attained.

And what is boredom really? I can understand being a little bit bored at work when a job is not stimulating, but there is no excuse for boredom at home. Boredom at home is surely just a sign of a lack of imagination, and probably the reason why so many sit transfixed by the gogglebox as it spews tripe at them. But I digress.

A little bit of patience brings relief from stress and can also bring a far greater reward than the endless treadmill of goal-oriented high achievement. The patience to sit in front of a painting at an art gallery and marvel at the intricate brushwork and the imagination and the talent of the painter to produce such a dynamic picture brings an affirmation that we, as humans, have an immense amount of talent stored away if we could only access it. It may have taken the painter months or even years to produce the work. It would have been unachievable without a good store of patience. The same can be said of authors, architects (at least those who genuinely want to create, rather than build a box!) and many other creative people. Accessing this talent is usually the problem, sometimes because people may grow up being told they have no talent, but also when people don’t have the patience or imagination to try new things. How do you know if you can paint or not unless you try? One of my lost opportunities is drawing; I know I can draw because on one, and only one, occasion I drew a walking boot in incredible detail, but I haven’t had the patience to it again. It did, however, help me get rid of the notion that I couldn’t say I couldn’t do something unless I had first tried it.

However, perhaps the most important use of patience is to take time to learn about ourselves as individuals. There are so many messages being thrown at us every day verbally, visually or subliminally, that it is difficult to sort out what we want as individuals from what we are being told we should want by other interested parties. These include private companies, advertising firms, our employers, our families, government and many more. It is like trying to see the night sky through a telescope in the middle of a city. The stars are visible, but without seeing what the night sky is like without all the light interference from an urban area, we are unaware of how magnificent it really is.

It takes a significant amount of patience to sit and learn about yourself. Some people never find this patience and go through life in cascade of ever-changing values dependent on the latest expectations others have of them. This patience might be thought of as meditation, but I do not necessarily agree with that interpretation as patience and self-knowledge are not necessarily about spirituality. The application of patience in life provides a long-lasting benefit. It allows us to spend time thinking about what we really want, not what society and/or mass marketers are telling us we should want. Once we know this, our decision-making processes become a lot less conflicted.

Patience allows unhurried and clear assessment of options and of opportunities. It is also a shield from over stimulation and a way in which life can be simplified and made far more enjoyable. It clears the fog that is advertising and spin and allows contemplation of what is on offer. This doesn’t necessarily mean that there needs to be certainty of outcome, far from it, but it does mean that if the future is clouded, this fact is accepted and doesn’t cause unnecessary stress. Patience will assist in bringing calm until the haze clears.

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part IV - Days 7-9)

2009-01-08T08:20:00.007+09:00

Day 7

After spending a night trying to sleep while the local dog population was intent on running riot through and around Chebise, we had a quick breakfast and then began our walking. We headed up towards the next pass – Gombu La. This was a very steep 450 metre climb up to the ridge on which the pass was located. The views back towards the mountains (Jichu Drake (6850m) and Tsheri Kang (6532m)) were magnificent, and made up for the burning feeling in my lungs and legs. I was even able to laugh when I left taking my picture of this view a little too late and had to put up with clouds obscuring the two peaks.

Looking back towards Jichu Drake (obscured by cloud)

The landscape up here was that of grasslands, probably inhabited by small mammals judging by the small burrows we came across. There were bound to be some birds of prey eyeing up these mountainsides looking for the merest hint of movement that would show them where their next meal might be. I didn’t see any, but others did.

It didn’t take more than about two hours to get to the pass, and then we began descending through forests of rhododendrons. As we walked down to lower altitudes we entered a forest of fir and larch trees that was full of autumn colours. Reds, oranges and yellows combined with the dark greens to make a wonderful sight. We stopped for lunch at a yak-herders shelter and enjoyed the opportunity to sit down and rest for a while.

On our way down we could see steep cliffs and gullies on either side of the valley. There were waterfalls cascading down from the cloud above that obscured their origin. The descent took some time and we eventually reached a braided river that we had to cross to get to our campsite on the other side. After a few hops and jumps we could sit down with a cup of tea and reflect on the successful completion of the first week of the trek.

Day 8

Yet another great breakfast to start the morning. Our cook once again excelled himself, filling us up with enough fuel for the day. I wish I could remember his name. I wrote them all down and now can’t find them.

This was a very hard day. We climbed up to over 4700 metres to Jare La in the morning. This was a climb of over 750 metres and it certainly felt like it. Being quite steep and with the cloud being low, we didn’t really know how far we had to go as we trudged on ever upwards. However, once we reached the pass, we were greeted with the smell of Sandalwood which reinvigorated us to some extent. We had a short stop here before we carried on and walked down through a beautiful, wet but treacherous forest. There were lots of sharp corners and the occasional slippery rock, but in between this there were some great views of the valley into which were going. The descent seemed to take a long time and was hard on our legs.

Once down into the valley we were able to relax a bit, and once we’d crossed a makeshift bridge we were on a flat valley floor. In the distance we could see a traditional black yak herder’s tent made of woven yak fur. I tried to get a photo, but it didn’t turn out very well, and we were keen to get to our camp for the night so we didn’t venture of the track too far.

To round the day off, we had a short but steep climb up to a flat campsite on a wide grassy plateau on the side of the valley. By this time I was looking forward to the traditional cup of tea and nibbles at the end of the day and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we were going to do our first 5000 metre pass; the crew filled us up with carbohydrates for dinner!

Day 9

Oh dear…this was a hard day. I wouldn’t usually swear, but - f***! Over 800 metres of climbing in the morning, and it was a rainy and grey experience. There are no pictures of this climb because I was tired, and it didn’t seem worth the effort to take pictures on such a dull day. And it was also quite slippery in many places.

Glacial lake and scour

There were no great views from the top; however the rain did ease once we made it over Sinche La (5005 metres) to the other side. Even though it was tough, it was sobering to see a member of another expedition being carried up the mountain on horse-back, clearly suffering from altitude sickness. The Bhutanese guide, Sangey, was genuinely worried about him. He made it over and down the other side, and on to the end of the trip, but this must have been a very bad day for him. It was good to see Sangey again, he had been our guide on a previous short trek in Bhutan, and he still had his sense of humour and mischief.

Coming down the mountain we had great views of the valley ahead, another classic glaciated U-shape with steep sides and scree-slopes. Further down we came across further evidence of glaciation - a scoured mountainside and glacial lake being retained by a terminal moraine. As walkers would know, after a long hard climb your legs can be a bit wobbly on the descent, so we found a good spot to sit and appreciate the view. There were yet more rhododendrons and fir trees on the steep hillsides which our path clung to.

On the way down from Sinche La

We carried on mainly down hill in the afternoon and camped in some sandy soil by a river. The next day promised a short walk to the village of Laya, and then we would change yaks and move on towards Chozo and the Lunana region.

The Future of 20/20 Cricket – Can it, or should it, replace One-day Internationals?

2008-12-29T09:58:00.000+09:00

The 20/20 game is becoming increasingly popular in both the domestic and international arena, and this provides a much needed opportunity to address the ever tightening schedules faced by international teams.

Closer inspection of this phenomena shows that in the near future it may well out-perform one-day internationals in terms of financial returns and crowd numbers. This format provides excitement in the form of big-hitting and the likelihood of a large number of wickets in a short period of time. It also attracts large numbers of people.

In addition to this, holding 50-over matches in a day-night format has proven the benefits of having evening cricket where people can come after work. The logical extension of this is that a match is played in its entirety in the evening or for that matter on a Sunday afternoon. People can go and do other things that day as well as attend the cricket. On a workday, this is extremely beneficial for crowd numbers. It also attracts those who like their cricket but perhaps not enough to spend a whole day at a ground. And let’s not forget that, particularly here in Australia, people may not be enticed by the prospect of sitting in 35º C in full sun. Sitting under lights in the cool of the evening is likely to be a more attractive option. The huge success of the 20/20 World Cup is indicative of the potential of this game.

At this point I have to point out that I am a ‘traditionalist’ where cricket is concerned. Test matches are the pinnacle of international cricket, and that four-day games are the pinnacle for domestic players. I regularly go to the WACA to watch at least two days of the test match, however one-day cricket has never held the same attraction for me and I sometimes struggle to motivate myself to go. It is also a relative newcomer, having only been on the international stage since 1970. Having said that, I do acknowledge that there is a need to cater for shorter attention spans and a desire for more action and entertainment in the game.

I also acknowledge that one-day cricket has been instrumental in changing test match cricket for the better, leading to some of the best test cricket I have seen in recent years. However, the growing number of meaningless one-day tournaments that clog up the cricketing calendar are fast making this form of the game a burden rather than a benefit, a fact that is increasingly being commented on in the media by both players and spectators. Add to this the fact that one-day cricket is becoming very formulaic, with the middle 25 overs often being fairly tedious as fields go back and good shots fail to reap the value they deserve, and it could be argued that it is time for a change.

So let’s challenge the status quo! The 20/20 game provides a way to address this schedule for international teams if it substantially replaces the one-day game as the second string to a tour. Is this too radical? It’s certainly no more radical than when the one-day game first came into the spotlight. The reality is that people now want to live their lives at a faster pace, and the 20/20 game caters for this need while at the same time providing a great marketing opportunity.

Perhaps the way to go is to reduce the number of one-day internationals (perhaps a maximum of five) and play five 20/20 matches during a tour. After all, who remembers which team wins the one-day tournaments each year, and here in Australia, who can remember the third team that takes part? We do, however, remember who played the test matches and who won that series, because it is these matches that are the true test of cricketing skill.

So let’s do away with these meaningless one-day tournaments and get more people through the turnstiles to watch 20/20. They’ll have their fill of big-hitting, excellent fielding, and exciting finishes. They can see the whole match in three hours and fit it into their tight schedules. 20/20 provides a convenient way to maintain the financial health of the game, while at the same time reducing the match time of the players and ensuring that the game is marketed to a broad section of the population. The only true test of a nations cricketers is a Test match, so who really cares what the form the shorter matches take?

Current Affiars: Rescuing round-the-world sailors is well worth the cost.

2008-12-24T10:40:00.000+09:00

The rescue of another yachtsmen, Yann Elies, competing in the Vendee Globe round-the-world race has once again reached the headlines, with some uncharitable commentators highlighting the so-called ‘cost’.

Those, particularly in Australia, that criticise the cost of such activities should bear in mind that many would not be living where they are today unless someone with an adventurous sprit had not boarded a boat and sailed into the wide blue yonder. While a comfortable and sedate experience is what many people long for, the human race would stagnate without those who try to push the boundaries in all sorts of fields and endeavours. There are indigenous races that may rue this adventurous sprit, and one cannot begrudge them this opinion, but exploration and competition appear to run in the blood of much of the human race.

Those that wish for the quiet life have every right to seek that experience, but they should not begrudge assistance to those who seek more active and physically challenging experiences. Just as some follow the suburban dream and conventional career paths, other dream of sailing the ocean or climbing mountains, or perhaps even going into space.

And as for the cost? Bean-counters use figures suggesting in excess of one million dollars, but is this real? Are the navy sailors not paid irrespective of whether they are at sea? Perhaps they get paid more at sea, but how much more? Is the fuel not going to be used at some point or another in the year? If not this voyage, then another. So what is the real cost of this rescue that wouldn’t otherwise be expended? I would hazard a guess that it is much less than the figures quoted.

I applaud those who still find ways in which to be adventurous and challenge the elements. They remind us that humans are a curious and dynamic animal that seeks out new experiences. We need to keep climbing mountains, sailing the oceans, exploring deep caves, the sea floor and the deserts. The alternative is that we become a risk-averse race that crawls along, afraid to take chances and nervous of challenges. Why should everyone be chained to their job? Why criticise those who choose to push the limits? In the long-run, their spirit of adventure benefits all of us, shows that the world can still be a wild and wonderful place, and reminds many of us of the origin of the cities where we live today.

Poetry: Morning Train - ode to commuters

2008-12-24T10:30:00.002+09:00

The train trudges through the morning fog
squealing its impatience at the waiting crowd,
humming as it hustles them on board
with a promise of standing-room only.

Commuters packed in; mute shadows
swaying to the beat of the tracks,
convicted and sentenced to life and hard labour.
Trying to crack the weekly six-digit code;
the elusive get-out-of-jail-free ticket.

Daydreamers yanked to reality.
No beaches or palm trees for them,
just last night’s drunken mistakes
shrilled into a plastic phone…
within spitting distance.

There’s nowhere to hide.

Blurred, anguished faces outside-
ephemeral reminders of another station
ignored, blown off,
the train whistling its contempt,
‘F*** you, you’re too late.
The train to mortgage-belt hell is full!’

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part III, Days 4-6)

2008-12-23T11:19:00.011+09:00

Day 4 (Rest day)

It was time to spend a day acclimatising to the altitude, but what do you do on a rest day?

Jangothang provided a magnificently scenic place where we consider what to do. The enthusiastic went off visit a nearby mountain lake, while the rest, including Miriam and I, decided that a day of rest and relaxation would be more appropriate. And besides, my dull headache. The previous night I had woken up with a thumping headache that I needed to treat with some painkillers. They had dulled the ache but I had not had a great night’s sleep even though I had kept my head elevated to try to prevent the build-up of fluid on the brain. I had been expecting a headache, but I never been at this altitude for a prolonged period of time and it had been much worse than I had expected.

(The domestic chores of a rest day)

The thing about this headache was that, if it did not improve or got worse, it could keep me from carrying on with the trek. It would be for my own health and safety, but the thought was still disquieting. The next day was the first high pass (4890 metres), after which there would be no way to walk out of the trek route without going over another high pass. And there was no way Sumit would let me do it if I hadn’t improved. He had started me on Diamox by now, which would help keep the fluid build-up as low as possible. Every year people die because they don’t properly recognise or deal with the symptoms of altitude sickness, so to have an experienced guide is something I would highly recommend. While we didn’t know it until we had completed the trek, a group walking a couple of days behind us, lost one of their number two days further on from Jangothang. It was a sobering message and made us appreciate the fact that we all made it through safely.

However, on our day of rest and acclimatization, the sun was shining and my headache was reasonably mild. The majestic peak of Jhomolhari towered above the campsite, its snow-covered flanks and peak glistening in the morning sun. It really is a magnificent peak. I spent most of the morning sitting in a chair doing a bit of reading and periodically becoming entranced by the mountain and spending what was probably hours just staring at it, watching clouds brush across the snow and listening to the distant sound of unseen avalanches. Jhomolhari is one of the mot sacred peaks in Bhutan, and at 7300 metres one of the highest. Nobody is allowed to climb it from the Bhutanese side, or any other mountain in excess of 6000 metres for that matter. I think this is a good thing. To leave some mystery in the world only makes it a more interesting place!

To make the day enjoyable, the crew had decided to make deep-fried sandwiches for a morning treat, and despite my raised cholesterol levels, I felt that I had to sample at least on of these culinary masterpieces. This was one of the first clues that our cook was going to excel on this trek. The group members who went wandering came back in the early afternoon, and I decided to explore the Jangothang site.

In addition to the stupendous views, there are also ruins of another 17th century fortress at this site. This one was adorned with many prayer flags, giving the scenery some colour and giving the ruins a festive feel. Like Drugyel Dzong, this fort is a relic of when the Bhutanese were defending their valleys against incursions from Tibet. We were to come across more on this trek; most just collections of stones that were crumbling, or just a distant jumble of rocks.

The rest day was over all too soon and we were all soon sitting around our trestle-table watching a feast of carbohydrates being brought out for us. We soon realised that this was a sign that the next day might be a tough one. Due to a camera malfunction that cost me a roll of film, I have no photos of the stunning Jhomolhari on the rest day...but take my word for it - it was magnificent! Below is the best I can do!

Day 5

That night I awoke with a splitting headache at about midnight and quickly accessed the painkillers I had brought for just an occasion. I had very little sleep for the rest of the night, but woke, with much relief, with no real headache a Diamox to take before breakfast.

So this was the day when we were going to climb our first high pass, Ngile La, which rises to 4885 metres. The day began with a gentle walk up the valley before we turned east and began the long climb up to the pass. The day was cloudy and this meant that we didn’t get to see the summit Jichu Drake, one of the more spectacular mountains in the region, however it did keep us cool. The trail soon turned very steep indeed. I was at the back of the group already feeling the pace, and wandering if all that training had been for nothing (I had been doing runs up to 20km long as part of my preparation).

It soon became a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and accepting that there simply is not the same amount of oxygen in the air up at this altitude. It was time to take things easy and it provided many opportunities to stop and admire the view back down the valley to our campsite. The previous night’s snowfall on the surrounding peaks added to the vista.

About two hours into the climb, it became a matter of setting myself into a rhythm and keeping going. My legs were feeling the 800 metre climb, and while I didn’t feel out of breath in any way, I could feel the tiredness coming on, along with a dull headache. After a short break we reached what looked like a flatter section, perhaps we were nearing the top.

However, when we turned the corner we were met with another climb that promised to tax us even further. At the valley’s head were snowy peaks, and between them, a saddle which promised to be the pass. Miriam, Sheila, and I put our heads down and trudged onwards and upwards. This was not so steep as the initial climb, but after that steep early section, together with my body rebelling against the lack of oxygen, it felt just as tough, if not more so. By this time we had probably climbed about 400-500 metres, only another 300 to go!

(View back toward Jangothang)

Approximately 3 hours in and I was wondering why I was not still sitting back at the camp with a deep-fried sandwich! Of course, they’d packed up by then and I could see the loaded yaks coming up the mountain some distance behind me, catching me up if I was any judge. The pass looked close now, but one of the crew, who sauntered past me with incredible ease, told me that it was probably at least an hour away at my pace. To make me feel better he told me that our leader was with two people even further behind than us. It gave me a sort of perverse pleasure to know that someone was suffering more than me. Terrible, I know, but I blame it on my oxygen-starved mind.

Eventually the pass came into sight, marked by the multi-coloured prayer-flags that were fluttering in the considerable, and cold, breeze. Howling gale would be a more appropriate description. By now I was carrying a couple of lead weights in each of my legs and could not manage more than a few dozen steps at a time, small steps I might add, even with the pass so tantalisingly close.

With only about fifty metres of climbing to go, I was reduced to counting twenty steps at a time and stopping for a breather, but even this proved too much, and with the prayer-flags within spitting distance, I was reduced to ten steps at a time. I hoped to god that all the passes were not going to be like this because I had ten more to go on the trek after this one.

The freezing gale helped propel me up the last few metres and all of a sudden I was on a gentle downhill slope. My legs, still with their lead attachments, carried my down far enough to sit out of the wind, and gaze across the bleak, but magnificent, landscape that lay before me. The dry landscape was framed by the mountain peaks that lined the horizon beneath a broken layer of cloud. Miriam took some photos, but I just felt awful and didn't worry.

Once I had sat down, we thought about having some lunch, although I must admit that I wasn’t feeling that hungry. After Sumit caught us, he headed on to catch up with the rest of the group, telling us that Margo and Neil were not far behind. This was one of the most enjoyable rests that I had on the whole trek, and I was pretty reluctant to get up again, but we still had a few hours walking to go before we reached our camp near Lingshi.

The descent started well enough, my body rejoicing in the downhill gradient, however, after about two hours, the physical toll of my fist real climb stated to have an effect, and I could feel my legs going weak at the knees. The descent took us down into some lovely forests, but I was far too tired to take much notice, only concentrating on putting one foot in front of other and watching out for treacherous parts of the track.

After about four hours I was wondering if the day would ever end, and looking up in hope every time we came around a corner with new view of the valley below to see if our tents were in sight. The descent turned into a bit of a blur as I fought my way through the fatigue. Thankfully at four-thirty, we saw our tents, but this was just a tease! We still had to clamber down a steep and rocky slope, making way for yaks at the same time as they passed us on the way the camp. After another forty minutes of fatigued walking, we finally reached the camp and I don’t think I could even manage a smile as I sat on a log. Miriam was kind enough to lay out my sleeping bag in the tent and I gratefully lay down, only lifting my head to talk to Sumit when he came by to see how I was feeling – bloody awful!

However, after two hours of lying down, and a cup of tea and some chocolate, I was feeling a lot my like myself again. I managed to get up to have dinner, and another dose of Diamox. As I sat and ate my daily intake of carbohydrates with some vegetables, I fervently hoped that I was over the worst of it. Thankfully it was. I slept like a log that night.

Day 6

I awoke feeling 100% better than the previous day. We started with a short but hard climb up to the Lingshi Dzong, guarding the Lingshi pass that crosses into Tibet to the north. The view from this place are fantastic, with the rugged mountains stretching in all directions. The dzong here is also a centre for traditional medicine, and there were many herbs drying in the sun. Inside the dzong there were some relics of the colonial influence, with some old firearms on the walls from that era. We left a donation, spent some time looking around the old building, and then made our along the track towards Chebise.

We walked along a track carved into the steep mountainsides and up to a mid-level pass. It was a steep climb up to what was more of a ridge than a pass, but nothing like the previous day. The views were, as usual, fantastic. We then made our way along more paths down to the village of Goyok, where we stopped for lunch. It was a great stew (probably mutton or yak) and we ate in the courtyard of one of the houses, sitting among the various drying meats and greenery. The view coming down into Goyok is one of the best of the trek, with the village sitting in a narrow valley, surrounded by sheer rock faces.

(View coming in Goyok)

Above the village is one of the oldest monasteries in Bhutan, Goed Dzong, built in the 16th century as far as I could tell from our guide. Like many of the dzongs, it has been renovated through work by the local villagers. It sits carved into the mountainside, however we did not visit it.

We carried on towards Chebise, walking on paths that clung to steep mountainsides, promising a long fall if one of the many landslides that we clambered over decided to move at any time. Chebise provided a welcome campsite, and a view towards the waterfall at the head of the valley. I felt good now, still taking the Diamox, but no headaches any more. I was adjusting to the altitude, but I continued taking the drug until we reached Laya, the mid-point of the trek.

(view towards Chebise)

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part II - days 1-3)

2008-12-16T08:33:00.012+09:00

Day 1

The official start of the Snowman Trek was in the shadow of the overgrown Drugyel Dzong, an old 17th century fort that now looks somewhat time-weary. It was a humid day; the monsoon had decided to linger later than usual. It gave the sun some extra bite, the humid air magnifying the intensity. I began the trek with a leaky bladder, and I hasten to add that I am talking about my water carrier in my pack, which promised to cause me much hassle if I was not careful. I hurriedly acquired a few 1.5 litre plastic water bottles to make sure I was properly equipped. They lasted the whole trip too!

(Drugyel Dzong)

In the warm, humid air, we began strolling along the lush valley, passing a holy man burning something with an interesting smell. Then we got into the mud. It would not usually be this muddy but for the late monsoon. The rocks were covered in slippery mud, and where there were no rocks, the mud sucked at our boots. It made for a very tough first day, an energy-sapping day where the hours merged into one long endurance test making the customary hard first day, harder than expected.

Stopping at the Gunitswa Army Camp to have our trekking permits checked, provided a good excuse top stop and sit down on a bench for a while and admire the surrounding mountains. By the time we reached the campsite (Shana), it was getting towards evening and nearing twilight. It was a pleasant campsite, with the Paro River gushing past and providing a foreground to traditional farmhouse illuminated by the soft evening sun. At 2890 metres, nobody was suffering from the altitude in any significant way. I slept well that night.

(Paro River at Shana)

Day 2

Our intrepid leader, Sumit, had informed us on the previous evening that the second day was going to be full of ups and downs, and that we would be climbing over 600 metres in altitude. In reality, we would probably be climbing more than 1400 metres once all the ups and downs were completed. It was on this day that people started to feel the effects of the thinner air as we went higher. There were some pale faces on the trail, and we came across one person vomiting as a result of the effects. At this altitude, it isn’t usually too serious, but there were people were in some distress. Neither Miriam nor I were suffering anything more than a bit of breathlessness from the reduced oxygen, at this stage.

This was a bit of an endurance test, and although we went slowly, it remained tough all day, as our bodies protested at the altitude. There was, thankfully, less mud on this day, and we visited a small settlement where the locals treated us to some stew for lunch. It was a pleasant surprise and a respite from never-ending trail. It was no more than three houses in a high and remote valley, but it was a place to sit and take the weight off our feet, and have some yak meat (probably) and fresh vegetables.

Our pack horses passed us relatively early in the day, carrying our gear to the next campsite. We would get used to getting off the narrow trail to them pass, and look forward to the chance to sit down for five minutes every now and then, particularly in the steep mountain sections.

Following lunch, we entered birch and larch forests and would soon come across the rhododendrons. Bhutan has almost fifty species of rhododendrons and often has perfume companies come to extract scents to work on. You could say it is the national plant of Bhutan…but then again, maybe not! There are also hundreds of species of orchids. The rhododendrons are used for domestic uses including traditional medicine, incense, and woodcarving.

As we climbed higher, each hill became harder and I began to wonder exactly how far ahead the camp lay. As the day wore on, we trudged through steep-sided valley that took sunlight away early in the evening. Shadows from the surrounding peaks crept across the path, increasing the gloom. This effect was magnified when walking through dense forest, making it important to watch the ground carefully so that we didn’t turn an ankle on the one of the numerous rocks. We spent some time wondering whether we would make camp before dark. We did, but only just.

On the way we came across a large chorten festooned with prayer-flags. A fellow traveler (Margie, I think) saw our fatigued expressions, and told us to look up and to the left. Our fatigue faded away as the summit of Jhomolhari towered up in the distance, its snow-covered peak glistening in the evening sun. It was a magical sight; we were close to the snow. The view and moment are still etched into my memory.

(Jhomolhari at sunset)

In another half an hour we were at the campsite (Soi Thangthanka) and gratefully sitting down with a cup of tea. We had covered 22km in about ten hours and were now at 3800 metres. That night I got my first altitude headache of the trek, but I still managed a reasonable night’s sleep. It was hard not to sleep after that day.

Day 3

A dull throbbing headache greeted me on the morning of the third day. My body was keen to tell that I was at altitude. This didn’t surprise me, as the only other time I had been up to this height (also in Bhutan) I had suffered the same headache. Being an optimistic type, I thought that a little bit of walking would sort it out.

Cloud shrouded the surrounding peaks, as we had a quick breakfast and then headed off onwards and upwards. We passed through some small collections of houses, somewhat optimistically called villages in the trip notes I have subsequently read. For me this day was one of dull headaches and other than that, it was uneventful. The trail followed the Paro River We climbed almost five hundred metres before reaching Jangothang, at 4100 metres (also called Jhomolhari base camp, although it is no longer possible to climb this mountain, at least from the Bhutanese side). We had climbed about 1800 metres in the last three days and I was certainly looking forward to the rest day.

Philosophy: Are you an optimist of pessimist? There is no middle ground.

2008-12-12T09:50:00.000+09:00

I am an unashamed optimist. I generally see the possibility of a positive outcome, in fact I tend to think of it as the most likely outcome. I am sometimes proven wrong! I find pessimism difficult to understand, however I think it plays an important part in a successful society. Just don’t try to mask it by calling it realism. Realism suggests an ability to predict the future, an almost god-like quality.

It is my belief that there is no such things as a realist, because the reality of a future event is unknown, and only becomes apparent after the event has occurred, no matter how easy or difficult it is to predict the result . Prior to this there is only conjecture about what will occur, and all conjecture has a bias towards pessimism or optimism depending on the outlook of the individual concerned.

Pessimists are generally acknowledged to have a bias towards less than satisfactory outcomes, a negative view of the future. Optimists have the opposite outlook. Pessimists might not necessarily believe a bad outcome will result, but given a choice of potential outcomes they are likely to choose the one that is less positive. Optimists will choose to believe that the better outcome will occur. Pessimists may see the downside of a current situation, while optimists choose to focus on the positive aspects. The classic example being the glass half-full or half-empty conundrum.

Optimists are dreamers. They see positive outcomes in the most dire of situations. They will confidently march into the dark with a sunny outlook to cast some light, taking setbacks as mere speedbumps on the way to the good outcome that lies somewhere ahead. Of course I’m sure the officer overseeing the charge of the Light Brigade was also an optimist, probably verging on the insane type, as were the generals who decided that trench warfare would get them significant gains in the First World War. Or perhaps they were simply not in possessions of all the facts. This, however, does not necessarily (and sometimes unfortunately) prevent an optimist from making a decision.

Many pessimists steadfastly maintain that they are realists, however in my view, this merely shows them to be in denial about their own pessimism. The half-empty glass is a classic example of this, there is only a choice between the positive or the negative. Many will argue strenuously, in the case of future events, that they are looking at empirical evidence (the interpretation of which can be subjective and therefore pessimistic or optimistic) from similar past events where outcomes may not have been good, and that they are merely projecting a likely outcome. However, such a view does not allow for a different, more positive outcome than what has happened in the past, and is therefore pessimistic. I would go as far to say that the vast majority, if not all, of people who say they are realists, are pessimists.

The crucial point about optimists and pessimists is that we need both of them to make sure that important decisions are made properly, with the appropriate amount of consideration of outcomes. In world where there was only pessimists, very little would change and it is likely our psyche would most likely be permanently damaged. In a world full of optimists, it is likely that it wouldn’t be long before we ran head-on into a brick wall that didn’t move. It could be disastrous. But we do need decisions to be made.

And it is also true that most people alternate between optimism and pessimism depending on the situation they find themselves in. This is only natural as we are emotional creatures. Only very few of us are consistently of one frame of mind or the other. And we all know how annoying the constant optimist or pessimist can be.

So don’t say you are being a realist when you are being a pessimist. If you can’t see the positive outcomes in a situation, admit it and get on with explaining why the optimist might be on the wrong track. If you are an optimist, acknowledge that the pessimist has a role to play in tempering your enthusiasm and natural wish to keep the sun-shining, in order that you don’t find yourself on a path to destruction.

Please, just don’t call yourself a realist. ‘Realism’ simply doesn’t exist before an event has taken place.

Sport - the great allrounder

2008-12-04T08:45:00.001+09:00

The are some out there at least those who remain unenlightened, that appear to regard sport as some sort of second class activity that threatens their more cerebral pursuits in some way through its popularity. The idea that governments are so willing to spend money on sporting events, people or codes is a waste, and is apparently somewhat offensive. After all, this is money that could go on more intellectual pursuits and the arts.

While nobody can deny that a healthy and enquiring mind is one of the most important parts of being an effective functioning human being, that on its own will only deliver a portion of a person’s potential. The physical body within which the mind is carried is also a vital part of a person.

Athletes are merely using the human body in a way that it was designed for. The human has not evolved to its current state to be sedentary. Sitting at a desk all day is not what the body is intended for. We need to move. We have bones which need to carry the weight otherwise they will become brittle through inactivity. We have muscles which will weaken and not support our body properly if we let them atrophy. Getting the blood pumping around oxygenates the brain and can help us to think more clearly. It also improves, in the long term, our blood pressure. Exercise also has beneficial impacts on cholesterol levels. This is by no means a comprehensive list but it demonstrates that there are physical benefits from playing sports, however it is true that you do not have to play sports to get these benefits, which you might also get from a daily walk or other form of exercise. This has the potential to save a great deal in terms of the cost of society’s health care. The cost of not funding sport might outweigh the costs of funding as it is today. However, the physical benefits to muscles, bones, and the circulatory system are only part of the benefits of sporting activity.

In addition to physical benefits, there are intellectual benefits that come from sporting activity as well as experiences that can benefit the human spirit. When running or swimming, I certainly find myself entering a calm, and almost meditative, state which helps in dealing with the day-to-day stresses of modern life. It is a haven of peace where the space is mine, and mine alone. Participants in team sports find camaraderie and the sense of belonging, which might not be something easy to achieve, and learn a great deal of interpersonal skills and the opportunity to apply strategic thinking to a problem. It also allows a creative outlet and puts into action that side of the brain related to coordination and lateral thinking, thereby assisting our ability to solve complex problems.

Spectators of sports find much joy, and sometimes angst, in watching their favourite teams or individuals in their preferred sporting event. As with the arts, there are also aesthetic rewards to sport. The aesthetic pleasure of watching an effortless cover-drive at a cricket match is as pleasing to the cricket-lover as an exquisite painting is to an art connoisseur, or a classic poem to a lover of literature. The can be said for the high mark in football, or the perfect cross in a game of soccer. Sport, as with the arts, can provide a huge emotional uplift where a day is otherwise proving to be mundane or disappointing.

But there is still more. Sport provides an outlet for competitive spirit, and most of us are competitive in some form or another, albeit sometimes reluctant to admit it. The more physically inclined look to sport to provide an outlet for this urge to compete, while intellectuals and academics may compete in the area of publications, and artists may compete for prestigious prizes or awards. No matter who we are, we all get a bit competitive, only some choose not to see the parallels with activities outside their own pursuits (and this applies to sporting people too), or are in denial that they are competitive at all. Competition also teaches the young about dealing with failure and overcoming adverse situations, something that they will need to do in their adult life. Some out there will have a philosophical outlook that this sort of competition is not healthy for one reason or another, but they are being competitive themselves by trying to convince others of their arguments.

There is no excuse for looking down in sport because it’s not your pursuit of choice. It provides many of the same benefits to its devotees as intellectual pursuits do, and is no less worthy. To those who might not have been fortunate enough to have been brought up in an environment conducive to educational excellence or intellectual development, it provides an essential outlet for competitive spirit and a good way to let off steam in what might be a depressing and frustrating environment. Those that think that paying someone to represent the country at sport is a waste of taxpayer’s money obviously have trouble thinking outside their own world view of what is important for our society as a whole.

Just as movie stars get paid millions of dollars to play a role in a film because they will attract huge numbers of people to the cinemas, sporting stars also get paid commensurate with their ability to draw people through the turnstiles. They give pleasure to many and get rewarded accordingly. This is simply a reflection of the number of people willing to see them perform, and the consequent financial spin-offs for those paying performers in the first place. For the same reasons, the money flowing into the arts and intellectual pursuits is not as great.

This does not deny their crucial role in society. The evolution of our philosophical approach to life, government, economics, and social development in general is of paramount importance, but it is the preserve of relatively few; those with the reputation and ability to argue their cases. I have spent many enjoyable hours listening to the Western Australian Symphony Orchestra, strolling around the art galleries and museums of our capital cities, or reading and writing poetry. I enjoy these pursuits, and would not wish them to disappear.

These pursuits, however, do not provide the same package of cognitive, spiritual and physical development as sports do. Sports have developed to fulfill this need and, hopefully, keep us from physical conflict. They are unashamed in their appeal to the masses and this is how it should be. For those unwilling to acknowledge the role sports play, this is perhaps more of a reflection of their competitiveness relating to their own favourite pursuit’s lack of attention and funding. Or maybe it’s pure green-eyed jealousy at its worst, brought on by the equivalent of throwing a tantrum and then going away to sulk. I would be very comfortable if the same amount was spent on Olympic athletes for the London games as was for the Beijing games, the various sporting academies, and on grassroots level sports.

Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part 1 - Arriving in Bhutan)

2008-11-26T13:46:00.014+09:00

So...I did the Snowman Trek last year along with my wife, Miriam. What possessed us to do this, I don't know. But we did it. I think it is now time to write about it and I shall be doing a series of articles over the next few months that outline some details of this wonderful part of the world, with some pictures where possible. We went with World Expeditions, a company that I would highly recommend.

OK

Arriving in Bhutan

Flying into Paro is a gripping experience. After a short stop in Calcutta to pick up passengers, our flight from Bangkok continued over the Ganges delta. It wasn’t long before we saw the Himalaya rising up in the distance, and rugged foothills between the clouds beneath us. To the northwest the Everest massif rose majestically out of a sea of white stratus cloud. It looked like a glistening white island rising out of an off-white sea, framed by the deep blue sky. At least it looked that way if you were lucky enough to on the same side of the plane as I was, those on the other side could only take our word for it! Along with Everest (8848m) there were a number of other peaks in the group including Lohtse (8511m), which towers above the lesser mountains around it. Cho Oyu (8153m) which is on the Nepalese –Tibetan border may also have been visible.

Once I stopped trying to crane my neck to keep an eye on the world’s highest point, I noticed that the hills below were becoming increasingly high and very steep. The word precipitous came to mind. The trees were getting closer and appeared to be reaching up towards the plane as they clung to mountainsides. The valleys were all v-shaped, a sure sign that torrents of meltwater had relentlessly cascaded down them for tens of thousands of years from the high mountains to the north. I wondered what the mountains further to the north would be like, and whether I was going to be fit enough to get up and down the passes.

The plane banked sharply between mountains on either side and we began our descent into Paro. The trees were getting uncomfortably near at this time, almost close enough to reach and touch. Well, I’m sure they weren’t that close, but in an aircraft it is only natural not to see them as close as they were now, and the same could be said for the powerlines below. However, in no time at all we were rumbling along the concrete of the runway towards the arrivals building.

It is not a very long walk across the concrete between the Druk Air plane and the airport buildings, but it seems to take quite a while. This is because most people spend time looking at the mountains surrounding them and taking some pictures. Then they turn around and see what looks like a temple, or religious building of some sort, into which the other passengers are going. This is probably the most welcoming arrivals building anywhere in the world. It is constructed using traditional Bhutanese architectural features, as are most buildings in this country, and is brightly painted, as is the custom here.

Inside there are numerous murals on the walls, all depicting scenes of the Buddha and his experiences. It makes the queuing for passport checks and other formalities seem even shorter than it is. And it does not take long at all.

Once through, we took a minibus to our hotel, stopping on the way to take in views of the magnificent Paro Dzong and also to watch a local archery contest. The dzong imposes itself over the river beneath. It is the administrative centre of the town and its high, white walls remind the viewer that it was once also a fort. If we were here in May, we might have been able to see one of the many festivals held in Bhutan. But we were not. Above the dzong is the National Museum, itself and old fort that had been built to provide a high lookout to warn of approaching enemies.

On a previous visit I had had the opportunity to spend an hour or two looking around it. It is a splendid museum, containing many treasured artefacts, historical information, examples of Bhutan’s famous postage stamps, and examples of traditional dress, all within its circular walls, the different galleries being connected by low passageways that wind their way through the walls. From beside the museum there are wonderful views of the Paro Valley, also called the golden valley because of the lush crops that grow in the soil there.

The archery contest in Bhutan does not use a conventional target, but rather small wooden targets. Contestants are allowed to shout and try to put off their opponents as they aim at the targets. It is a very good-natured sport, and is the national sport of Bhutan. Most villages will have an archery contest. We spent some time here watching, and taking in the atmosphere, but the sun was biting and it was soon time to continue on to our hotel.

Sitting on the banks of the Paro River, the hotel consisted mainly of small hexagonal single-story buildings that contained six rooms, each with a small table and chairs on an outside verandah. The main building was double-storey and contained the lounge, bar and the restaurant.

We were allowed a couple of hours to collect our thoughts before lunch, and it was during this time that I discovered that I had left the keys that would allow me to unlock the steel mesh that encased my pack, at home. This was a good start to the journey! I managed to track down some pliers, courtesy of Sumit, our tour leader, and spent at least an hour painstakingly severing each strand of wire (and skewering my hands) before eventually gaining access to my luggage. The wire was written off, but that did not worry me too much. If anybody wanted to rifle through my smelly trekking clothes on my way out of Bhutan, then they would be most welcome.

After lunch, and still feeling the effects of travelling for most of the past twenty-four hours, we embarked on an acclimatisation climb. This was to the Takstang (Tiger’s Nest) Monastery. It was to break us in gently I suppose, but it sits at 3100m above sea-level, and this meant a 500 metre climb from our starting point. Despite this daunting prospect, the monastery is well worth seeing. It clings to small ledge above a sheer drop and was originally built in the late 17th century at a place considered to be where the Guru Rinpoche flew up to a cave on the back of a tiger to battle a local demon. It is a site of considerable significance and is visited by people from all over Bhutan.

In 1998, the monastery was destroyed by fire. It has since been rebuilt, using a cable lift to transport materials up from the valley floor. This was still in progress on my previous visit and I had not been able to access the building, having to be content with admiring its golden roof from afar. However, it is now complete and, after the fatiguing two-hour climb, I was able to walk through the buildings and appreciate the views from this structure and the waterfall that cascades down from mountain above. All too soon, it was time to make our way back down to the waiting minibus.

The descent seemed long, and this was exacerbated by the realisation that it was getting dark, and the damp slippery mud that we had managed to avoid on the way up, being a bit more challenging to see on the way down. It was very gloomy indeed as we picked our way through a path covered with slippery tree roots in the forest at the base of the climb. The coaster bus was a welcome sight, and we were soon back in our hotel. We settled in for a quiet night of repacking and a light dinner, followed by a beer or two. We had an early night in anticipation of the next day’s walk.

Homelessness: They’re People and we should acknowledge that.

2008-11-21T12:59:00.001+09:00

Only a couple of weeks ago I passed a young man sitting in a shop doorway. He had a sign in front of him, written on a piece of cardboard, asking for spare change. He was sitting cross-legged on a small blanket. Being in a hurry, I passed by, noticing that he had his gaze firmly fixed in his feet, or perhaps the ground in front of him.

As I walked further down the street, not more than twenty or thirty metres, it was like that last image had caught me like a bungee rope. I had very little money on me, but as I got closer to the street corner, the bungee rope reached its longest point and I stopped. A battle raged inside me, one side looking a the 85 cents in my hand and saying that giving a paltry amount as this would be a bit cheap and insulting, and the other saying that it would be better than giving nothing.

What really drew me back was the image of someone who could not look at the world, along with the fact that my 85 cents was better in his pocket than mine. It might be the difference between eating something or going hungry. I placed my money at his feet, but that was not enough. Just to throw money at someone does not acknowledge their existence as a person, it merely acknowledges a ‘problem’.

So, in addition to giving my fairly inadequate contribution, I said hello and got him to look me in the eye to make sure that he knew I was seeing him as a person, and not just a faceless member of the homeless. The more I thought about this, the more I believe this was far more important than the money I gave. He had been sitting on the ground unable to look people in the eye, probably somewhat ashamed of his predicament, while the world walked by. Mostly ignoring him or wishing he didn’t exist to jog their conscience.

As my wife says (she’s quite wise you know), some people are damaged, and it is the responsibility of society to look after such people. They may have mental problems, be traumatised, or in some way be unable to fit into the society the majority of us have created. And because we have created this society we have a responsibility to care for those we have left behind.

Such people are not, as some would like to day, a drain on society. They should not be ignored or hidden away as some would like, often municipal councils who see than as a blight on their vision of what their locality should look like. This is simply ignoring reality and hoping it will go away. It is a harsh view that does no justice to us as human beings. The idea that we apply a ‘survival of the fittest’ ethos in this case is a flawed and ultimately flexible idea that civilized societies should see for what it is – the arrogance of those privileged and well-off who have defined what the ‘fittest’ should be.

Now, I’m not talking about those who are commonly referred to as ‘dole-bludgers’. I’m talking about those who find themselves out on the street unable to find a home. I would be happy to pay an extra cent or two in the dollar tax to help homeless people. What is that to me? A few beers each week? It could kick in above a certain income threshold. This obsession with reducing tax ignores what it can be used for to benefit our society as a whole, and relies on the ‘market’ to decide where money goes. Well the ‘market’ would like the problem of homelessness to disappear and appears to view it as an inconvenience. It appears unable or unwilling to help solve the problem, suggesting it is a problem for government. Hence the need to use tax revenues.

Philosophy: Uncertainty and Change

2008-11-11T09:22:00.001+09:00

Change. It’s a word that causes a lot of angst. Why? Because it brings uncertainty. Uncertainty is feared by many, and sometimes with good reason. There are some fundamentals in our lives that require a level of certainty so that we can function both as individuals and as a society. The need to know that we can feed ourselves, keep a roof over our heads, and stay reasonably safe are all important to being able to enjoy our lives.

But uncertainty and change also play a vital role in making our lives interesting. It brings stimulation to each day and forces us into instances where we need to make decisions. Imagine knowing what the outcome of every decision you make would be, or the outcome of every sporting contest before it happened, or even everyone you might meet during the day. While on the surface this may sound appealing, the interest in each day would rapidly decrease and be replaced by monotony; one long and tedious experience.

Uncertainty can provide more benefits than making life interesting. It helps us to grow as individuals. A moment of uncertainty can propel us into making a decision and potentially changing the course of our lives. This, at its core, is what uncertainty is all about. By forcing an individual to make a decision, uncertainty can assist a person in gaining some control of their life through taking responsibility for their future direction.

Unfortunately there are many who find decision-making, in one form or another, to be quite intimidating. The fear that the wrong decision might be made can lead to a paralysis and no decision being made. When this happens life can become stagnant in an area, and if it is a repeated outcome, life becomes stagnant in many areas. Without a decision opportunities are missed, and when this becomes a common occurrence, individuals can stop seeing those opportunities even when they are still there.

I understand that there are some people out there who find uncertainty so painful that, for instance, they find the idea of watching their favourite sporting team in real time action a form of torture. They would prefer to watch a recording only after the result is known, and they can thus shield themselves from watching a poor performance. Personally, I find watching a game where I already know the result to be quite boring. There is very little mystery left and no journey to take. There are only subdued emotions associated with such an activity. There is no angst when your team is behind, and no consequent relief and joy if it pulls off an unexpected win. There is very little drama to make it interesting. What is the point?

There have been studies that show that when people get put into a position of uncertainty, particularly in a decision is required quickly, they can panic and often make an unwise decision. This give ammunition to those who see such instances as stressful and problematic, and long for certainty. However, learning to deal with such uncertainty is surely beneficial to us all. Avoiding it merely ensures that the same stress occurs the next time.

If you find uncertainty unsettling, think about this. When you do not know an answer there can be purpose and enjoyment in finding it out. Once the answer is attained there might be a fleeting moment of joy or elation, but then what? Certainty has returned to add some more dullness to your life.

Uncertainty also provides a platform by which we can evolve both technically and spiritually. What is and is not possible has changed throughout history as people have questioned the ‘certainty’ that was prevalent at the time. There is no doubt that both socially and scientifically, some changes have been incredibly painful and have caused much anxiety and soul searching, however this how we learn as a society, make new rules and improve lives.

The unexpected occurrence is one of the other benefits of uncertainty. While planned fun can be enjoyable, it is rarely as enjoyable as an unexpected benefit or social occasion. Conversely, the bolt from the blue that brings bad news is another part of uncertainty. Such bad news brings into context the joy that comes from the positive experiences. Without the balancing negative, similar positives are not possible. In between lies certainty, where little changes and little evolution of thought or character takes place.

Individuals need to be comfortable with the fact that they will make bad decisions every now and then. This is just part of life. Such decisions should not be dwelled on, or allowed to become a large barrier to future decision making. And also, seemingly bad decisions or outcomes can have unseen benefits that only become clear later on. Getting turned down when asking a girl out may lead you to the love of your life, who you might never have met if you hadn’t suffered some setbacks earlier on. When uncertainty is met head on where small decisions are concerned, people are less likely to be intimidated by the bigger decisions that might come later in life.

Encouraging the younger members of society to take the consequences of their decisions and learn from them, without discouraging future decision-making is one of the challenges that society must overcome. The alternative is to wait for others to tell us what to do, and this is surely an inferior way to deal with uncertainty, as well as a lazy one that takes away the responsibility of the individual for their own life.

We should therefore embrace uncertainty, from early on, and acknowledge the developmental benefits it provides. After all, without a level of uncertainty there would be little point in getting out of bed in the morning. Embrace uncertainty and life becomes the richer for it.

Philosophy: Why sport is important

2008-11-04T13:37:00.003+09:00

The are intellectuals out there, at least those who remain unenlightened, that appear to regard sport as some sort of second-class activity that threatens their more cerebral pursuits in some way through its popularity. The idea that governments spend money on sporting events, people or codes is considered a waste, and is apparently somewhat offensive. After all, this is money that could go on more intellectual pursuits and the arts.
While nobody can deny that a healthy and enquiring mind is one of the most important parts of being an effective functioning human being, that on its own will only deliver a portion of your potential. The physical body within which the mind is carried is also a vital part of a person. So what is the physical body all about?
The human has not evolved to its current state to be sedentary. Sitting at a desk all day is not what the body is intended for. We need to move. We have bones which need to carry the weight otherwise they will become brittle through inactivity. We have muscles which will weaken and not support our body properly if we let them atrophy. Getting the blood pumping around oxygenates the brain and can help us to think more clearly. It also improves, in the long term, our blood pressure. Exercise also has beneficial impacts on cholesterol levels. This is by no means a comprehensive list but it demonstrates that there are physical benefits from playing sports, however it is true that you do not have to play sports to get these benefits, which you might also get from a daily walk or other form of exercise. Athletes are merely using the human body in a way that it was designed for. But, the physical benefits to muscles, bones, and the circulatory system are only part of the benefits of sporting activity.
In addition to physical benefits, there are intellectual benefits that come from sporting activity as well as experiences that can benefit the human spirit. When running or swimming, I certainly find myself entering a calm, and almost meditative, state which helps in dealing with the day-to-day stresses of modern life. It is a haven of peace where the space is mine, and mine alone. Participants in team sports find camaraderie and the sense of belonging, which might not be something easy to achieve, and learn a great deal of interpersonal skills and the opportunity to apply strategic thinking to a problem. It also allows a creative outlet and puts into action that side of the brain related to coordination and lateral thinking, thereby assisting our ability to solve complex problems.
Spectators of sports find much joy, and sometimes angst, in watching their favourite teams or individuals in their preferred sporting event. As with the arts, there are also aesthetic rewards to sport. The aesthetic pleasure of watching an effortless cover-drive at a cricket match is as pleasing to the cricket-lover as an exquisite painting is to an art connoisseur, or a classic poem to a lover of literature. Sport, as with the arts, can provide a huge emotional uplift where a day is otherwise proving to be mundane or disappointing.
But there is still more. Sport provides an outlet for competitive spirit, and most of us are competitive in some form or another, albeit sometimes reluctant to admit it. The more physically inclined look to sport to provide an outlet for this urge to compete, while intellectuals and academics may compete in the area of publications, and artists may compete for prestigious prizes or awards. No matter who we are, we all get a bit competitive, only some choose not to see the parallels with activities outside their own pursuits (and this applies to sporting people too), or are in denial that they are competitive at all. Competition also teaches the young about dealing with failure and overcoming adverse situations, something that they will need to do in their adult life. Some out there will have a philosophical outlook that this sort of competition is not healthy for one reason or another, but they are being competitive themselves by trying to convince others of their arguments.
There is no excuse for looking down in sport because it’s not your pursuit of choice. It provides many of the same benefits to its devotees as intellectual pursuits do, and is no less worthy. To those who might not have been fortunate enough to have been brought up in an environment conducive to educational excellence or intellectual development, it provides an essential outlet for competitive spirit and a good way to let off steam in what might be a depressing and frustrating environment. Those that think that paying someone to represent the country at sport is a waste of taxpayer’s money obviously have trouble thinking outside their own world view of what is important for our society as a whole.
Just as movie stars get paid millions of dollars to play a role in a film because they will attract huge numbers of people to the cinemas, sporting stars also get paid commensurate with their ability to draw people through the turnstiles. They give pleasure to many and get rewarded accordingly. This is simply a reflection of the number of people willing to see them perform, and the consequent financial spin-offs for those paying performers in the first place. For the same reasons, the money flowing into the arts and intellectual pursuits is not as great.
This does not deny their crucial role in society. The evolution of our philosophical approach to life, government, economics, and social development in general is of paramount importance, but it is the preserve of relatively few; those with the reputation and ability to argue their cases.
Intellectual pursuits do not provide the same package cognitive, spiritual and physical development as sports do. Sports have developed to fulfill this need and, hopefully, keep us from physical conflict. They are unashamed in their appeal to the masses and this is how it should be. For those unwilling to acknowledge the role sports play, it is perhaps, more of a reflection of their competitiveness relating to their own pursuit’s lack of attention and funding, and pure green-eyed jealous at it’s worst, brought on by the equivalent of throwing a tantrum and then going away to sulk..

How much expertise do we need?

2008-10-10T13:52:00.001+08:00

When a person becomes an adult, they start having to take responsibility of their lives, at least one hopes that they do. In years gone past, the pace of change was not such that taking responsibility related to an ever-changing landscape where innovation and advancement happened on a weekly basis. However, in our modern world, the increasingly globalised markets, along with the advent of the world wide web, has exponentially increased the rate of change and speed of communication. Change and expanding choice have become an ever-present part of society. This brings its own problems.

The large number of options now available, for many things, requires the consumer to do a lot of research and become relatively proficient in evaluating what is on offer. For instance, if a person wants to buy a new washing machine they now have numerous manufacturers to choose from and numerous stores selling washing machines at different prices. They might also feel obliged to consider other factors such as environmental impacts, the type of labour conditions in the factories that make the machines, and whether it is made within the country of purchase. This all takes time.

Other larger purchases may take more time. Deciding which company you are going to have provide various types of insurance is of concern to many, as is the provider of the mortgage on a house, or the type of superannuation fund that is best for them. With the breadth of choice now available this is a complex and time-consuming activity. As all those who have read mortgage contracts and insurance policies know, trying to evaluate what is actually being provided and the potential pitfalls is a challenge in itself when reading one, let alone trying to compare a variety of such documents. If you have the money, then you can get a professional to look at this for you, but then again, which professional to choose?

With a greater emphasis on people providing their own retirement fund, we are now being asked to become proficient in the assessing investments in the Stock Market. Becoming an expert on the financial markets is not something that happens quickly and yet more and more of us are being asked to make decisions on investments and superannuation. The current Stock Market turmoil is taking its toll on many institutional investors and funds, and one can only speculate about what it is doing to self-funded retirees and those who are nearing the time when they are set to retire.

Of course, the experts also tell us that we should review all of our major financial commitments on a yearly basis. Is our house and car insurance still the best? Should we be considering changing our bank or mortgage provider? Is our health insurer as competitive as it should be? Perhaps our car and/or computer is out-of-date and in need of upgrading. Are we getting the best deal on our telecommunications? All these things are changing at a rapid rate and we are all being asked to keep up.

But, in addition to spending all our time delving into these big financial commitments and purchases, there is a need to do even more research. The nutritional value of some of the food we buy at the supermarket is doubtful, so should we take any notice of the non-stop advertising that assaults us on a daily basis? And do we need to know what those numbers relating to additives mean? A trip to the shops becomes a matter of looking closely at the labels to see if there are any dubious additives included, or whether the weight or quantity has been reduced while charging the same price. This lengthens the time needed to get the job done.

I haven’t yet mentioned the environment. We now need to consider our carbon emissions, our water use, whether we should recycle what we consider waste, and the carbon footprint of everything we buy. This is not a bad thing, in fact it is very good to consider these things and act accordingly, but after considering much of the above, it becomes yet one more call upon our time to research what we should be doing.

The modern media and internet are constantly bombarding us with conflicting views about what we should be doing and how we should be doing it, giving us yet more urges to go and do research.

I have only covered choices relating to singles or couples. For families there are numerous additional choices that have to be made.

Why is this so? Perhaps it’s because we lack trust in the professionals now, or maybe it’s because governments are now giving us freedom to make our own decisions. The free market might be to blame, or perhaps it’s our own insecurities that we are somehow not getting ‘the best’, whatever that might be. And there is the potential for people to feel guilty about not having ‘the best’, as if somehow this makes them inferior.

The bottom line is that we are being asked to become experts on areas that are the preserve of those who have spent many years learning to become professionals. And yet, despite this, we are still corralled into feeling obliged to have significant knowledge of these areas. This all takes time. And so much time can be spent on these things that we fail to find enough time for ourselves.

Getting ‘the best’ may, in fact, involve reclaiming time for ourselves rather than spending inordinate amounts of time trying to learn everything about everything. In terms of mod-cons and services, in the long term ‘the best’ cannot be bought anyway, because everything is constantly evolving and changing.

It surely must be time to re-evaluate all of this, and realise that life is something to be enjoyed rather than something to be endured.

First published at www.onlineopinion.com 10/10/08

20 Songs to Relax to on a Hot Summer’s Evening

2008-10-03T14:18:00.004+08:00

This is a totally self-indulgent list, but I encourage anyone who reads it to take time to listen to these tracks, with a beer in hand, and tell me they aren’t classics. Mind you if you’ve sat through them all on said evening, then your are probably snoozing in an alcohol induced sleep. So in no particular order:-

Big Log (Robert Plant) - This solo effort from the Led Zeppelin frontman captures the mood of solitary reflection and contemplation while on the road. A fine effort.

On the Beach (Chris Rea) – From the guitar master with the gravelly voice. This smooth combination of a catchy beat overlain with keyboards and a relaxing guitar riff runs for almost 7 minutes. It’s well worth the time though.

That’s Entertainment (The Jam) – Paul Weller at his best. This track is a great reflection of urban life in the late 70’s, but also holds true for urban life today in many areas.

Last Train to Heaven (Paul Kelly & the Coloured Girls) – As well as being on the album gossip, this mellow track can also be found on the surfing film Jungle Jetset. Paul Kelly remains a classic Australian musician.

Girls on the Avenue (Richard Clapton) – Perhaps not too well known outside Australia. An ode to girls of negotiable affection.

Maybe Tomorrow (Stereophonics) – Great stuff from these guys. Strikes the balance of melancholy with a simple chord progression.

Walking in the Sunshine (Bad Manners) – The ska boys in rare reflective mood, but intent on drinking red wine. This song has a saxophone ‘riff’ that just resonates and is, in my humble opinion, one of the best uses of the saxophone in ‘pop’.

Long Hot Summer (Style Council) – If this song doesn’t relax you, then nothing will. One of the first Style Council songs, from the summer of 1983.

Slave (James Reyne) – The Australian Crawl lead singer in solo form. A bit of late night classic to wind people down.

Every Kind of People (Robert Palmer) – The late Robert Palmer’s cover of this song from 1978 leaves you feeling laid back and tolerant of the other occupants of this planet of ours.

School (Supertramp) – Classic use of the keyboards and a song that ebbs and flows. May be not their best song, but many people will know the piano hook from the mid-section of this song.

Saturday Night (Cold Chisel) – One of Australia’s finest rock bands. Sadly not well-known outside the antipodes. This is one of many great songs. Good use of recorded sounds from a pub in the intro.

Cars and Girls (Prefab Sprout) – Under-rated and under-played, Prefab Sprout were the master of the melodic pop song. This one will take you on smooth journey.

Take it Easy (The Eagles) – One of the earliest, but one of the best songs from the Eagles. Just under three minutes of country-pop that won’t leave you bored.

La Viguela (Gotan Project) – This combination of French and Argentinean musicians will get you wanting to dance the tango, but you’ll be able to resist this and just enjoy the flow of the music, while imagining latin scenes in far away Buenos Aires.

This Too Will Pass (Rodney Crowell) – Rodney is big in the USA, I believe. I only have two CD’s but this optimistic song stands out as a country-pop classic.

In These Shoes (Kirsty MacColl) – The late Kirsty MacColl shows her sense of humour and latin musical influences on this track, which has been used extensively in advertising.

Summertime (Gerry & the Pacemakers) – What can I say about this. This cover is just silky-smooth even after all these years. Cole Porter would be proud.

Kiss Me (Sixpence None the Richer) – A short-lived band from Texas that produced a classic. I can’t remember the film that this came from, but it’s a great piece of laid-back pop.

Jamming (Bob Marley & the Wailers) – I couldn’t not have some reggae in this list, and who better than Bob Marley could I include. Jamming must be one of the best mainstream reggae tracks of all time.

Modern Jargon: How to use it to disguise your moaning and whining

2008-09-25T09:48:00.003+08:00

Trying to get ahead but finding yourself time-poor? Then perhaps you are spending too much time with modern jargon!

Every new generation of kids and teenagers comes up with words and phrases that are new and confuse older generations, however it is now the adults that are coming up with new stuff. The trouble is that this new jargon often doesn’t make sense, even though it infiltrates modern language. I have two examples that I want to rant about, because they are really nothing more than excuses for begin miserable and trying to paint oneself as a martyr.

Time-Poor

What does time-poor mean? Has there ever been a more annoying phrase? How has anybody got any less time in the day than anyone else? Don’t we all have the same number of minutes and hours in each day?

Yes, as you may have gathered, this is a phrase that really strikes me as inane. If there is not enough time in the day it probably means that you are trying to do too much. Most of us have a lot of choice about how much we try to fit in. So, if you are finding that there are not enough hours in the day, perhaps you need to slow down a little bit and take some time to smell the roses.

At the end of the day it’s your choice how much you take on, irrespective of whether you feel you have to or not. Learn to say no, or at least put aside time for yourself (and don’t compromise on this one!). There will always be jobs that appear to be, or at least we perceive to be, urgent and it is so easy to get caught up in the rush to achieve for achievements sake rather than for any worthwhile outcome.

Perhaps we need to slow down and accept that there are things we have to let go of. Everything is not urgent, no matter what we may think. Opportunities come and go, but the chances are that more opportunities will come along. We don’t have to fight every battle that comes our way either, the confidence to let an issue go frees up time we can use for our own enjoyment. We can be selective. Put simply, if you find you are struggling to fit everything into your day, don’t try to do so much!

And above all, don’t use the phrase time-poor, it sounds like the workaholics justification for not allowing time for themselves to enjoy life.

Getting Ahead

Getting ahead of what? Exactly how will anyone know when they are ‘ahead’? Who will they be ahead of, and how? I hear this phrase so often and I still wonder what, or who, the users of this phrase are competing with.

The question arises – if you are ahead of someone, on your self-generated scale, surely there are probably people you are ‘behind’. And if you are ‘behind’ people, can you possibly say that you are ‘ahead’? It makes my head hurt.

By all means set goals which you want to achieve, but to use the term getting ahead is tantamount to saying that you are somehow not up to scratch and struggling to keep up. It is a way of reinforcing that you are somehow inferior to others and cannot be good for self-esteem. Is that any sort of way to live a life? I expect a lot people trying to get ahead also use the term time-poor.

Negative Growth

Sorry, this is just drivel. What is negative growth? Growth is an expansion of a substance of a network or some other ‘thing’. It cannot be negative. The phrase is contradictory. What people who use this word mean to say is something like, shrinkage, or contraction, and they usually mean this in relation to a business or the economy.

So when treasury or a business executive say this annoying phrase, they are doing everything they can not to mention other words, but this is pointless. Everyone knows what they mean if they utter this phrase – we’re going backwards.

This is symptomatic of our fear of a bad result, our fear of failure, of admitting that we might not have succeeded. It’s pathetic really. And it’s also very bad English, irritatingly bad English. So economists, executives and bureaucrats, please stop using this phrase.

Travel: Walking therapy on the Bibbulman Track

2008-09-17T13:22:00.004+08:00

It doesn’t take long to drive from Walpole to Albany, on the south coast of Western Australia, in fact not much more than a couple of hours. Along the way there are many green fields with, depending on the season, open water lying on the clay-rich soils and reflecting the skies above, or herds of cattle strolling trough the grass. There are also many opportunities to drive through majestic karri forests, many invitations to turn off the main road and visit an inlet or a beach, and plenty of opportunities to enjoy the many other tourist attractions.

There are wineries that offer cellar-door tasting, and producers of fresh fruits and vegetables. There are also numerous art galleries and restaurants. In addition to this, there are offers of recreational opportunities including walking among the treetops of the karri forest, riding horses, swimming, fishing, and four-wheel driving. All along the way are chalets and farm-stays that provide pleasant accommodation. Invitations to adventures or pleasures are signposted on the side of the road.

Yet, on the horizon to the south lie the coastal hills. They seem so far away, but they lie only a few kilometres distant. Karri forests offering shade and mystery lie to the north of the road. Narrow access roads leave the highway on an irregular basis. They lead to small car parks and walk trails hidden behind the dense foliage or in distant dunes.

This method of visiting the south coast is like watching a slideshow. One minute you are in a forest, the next you are in a winery, the next you are at the coast. Then there is a fleeting image of an orchard or some farmland, or perhaps a picturesque town. None of these images stay with you for very long, it is all so superficial. The experience you get is two-dimensional – a pretty picture, some nice colours, a few tastes and smells, but no real warmth. All too soon you find yourself back home with some fast fading memories and a vague feeling that there was more to see and do, or that an important experience was missed.

However, walking through the landscape is a very different experience from driving through it. When a person walks a track, they become part of the landscape and have the chance to experience it as it changes. When safely cocooned inside a car, coach or train, or racing through on a motorbike, an individual is isolated from that which they see.

While many shy away from the weather, preferring the cocoon, it is the feel of the rain as it hits your skin, the sound of the rain hitting a jacket or dropping on to the leaves of surrounding trees, which indicate you are within the landscape. It is the feel and sound of the wind tugging at clothes or rustling the through the vegetation that tells you that you are in a dynamic environment. And it is the smell of freshly dampened vegetation or the approaching rain, which lets you know you are in a three-dimensional place, and not simply looking as you would at a postcard.

Walking takes time, and this can be a problem to those who have convinced themselves that time is in short supply. Time is a precious commodity, too much of which that should not be wasted on the mundane or unenjoyable, but should instead be used for the fulfilment of life and the chance to immerse oneself in enjoyable experiences. The phrase ‘Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time’ comes to mind. Taking time to walk puts the emphasis on enjoying the journey rather than achieving the goal. This slows us down and encourages some reflection and thought outside the screaming urban centres, where we are bombarded thousands of messages each day from a multitude of sources, asking us to make decisions, telling us we have to achieve quickly or we might miss out, or that we are falling behind in an attempt to achieve the ‘perfect’ life.

So, if you drive between Walpole and Albany you will, all too soon, arrive back into the maelstrom of everyday life. Two hours and it’s gone; you’re in Albany looking for a hotel. But if you take a walk on the Bibbulman Track that runs between these two towns, you will experience the forests, the coastal dunes, the beaches and the inlets (in fact the track runs from Perth to Albany, a distance of eight hundred kilometres or more, and this just the last leg). You will find secluded huts where you can simply put your feet up and enjoy the views, remote benches overlooking majestic coastal cliffs, and dense forests that hide a multitude of wildlife rarely seen by most people.

The track asks that the journey not be rushed. It insists that you do not brush off the views, the smells, and changes in the weather and light. You can’t close windows, turn on the lights, or turn on the air-conditioning. It demands that those who walk its length cast off the shackles of urban life and surrender to the whims of Mother Nature. It presents a chance to cleanse the mind and body of stress; to return to that peaceful place we all need to go to reclaim our sanity and our humanity.

Philosophy: What is failure? And why do we fear it so much?

2008-09-03T09:34:00.005+08:00

There is absolutely no shame in failure. This is a point that often appears to be overlooked. We are encouraged to strive to be number one, to win, and remember those who are successful, but when they fail we are quick to criticize – failure is not an option! However, failure is crucial to success, because without one we wouldn’t be able to quantify the other.

Even more importantly, failure brings uncertainty and humility, two experiences that are crucial for growing into complete human beings. Without a healthy dose of humility every now and then, we run the risk of becoming overbearingly arrogant and self-centred. Without uncertainty our lives would become depressingly tedious, without the joy of anticipation of what may or may not happen in the future. From a personal perspective, I would dread getting out of bed each morning if I knew what was going to happen each day; it would take so much of the enjoyment away.

Failure also helps us experience joy, by showing us what is at the opposite end of the scale. The unplanned piece of good luck or a decision that unexpectedly goes our way can provide some of the most joyful experiences. Conversely, the unexpected loss can send us right down. However, the monotony of always succeeding would be even worse, taking away the challenges from life, and it is the challenges that help shape and develop our character and gives us something for which to strive.

I am concerned by the way in which our society tries to shield children from failure, whereas perhaps a better way of educating children is that failure is a normal part of life that one needs to get used to. Successful people fail all the time, but they know how to deal with the situation and use it to learn and build for the future. So, the earlier that we learn to deal with failure the easier our lives become. The trick is not to shield children from the spectre of failure out of some misguided attempt to improve their educational experience, but to teach how to handle the experience of an ‘F’ grade from a very early age.

Failure also makes us confront our imperfections, another area that is becoming something to be reviled. There are numerous media forms that send us messages that we are too fat, too thin, too ugly, or too poor. We are bombarded with images that show us what a perfect life we could be living if we only had the right car, house, computer or any other accessory. This intensifies the feelings of failure among many, who are unable to reconcile that they are not living the ‘textbook’ life. It is another way in which society not only makes failure unpalatable, but also tries to define what we should consider as failure.

However, imperfection, like uncertainty, is something that makes the world an interesting place in which to live. If we were all the same, how boring would that be? Imperfection should be accepted and embraced. Imagine a world where everything was ‘perfect’. It is the stuff of nightmares, a truly horrifying place where there is no uncertainty and therefore no joy because nobody knows anything else. There would be no prospect of any texture to life. By this definition, I could argue that a world full of imperfection is, in fact, a form of perfection from my perspective. But I digress.

So how should we deal with failure? Failure could be considered an opportunity. It is an opportunity to try again, or to improve. It is an opportunity to change direction in some instances when the realization hits that we might not be suited to a particular activity.

Some people don’t even notice that they have failed, because they don’t see it that way. Failure is, after all, only a perception. Who decides what is, or is not, good enough to be considered a success? Sometimes it is, for instance, the education system (which endeavours to bring us all to literacy and numeracy among other things), and in many other instances it is ourselves. We are often our own harshest critics, and while this can be useful, how often do we base these judgements on the standards of others?

Once we learn to define failure as an opportunity to learn, or an opportunity to better define our path in life, instead of a reason to hide or be ashamed, the better our lives will be.

Sport: Does Olympic Gold cost too much? - Not really

2008-09-03T09:33:00.002+08:00

There is more to life than money! This is a phrase that is heard a great deal, and is often cynically attributed only to those who already have money. But whether it comes from the mouth of the wealthy or not, it is true. This brings me to the debate about funding for Olympic athletes.

There are a lot of positive impacts of having a strong sporting team representing the country, that are not easily measurable in economic terms. The same can be said for funding other activities such as the arts and public festivals. However, I will use the Olympics as an example as it is current.

The figures that have been touted about the cost of each gold medal won at the Olympics that range (from memory) up to $50 million, sound large, but there is very little detail about what is being counted in this figure. It’s a bit like saying the cost of the navy rescuing a yachtsmen is ‘X’ number of dollars without clarifying that this money includes wages that would have been paid anyway, fuel that was going to be used anyway, the goodwill of the nation whose yachtsman was plucked out of the ocean etc. The other option is to cost such an activity in terms of additional money that had to be spent over and above what would be spent in normal circumstances. It’s all about how people choose to calculate the figures.

So, when trying to apportion dollars to our Olympic performance we need to separate what is spent over and above our spending on grass roots sporting activity, coaches and athletes who turn out for domestic events that would happen in some form or another. Making sensational claims about the cost of medals often appears to come from those who don’t, or refuse to, see the wider benefits of investment in sport in physical and mental health benefits. This is a proper use for public money.

What is often left out of such calculations, because of the difficulty of putting dollar values on them, are benefits including the joy many people get out of seeing their athletes perform on an international stage, or the pride felt when an athlete wins in their chosen field. These can last for days and keep give people something to be happy about that might distract them from the monotony of everyday life (although this can be accompanied by the irritation of overly nationalistic television coverage). The better people feel, the more likely they will be

In addition to this the Olympics provide something that young athletes can aspire to and is a way of bringing people together as a nation. In the current climate where there is mortgage stress, worries about climate change, problems with social groups, and numerous other pressing concerns, the value of this should not be underestimated.

The intangible benefits of investment into sport, and the arts for that matter, should not be ignored. Also, given that the returns are difficult to quantify and are of benefit to the wider community, it appears that public money is appropriate for this purpose.

Out athletes, providing they are successful, can do very well out of this too, but if they brighten people’s days, then I do not think that we should begrudge them their success. That would be very small-minded indeed. And we should also acknowledge that many of our sporting stars also contribute a great deal through their work in supporting charitable organisations. This would not have the same impact of they were not successful.

So, I think we should be comfortable that public money is spent on training these athletes, although I would not necessarily be keen on increasing the current expenditure (we do very well for a nation of 20 million people). The insecurities that are coming out because Australia got less medals than the English, reflect poorly on this country.

In conclusion, the funding of sports and arts needs to be maintained, and it has to be acknowledged that these activities provide a great deal of benefit to our society. It does nobody any favours to carp at the current expenditure on the Olympic team, we should instead be happy that the we got the great results we did and that the athletes provided us with many moments that that will be remembered for years to come.

Travel: From Olgii to Ulaan Bataar

2008-09-03T09:28:00.001+08:00

We had just spent three weeks travelling around Mongolia, enjoying the scenery and interaction with the locals. True to form I had just had the obligatory traveller’s bout of ‘Montezumah’s Revenge’, or whatever the local term for a stomach upset was. Now this part of the trip was over and I was looking forward to a trip with my wife to the north of Mongolia, to visit the nomadic Tsaartan people. We were in the regional town of Olgii, having spent a night there after clambering over some mountains to the west, and were looking forward to getting back to Ulaan Bataar and spending a day looking around the city.

Getting to the airport for our flight back to Ulaan Bataar was no major operation, now that my stomach had settled down! We were up and breakfasted by 6:30am and at the airport by 7:00am. We milled around aimlessly until they opened the small terminal for checking in baggage. It was a long, drawn out process that appeared at the same time chaotic and ordered. It’s hard to explain! Anyhow, we eventually got our luggage in, but no sooner had this occurred than we started hearing rumours that the flight had been delayed. This, of course, turned out to be a rumour and not true at all. Our flight had not been delayed, it had been cancelled! There was some story about how the Turkish ambassador was flying through the airspace, and that all other flights had been cancelled for security reasons. How important could an ambassador be? Surely not so important to close national airspace and ground all other flights in a region! However, apparently this was the case.

We were told that they would try to get a new flight for 7pm that evening, so we all had a reason for hope. It did mean that we were going to miss our free afternoon in the capital, but we would have the next day do some sightseeing before our flight to Moron. By now problem number two had become apparent. Our checked in luggage had been locked away in the airport and was not reachable, so we were left with whatever we had with us in our hand luggage.

With nothing else to do we spent an enjoyable few hours in the town of Olgii where we visited the Khazak Museum and wandered around the city centre looking at the local rugs, two of which we bought. However, there was only so much that we could see and do in such a small town and so, other than the odd passing conversation with local who spoke English, we were soon thinking about lunch.

Our guide had excelled again successfully negotiated the use of the Gers (traditional Mongolian tents) with the owner of the Ger camp, that we had stayed in the previous night, and so we headed back there for lunch and an afternoon rest. As the camp was on the Khovd River, which happened to be flowing rather quickly, we had our meal sat in the grass watching the local birdlife prey on the poor old fish in the river. After this there was precious little else to do other than complete our diary entries and laze about in the sun. This was certainly not an unpleasant experience, but by mid-afternoon we still had not heard about our flight and a vague suspicion was creeping into our minds that there was no flight coming for us that night.

We spent much of our time watching two yaks that had somehow managed to get through the torrent of water that was the river, on to an island mid-stream. They seemed to be content to stay there and we took some solace from this, after if they were content to be stranded and in isolation, perhaps we could relax too. It soon came to pass that the yaks were considered an omen for our own predicament and that until the yaks moved from their island, we too were going to be stranded in Olgii.

On a brighter note, I did manage to skip a stone twelve times on the river, a fact that was doubted by other members of the party, as I had no witnesses to confirm my momentous achievement. However the lack of other entertainment options meant that I took the opportunity to invite a whole group down to witness my attempt to repeat the feat and promptly skipped a stone fourteen times. The point was proven and another half hour was occupied with further attempts at glory. It was certainly a highlight of the afternoon.

There was some brief excitement when a plane came in to land in the late afternoon, however after speeding off dramatically in dust cloud, our guide returned with the news that this had been a regular flight in from Kazakhstan and would not be taking us out of here. By six o’clock that evening we were still sitting in our Ger camp and had learned that our flight was indeed not going to arrive that evening and would be leaving the next day. This caused some consternation among those people who were scheduled to fly out of Mongolia the following day; however, they were all re-booked successfully on alternative flights. Thankfully there were no more guests due that night so we had use of the gers once again. At about this time we learned that some of the local goats had got into one of the gers and had started eating the bedding. It was all happening!

Despite the assurances that we would indeed be on the flight the next day there were still some doubters and doomsayers predicting that we would be stuck in Olgii for some time, but to me the omens seemed promising. Our two yaks, for so long stranded on their island, had now successfully reached the comparative safety of the riverbank and were wandering away towards the town. To me this led to no doubt that we were indeed flying out the next day and I could sleep easily during the coming night. ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ I was told!

So I was left to lie on my bed and reminisce about the day that was now coming to an end. I remembered how I spent hours watching the ants and other insects climbing up and down the frames of the beds and gers and deliberating on the plight of the yaks that had been stranded. It had not quite reached the heights of a couple of days previously, where I had spent the best part of an afternoon watching the raindrops hitting my tent flap and forming little rivulets as they succumbed to the forces of gravity, but it was close to it! And then there was a summons to the main ger where had our meals.

Our guide, Dashka, had again moved heaven and earth to organise some entertainment above and beyond the call of duty. We arrived in the ger to find the premier traditional dancer and throat singer for the Kazakh region, and his son, ready to perform for us. So in the soft light of candles we were treated to some throat singing and some traditional dancing, including a performance of the ‘eagle dance’. How Dashka had managed to organise this at such short notice I have no idea, but it was a magical performance. I certainly went to bed happy and content that night.

The next morning we were successful in finding a plane to fly us to Ulaan Bataar. It flew in sometime around mid-day and that meant we might even make our flight to Moron that evening, which was to leave at six-thirty. However, we were told that this would be tight and that we ‘should’ make it time!! We weren’t exactly brimming with confidence, but then again, Dashka had done a good job so far.

The aircraft that we flew in was an old Antonov 24 and to start us off on our journey it felt like it bounced three times before it managed to get airborne. Some further inspection revealed that there was a family sitting on top of bags at the rear of the plane in a luggage compartment. There was no wasting space on this flight! Being an old twin-prop plane it wasn’t going to be able to get us to the capital without a refuelling stop after two hours. The landscape we flew over was dry and barren desert with the odd lake dotted here and there and I wondered at what town we would be landing to refuel. Were there any towns out here? That question was soon to be answered as we began descending.

We landed at a non-descript airstrip and all got out to stretch our legs while the plane was attended to. In the distance we could see what looked like a substantial town but there was no indication of where we were. The sign on the airport building was in Cyrillic form, or some other form that I could not understand.
‘Where are we?’ I asked Dashka.
‘Moron,’ he replied.
‘Moron?’ I repeated. ‘Isn’t this where we need to fly to tonight? Can we stay here and wait for our luggage?’ Our luggage that we had left in Ulaan Bataar was to be reunited with us today.
Unfortunately, Dashka told me, no-one was allowed to disembark from the flight at this point as it was only a fuel stop and not a scheduled stop but we were all entitled to our ‘in-flight’ meal. This was served in the airport building and consisted of a rather nice combination of mutton and assorted cooked vegetables.

Then once more we were in the air heading towards our destination, hoping to arrive in time for our flight to Moron. It was going to be a close run thing too. We landed in Ulaan Bataar at 5:45pm. This was followed by a nervous wait for our luggage at the carousel, before we were rushed through to meet our new tour leader and check in for our flight back to where we had just left. Thankfully we made it, and were soon in the air and on our way to start the next leg of our trip.

Travel: Horse riding for beginners - Mongolian style

2008-09-03T09:26:00.001+08:00

In a fit of eccentricity my wife and I decided to go on a vacation to Mongolia. After all, it is the place that produced Ghengis Khan, Kublai Khan and Tamerlaine, as well as having been the centre of one of the largest empires that the world has seen. After the initial three weeks of festivals, mountains, lakes and open plains, we left our group and went off to see the remote and nomadic Tsaartan people, who live in the extreme north of the country with their herds of reindeer. This required a significant horse trek, and I had done next to no horse riding. I looked forward with some excitement to the 60 kilometres of travel that awaited us. Needless to say the Tsaartan, being nomadic, were not where they had been expected, and the ride extended to over 120 kilometres!

Day one consisted of an introductory riding lesson. I had been told that no previous experience was necessary, however I must admit to feeling some trepidation.

‘Have you ever ridden a horse before?’ the trek leader asked me through the interpreter.
‘Uh…no not really. Well once, when I was about nine years old I did, but only for about 15 minutes.’ I replied.

‘Never mind. It’s easy. Just get on the horse and we’ll go from there.’ I proceeded to get myself up into the saddle and found a set of leather reins being put in my hand. They were more like shoelaces in my opinion.

‘OK Peter, tug left and right to steer, and tug back to stop.’ I nodded and made some tugging gestures to show that I had understood.

‘To get going say “Cho” and give the horse a good jab in the ribs with your heels. If you want to go faster just dig the ribs some more and say “Cho” in a louder voice.’

I waited for some more instruction, but I waited in vain.

Not having any other option, off I went, or rather, off I tried to go. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts at getting my trusty steed to move, one of the local horsemen came to give me a hand. It was then that I learned to trot as we caught up with the rest of the group. To encourage me further, one of the guides was thrown from her horse. However, we don’t talk about that because you just don’t fall off horses in Mongolia, and anyhow she was ok. So no worries!

We rode for six hours until we reached our campsite. On the way I learned how to cross rivers, holding on for dear life. At the end of the day it was compulsory to open a bottle of vodka and share its contents. So that’s what I did.

Day two started with sore knees and some excitement. This was the day that we were going to see the Tsaartan people. After breakfast I got back on the horse, which was now looking at me in a scornful way. I could swear it was smirking, and I knew that it was thinking, ‘Right sonny Jim, you thought you had a tough time yesterday, but just you wait. Hahahahahaha!’ Perhaps this paranoia was just part of the learning experience.

We rode a short way before we entered the forest. It was dense and muddy, and downright boggy in areas. The path wound its way up and down very steep and slippery slopes between the trees. Some trees had spaces of approximately one metre between them through which the path went. My horse, bless him, thought it was entertaining to try scraping me off at these points. I had to either mastering basic steering, or be good at putting my knees back into place. It was usually the latter. It was an evil horse!

Once out of the forest we proceeded up precipitous rocky slopes. I tried to ignore the long drop to my left. I prayed my horse’s instinct for self-preservation was greater than its desire to send me tumbling into the raging mountain river some hundreds of metres below.

Of course, there was no let up after this. Just as we were nearing the Tsaartan camp, we could see it in the distance, we encountered severe boggy ground. My horse found itself up to its backside in the mud on many occasions. It was impossible to tell which bits of ground had a covering of six inches of mud, and which hid pools a metre or more in depth. At this point my horse decided to ignore my yelling and screaming, preferring to stand still and wonder which way to go next. My local guide came to my rescue and found me an equally boggy and hazardous route. This further ‘cemented’ my relationship with my horse, however I was grateful to be led by an experienced horseman during this, and some of the more challenging parts of this journey.
Despite this, we did make it to the Tsaartan camp. However, time was of the essence, so after a short break for lunch and some photo opportunities with cute reindeer, some entertaining repartee with the local people, and a chat with the local shaman, it was time to leave. Of course I now had an idea of what to expect on the return journey.

At the end of the day I resisted the urge to utter sentences like, ‘Ahhhh my knees’ or, ‘I have chafing’ or, ‘I can’t walk anymore’. No, instead I walked confidently to my tent showing no signs of protesting joints. To prove my fitness I went through two or three rounds of traditional Mongolian wrestling with my guide. I think that being dumped on my back a few times may even have loosened my aching muscles and realigned my spine.

As day three dawned I tried to ignore my aching limbs and back, now unsure whether the wrestling had been wise, and stoically mounted my horse once more. I wondered whether my look of supreme confidence fooled anybody. Our guide was obviously fooled as he took me for a canter as we neared the end of the journey. He tried to teach me to grip with my thighs and half stand in the saddle like the locals did. I tried, but not having spent a lifetime in the saddle it lasted for only a few minutes before my protesting muscles won the argument. We eventually slowed down and came to our waiting vehicle. It was a day-and-half drive back to Moron airport, but I was, by now, looking forward to getting off my horse and relaxing in a seat. Without me on its back my horse quickly distanced itself from me to avoid the shame being associated with a mere novice. In fact novice was probably too advanced a definition for the horse’s liking.

So the ride finally had come to an end. Despite the aches and pains and moments of terror, it was a great journey! Where else could I have gained such varied experience of riding in such a short period of time? The goal of reaching the reindeers had been attained, but it was the journey that stuck in my mind. With no previous experience, my wife and I had ridden over 100km. Each evening we had sat around a fire waiting for the night’s chill as the sun slowly fell behind the mountains, which engulfed us in their shadows and. We shared vodka and food with our guides and gazed up at the endless clear night sky. We rode in glorious sunshine over land seen by very few people, and we had plenty of laughs along the way. I even learned some Mongolian wrestling moves, so next time I won’t be such a pushover. The memory of the aches and pains quickly fades when I remember those three days. In fact, what aches, pains and physiotherapy bills?

Travel: Changing Planes at Beijing Airport

2008-09-03T09:23:00.001+08:00

On our way to Mongolia we had to change planes at Beijing, as well as changing airlines. Now this may seem, at first glance, a fairly simple procedure. That is certainly what we thought as we left our Singapore Airlines flight secure in the knowledge that our luggage had already been booked right through to Ulaan Bataar. All we had to do was find the transfer desk. The transfer at Beijing was to take under two hours and I considered that this was a good thing considering that I have experienced the boredom of a five or six hour period of transit on numerous occasions. Just remember that, less than two hours was a good thing. After all, the last thing we wanted to do was spend hours hanging around a departure lounge.

After disembarking from our flight and finding the transfer desk, we encountered our first problem. We were politely told that this desk was only for those people transferring onto Air China flights and that we had to go further down the hall. We were given very vague directions and ended up at a point where we were clearly heading towards the exit from what we thought was the ‘arrivals’ area. Realising that we could not possibly be exiting the airport without a visa, we asked a meandering member of staff where we should go, and were summarily directed back towards the international transfers counter. We presented out tickets once again, and again there was much shaking of heads and consternation before we were once more told that we needed to go ‘down to the end of the hall’. Once more we were pointed in the direction of the exit from the ‘arrivals’ area. Our explanation that we had no visa was brushed aside as this apparently did not matter!

So off we went on our way down to the desks marked ‘Arrivals’. On our way we passed a counter where we noticed that we could, if we wished, purchase a visa for China. Was this perhaps a good idea? We gave it serious thought before deciding that it was probably unnecessary. We were, however, still nervous as we approached the counters that marked the way out towards immigration. We showed our passports and air-tickets to a man who showed no real interest in them, barely even glancing at them, before waving us through. That was easy! What now? I can say that at this point I felt a wave of relief. Perhaps this wouldn’t be too bad!

We found ourselves standing in another hall that had counters where people were queuing, but they all appeared to be for Chinese nationals. We walked all the way up to the end and back again before we saw a counter that had ‘d/p’ above it. We took a punt that this meant departures and went up to the bored-looking policewoman sitting there. She politely told us that we needed to fill in an Arriving Passengers form before we could come through. We retreated and filled out the little blue form (one that we had declined when the cabin crew had handed them around on our last flight as we were not stopping in China), hurriedly checking our flight and passport numbers. Our passports were then scrutinised and our blue forms taken as we went past her. All this time the clock kept inching towards our departure time.

Confusion then returned as we went the only way possible, which led us down to the baggage claim area. Once down there we searched in vain for a transfer desk. There was none. Two circuits of the area re-affirmed this. There could be no option other than to go through customs and into China. But surely this was not an option without a visa?

The lack of visa turned out not to be a problem (they appeared to have a liberal approach to visas and other bureaucratic paperwork – was this really China?), but before we could go through we had to fill out another form to declare that we had nothing to declare. We waited in a queue for what seemed like an eternity, constantly glancing at our watches as the time ticked by. Once we had handed in our forms and shown our passports yet again, we went through into China. Then we had to work out where to go to check in to our Mongolian International Airlines flight.

The main hall of the airport was full of people meandering or hurrying in various directions, and it was not immediately obvious where we had to go to find the check-in area. By now it was almost an hour since we had disembarked from our inbound flight and we were keen to check in as soon as we could for our next flight. Perhaps two hours had not been enough? I was beginning to think that we might be in danger of missing our flight. I could hear the clock ticking away in my mind and I must confess to feeling the merest hint of mild panic. I tried to ignore it.

After much confusion we found out that the departure lounge and check-in area was on the floor above us. So we made our way up the escalators to another big hall where we once again had to fill out a form, this time to declare that we were not taking anything out of the country. On top of this there was another form for departing passengers, but by now my passport and flight numbers were indelibly imprinted on my brain so there was no need for opening the passport yet again. Yet more queuing had to be done at this point, each minute seeming like an eternity. This was the time when someone in front of us decided that they didn’t understand, or simply didn’t like, what they were being told by an official, leaving me looking on in an agonised state of half-panic mixed with a desire not to look angry and upset myself, while the argument ensued; all the time watching as my departure time moved ever nearer. After a few minutes, which seemed like hours, an official, who looked like a military officer, decided that we were looking stressed enough and called us over to check our forms. They were in order, and we were waved through. Another hurdle had been overcome!

We wiped the sweat from our brows and carried on, soon finding ourselves at the check-in area. Thankfully it did not take too long to find the appropriate desk for our flight. To our initial relief there was still a substantial line of people waiting to check in, but it soon became apparent that the line was barely moving. Unfortunately the clock was still moving and I once more began to wonder whether we would get to our flight or whether we would end up watching it soaring gracefully into the sky. Thankfully this also occurred to staff members, who made sorties from their positions to tag the baggage before it got to the desk, significantly increasing the speed of the process. This worked and we were soon checked in, although there was some consternation that we didn’t have baggage with us. However we managed to convince them it was checked through from Perth and would be already on the plane. At least we hoped it would!

It was getting tight with time, about fifteen minutes until departure, so we hurried through the departure lounge, only to be met with the passport control area. Of course there was a passport control area, there’s one at every airport, but in our haste we saw it as just one more obstacle put in our way in an attempt to stop us catching our flight. There wasn’t another flight until the next day, and we didn’t fancy trying to catch up with our guide who might be half-way into the Gobi Desert by then! There was yet another form to be filled in and a nervous wait in a queue, waiting to be ‘checked’, as we watched the minutes tick by for yet another agonising period of time. Common sense told us that we were among lots of people waiting for the flight and that it wouldn’t leave without us…but you never know, do you!

We needn’t have worried, as once we found the appropriate gate with about three minutes to spare, we were left to wait for another 25 minutes before boarding. Of course we had to the same in reverse when we came back through Beijing on our way home, but being ‘experienced’ in the process we managed to get through in about half an hour, even getting a smile from the same policewoman who was once again sat at the ‘d/p’ desk. We were able to look at nervous transit passengers with an air of superior knowledge and comfort, and patiently explain the process to those panicky and worried faces that hung on our every word like it was gold. Five forms and a few queues later we were on our flight to Singapore, with, I must add, our luggage, which apparently had no dramas at all on its round trip from Perth to Mongolia and back.

Poetry: Poetical elitism

2008-09-03T09:21:00.001+08:00

Poetry has become remote to the untrained person. There is nothing wrong with appealing to the masses.

I have read many letters and articles in many different publications where the difficulties of getting poetry published are discussed, the authors bemoaning the lack of interest from publishers. Poetry is no longer a wide-ranging commercial proposition and has now become the preserve of free Internet sites, along with small independent, and sometimes irregular, publications.

So, has poetry had its day? Is it time to relegate it to archives and remember it with a sad fondness?

I don’t think so. However, I do think that the approach to the art needs to change if it is to regain some of its vigour. It needs to become more accessible to the wider public rather than tying itself in evermore complex academic knots. There is no use people wringing their hands and wondering why few people show any long-term interest anymore. The answer is simple. Poetry is getting caught up in its own technical straightjacket.

It is developing an inflexibility in its attempt to evolve, with a few people judging what is acceptable, and often scraping around for ever-more obscure words and formats. Consequently, it is evolving through a narrowing audience.

I would suggest that few people know, or care, what catalectic trochees are, or how to write a double ionic, or where to place a spondee. However, this does not prevent them enjoying reading or writing poetry, and nor should it.

The result of this move towards technical and, what I would call, more obscure poetry, has alienated the majority of the public.

I have spent a great deal of time reading poetry of many different genres, as well as writing some, and I often struggle to understand how to read what is currently published. It doesn’t appear to flow, it is hard work to read, and its meaning is often difficult to discover. Why would I, or anyone else, subject myself to this sort of literary torture? Call me out of touch if you like (plenty of people do), but I’d rather read Byron, Benjamin Zephaniah, Phillip Larkin, Wendy Cope or Roger McGough.

Those involved in the academic pushing of boundaries have, in some cases, looked down upon the more traditional sounding verse when it is written today. It is seen as old and tired, lightweight, and lacking in any innovation.

This is a very shortsighted and self-destructive approach. It marginalises all those who are not interested in trying to produce “new” poetry; those who like the aesthetics and flow of what has come before. This can come out in the more conservative Internet forums, where the criticism is such that many aspiring poets are likely to feel extremely dispirited by the criticism of their work.

These sites can be counter-productive to the expansion of the poetry audience. For a group of people who write as apart of their profession, or even as a passionate hobby, this lack of communication skills rivals those of many scientists. Publishers know this, and this might be the reason that many (probably the vast majority of major commercial publishing companies) are not publishing much, if any, new poetry.

Sales of so-called “classic” poetry are still occurring; it is easy to find copies of Betjeman, Larkin, Shakespeare, Coleridge, Plath, Ted Hughes etc, however, the common complaint among poets of the current age is that it is becoming increasingly hard to find a publisher. Self-publishing is consequently becoming more popular. This is not surprising.

Much of the published new poetry is in literary journals, or through specialist publishers, where the boundaries of poetry are pushed and the art form evolves. This is what should happen. However, they are not attractive publications for the member of the public who likes to read more accessible styles of verse. They are the equivalent of scientific journals that discuss in great detail the latest advances in biotechnology, the latest results in the effort to improve solar panels, or the latest research in gene therapy.

It’s good to know that they are there and that someone is working on expanding the boundaries; but how many of us really want to sit down and wade through them?

Much like many of the various art forms, appealing to the general public is often not considered a laudable aim by critics. It suggests pandering to the accepted rather than challenging conventions. Whether this relates to music, painting, sculpture, movies, or writing, commercial success is often seen as “selling out”. This strangles the art form further, causing it to be seen as the preserve of the intellectual elite. It becomes something remote from the untrained person - where poetry is concerned this is probably at least 95 per cent of the population.

The point is that there is nothing wrong with appealing to the masses. Art in all its forms is there to enrich people’s lives. It isn’t there to confuse, or leave people feeling cold; it needs a reaction, be it positive or negative.

Disinterest means that a piece of art (in this case poetry) has failed. Commercial success, on the other hand, is an indicator that many people enjoyed what was produced, or at least felt they could access it. This is a good thing; it means there was a reaction. People saying how much they dislike something is also a reaction; it means people were interested. Poetry struggles to get the latter reaction now, not many people care enough.

It is not that long ago that people did care. That was when poetry was, among other things, a vehicle for comment on current affairs. A verse that relates to the present, last week, or what might happen tomorrow, has a very good chance of capturing the public’s imagination. It also provides opportunity for satire.

Poems, and other art forms, often provide a more entertaining and long-lasting record of an event than a news article. A deeply personal poem of grief, happiness, or even anger, may also capture the imagination. But if they are to be successful and have a lasting impact, they need to be in a form that allows the wider public to understand them. In the UK, the success of BBC’s series of books The Nation’s Favourite Poems was a prime example of such poems.

This leads me to the inevitable conclusion that there is no such thing as right and wrong where the construction of poetry is concerned. Ignore the howls of protest from the literati, and write what you feel in a way that communicates your an idea, or viewpoint, to a wide spectrum of people.

Feel free to use clichés. Resist the push for ever increasing detail in a poem and let the reader use their imagination. Use abstractions (thoughts) where you like. Despite what critics may say, readers out there will read and enjoy such poems. Leave the hardcore poets and academics to wrangle over the new and challenging forms.

Continue reading the more popular and “lightweight” and topical poetry, and continue to write such poetry, if that is what you enjoy. While it may cause angst to the poetic establishment that their own new forms struggle for acceptance outside their relatively small circle, the “lightweight” and the topical poem provide much more pleasure to many more people. The only way that poetry can regain any real relevance in today’s society is to appeal to a far broader range of people than it currently does.