The Three Doors into the Temple of Chua Bai Dinh

We enter the temple beneath the big wooden swastika

Stepping carefully over the huge threshold.

(To step on it is bad luck).

'You will notice', our guide informs

'That there are three doors into this temple.

But only one is ever opened.

They represent Heaven, Earth and Hell.'

An American man laughs nervously

And wants to know which world we have just stepped into.

Our guide looks unsure

But then brightens and tells us this is Earth door.

He points ahead to a big bronze statue

Of a rather fierce looking gentleman

With long beard and long spear

Glaring down at us.

'That is Zhong Kui, the God of Death

You will meet him after you die

And he will decide where you will go,'

Our guide says.

'Heaven or Hell,

Depends on what you have done in your life.'

I have included a photo below

Of the throng passing before Zhong Kui

Though I don't know what his judgement was

Their faces are of not those 

On their way to Paradise.

His knees worn black from the hands of good luck wishers

The Temple at Chua Bai Dinh

In days bygone, temples and churches were built

By kings and wealthy merchants who figured that

A little investment here on earth

Would pay handsome dividends in the afterlife

And perhaps wipe the slate clean

And cause the gods to overlook

The misdemeanors undertaken

To get their wealth in the first place.

And so temples and churches

Pleasing to the eye, awe-inspiring to the spirit

Serve first for holy men

Then later as time goes by

As people look no longer to future heaven world's

The rich men's monuments become tourist attractions

And entrance fees are charged

Souvenirs sold

And the present day owners settle for monetary rewards on earth

Rather then uncertain heavenly ones.

A private company in North Vietnam

Perhaps at the sharp end of such matters

Have done away with the first step

And with ten million dollars spent

Have created a vast temple complex

Using reclaimed materials and local craftsmen

To harvest the proceeds of second step.

The result is pleasing to the eye

And awe-inspiring to the spirit

For as Art imitates Life

People come here to pray

And bow down to the hundreds of statues

Of Buddhist arahuts and Chinese gods

And burn incense

And the bronze knees of the patient saints

Are worn smooth and black

By the hands of the pilgrims.

On the road to Bai Dinh

The clouds lie heavy
Oppressive and grey
And the dust rises from the concrete
To meet the surly sky.
Outside the bustling city
Life is lethargic and stifled
Like a blade of grass
Trying to grow up through tarmac.
Our bus driver sounds his horn incessantly
As is the custom here
And fellow road users
(Mostly big trucks)
Blare back at him
But the poor in their flat conal
hats walk quietly
With slow steps along the dusty roadside
Or pedal their rusty bikes
Carrying their meagre wares
Or simply sit on the verges
With 2 or 3 pineapples
Spread before them.
The houses are small and ramshackle
Built of stone with terracotta roof tiles
Like medieval village houses in Europe
Or they are 5 or 6 stories high
But curiously never more than a room width wide.
A shiny black Mercedes S class
Overtakes our bus
The driver in a tearing hurry.
The suffering of the poor
Is a slow, weary acceptance
Of what is now and probably will be tomorrow.
But the suffering of the rich is a hot quick thing
Of what isn't, of what should be
And of what MUST be tomorrow.

Hanoi Social Club

Hanoi Social Club
A place where Social means
That it helps society
In this case, they help people
From disadvantaged backgrounds
And train them to become exceptional chefs and waiting staff
And the result is,
Some of the best vegan food
In south East Asia.

Hanoi (Old Quarter)

One thousand years of being a capital
Of countless foreign invasions
From East, from West.
And still the old trees
Line the narrow streets
And the people, polite and courteous
Drink endless cups of tea
Outside crumbling doorways
And drivers sound their horns
For no apparent reason
And sidewalks are for parking motorbikes
And street vendors to place their wares.
I step inside an ancient Chinese doorway
To a mysterious Chinese temple
And find myself in a leafy, shady courtyard
Where the constant din of the street
Fades away.

Arrival on Koh Samet

Our boat clears the rough stone harbour,
Past dirty fishing boats
Sitting motionless in the sick tropical heat.
Heading out into the open sea
We leave the old world behind
A breeze picks up,
The water clears to turquoise green
And we move slowly but steadily
Towards a different world
A heaven world of clean and green.

The sea smells of fresh water melon,
Fish swim in the clear water
A speedboat rushes past
It's white wake making our big boat sway
And ahead on the horizon
The island draws nearer
With gigantic trees towering above the low forest
And concrete pier below
There is a charge to enter the pier
(To keep it clean, they say)
There is a charge
(Quite reasonable, it seems)
To ride on the back of a covered pick up truck
To the beach of my choice
And there is a charge to pass the rangers checkpoint,
At the top of the dusty road
That leads to the island's beaches.
There is no explanation for this charge
But I am thankful that, as a Thai
I pay only a fifth
Of what 'foreigners' do.
But although John might have said
That the best things in life are free
Heaven comes at a price
Especially if it's an earthly paradise.
And 15 short minutes later
It is paradise indeed
With white, soft sands
And gently swaying palms
And the people of my resort
Smiling a welcome to me.
As I walk to my wooden bungalow
A hornbill flies in the forest above
And lands heavily on a flimsy branch.
Intrigued, I follow it towards the next bay
A small,secluded bay
Where the rich green forest
Goes down to meet the ocean
And a strip of white sand
Is the only thing that separates them.
Here, a rustic wooden cafe
Calls itself Rumin's Mystic Mountain
Promises Vegan and Vegetarian food.
Although there is no sign of any staff
And a sign at the bar declares:
'Your vibe attracts your tribe'.

The Boat to Koh Samet

A ramshackle wooden pier
Leads over polluted warm water
Greasy with spilt engine oil
And teeming with the plastic rubbish
From yesterday's takeaways
Cast thoughtlessly over the side
The endless legacy of man
Who dull and uncomprehending
Of where he came from
Has an unhealthy addiction
Of throwing stones
Inside his own glasshouse.

The ramshackle wooden slats
Lead to a ramshackle wooden boat
And here I board
Via a swaying wooden plank
Along with a few Chinese,
Some Germans, and an old French couple.
It is very quiet for high season
Thankfully the boatman does not wait
For any more people
Who may wish to escape the polluted chaotic city
To a paradise island.

The big diesel splutters into life
Black smoke gushes forth
And off we chug
In search of clear seas
Tropical breezes
And white sandy shores.

The Road to Ban Phe

My taxi lurches, darts and crawls
Through the Bangkok morning rush hour
Amongst thousands of other worker ants
Hurrying slowly and painstakingly
To glass, over air conditioned offices
Where they will stare at screens
Move paper about
And shorten their lives with stress
And money worries, and sales targets.
With such relentless forward motion,
How can my destination be any different?

But then my driver does a sharp left
Down a little side soi
Past Chinese shop houses
Stuffed with wares
Their Chinese owners
Sitting reading Chinese newspapers
On cardboard boxes outside.
Another destination then.

Then another sharp left, a right
A U-turn. 
A quick dart to the opposite side of the junction.
Past a new condo which promises
'The exclusive luxury lifestyle of Mayfair'.
Past the 'Knightsbridge Condo - opening soon. Starting price 18 million baht.'
Surely not this destination?

Luckily my wallet does not contain
Enough cash to gain entry
Into such lofty prisons.
Instead it is Ekamai
Bangkok's Eastern Bus terminal.

Exactly 151 baht later, I am on my way
In a 1980's bus which boasts such luxuries as
A bilingual TV
Which thankfully is not working.

The  city soon gives way to industrial suberbs,
Then to green fields of tall sugar cane
To low rolling hills and prickly pineapple plantations.
And with such restful colours of nature to soothe my eyes,
I fall asleep.

The 15 baht boat ride

You can't buy much with 15 baht (35p)
You can't buy a coffee
You can't see a movie
You can't buy a book
Or a seat at the opera
But you can buy a boat ticket
At Saphan Taksin
Under the frowning giant
Of the BTS SkyTrain station.
You can buy a 40 minute ride
Along the rushing darkened river
With the bird like shrill whistle
Of the boat man at every stop.
You can buy a ticket to phra artist
Past golden temples and palaces
Past dark and sinister ruins and slums
Past flashing faces half lit in the gloom
Past churches and mosques.
Past giant trees that still crouch by the river bank
Slowly devouring the concrete to get to the earth beneath.
Past expensive shopping malls
And soldiers barracks.
You share the ride with other faces
Of tall beautiful Germans
And bearded Spaniards
Excitable French and the ever present Chinese.
You rush past hospitals and under majestic bridges
Until finally, with one long last blast of the whistle
You step off towards Khao San road.

Meditation singing bowl from Northern Thailand

https://youtu.be/j9yoBXc8dOw

Listen to the sound,
Like a continuous bell
Coming down from the peaks
Of Doi Sutep mountain
That stops the mind
And makes the listener still.

Listen to the way
The single peal
Splits into two
Oscillates in harmony
Jars the ear
Allows the duality of its tone
To make the listener realise
That there is really only one
And there is no listener here

Viewed from the swimming pool

 Grey river flowing by

Reflects the grey-blue sky above.

Green frog in long grass below

Hides easily from potential foe.

Bright butterfly, brilliantly coloured

Stands out against green and yellow flowers.

The pleasure seekers delight in contrast

The survivors in conformation.

The brown poet in turquoise swimming pool

Only his blue shorts conform.

Sukothai

A ruined golden city surrounded by a moat. 

Undamaged stone Buddas sit meditating

Under open skies.

Amongst the crumbling pillars

Of the now roofless temples

A few (barely a handful) of tourists

Wander through the bricks and stones

Gazing up at the many statues and carved figures 

In the walls.

While high above

On the chedis and columns

White doves play unknowing

And uncaring about the story of a people

Who toiled so hard to build this city

Then left it all to the jungle.

Teaching English online - what you need to know

Great article here from Mark Wilbur.
https://toshuo.com/2015/teaching-english-online/

The White Nosed Princess and the 7 Short Men

I am teaching 12 year old Nancy. Today's reading text is called Plants Myths. I ask Nancy to tell me what a 'myth' is.

There is a pause and then a moment later, my phone pings. It is a message in Chinese from Nancy. I copy and paste it into Google Translate.

'Myth.'

'Ok, that's great, Nancy,' I say. 'But can you give me an example of what a 'myth' is? Do you know any myths?'

She thinks for a bit and then her face brightens.

'There is a beautiful, white nosed Princess with yellow hair. She very beautiful. She live in a palace. The other woman of her father hate her because she so beautiful and her nose so white. So she send her to live in a forest with seven short men. And then one day, she come to give her apple and White Nose Princess fall sick. Then handsome prince come to find her and marry her and take her to his palace.'

Nancy smiles a big smile. 'I want live in palace,' she tells me.

Rock music and the Chinese

Today my first student is 12 year old Sunny. It is a speaking lesson and the subject she has chosen to talk about is rock music.

'Do you like rock music?' I ask.

'No, it is too noisy. My neighbours always play loud rock or punk music late at night. So noisy!'

'What music do you like to listen to then?'

'I prefer classical music,' says 12 year old Sunny. 'Especially Beethoven. When I listen to classical music it makes me feel calm and happy.'

'How about your neighbours then? How do you think they feel when they listen to loud rock or punk music?'

'I don't know. But I think it is noisy. It sounds like they are trapped in their houses or they are decorating.'

'Why do they listen to it then?'

'Because nowadays Chinese people think they need to listen to fighting music because they work all day.'

'Doesn't the music stop them from sleeping at night then?'

'They don't sleep at night. They sleep in the morning'.

Cultural differences

On the bus from Ban Phe to Bangkok. Two hours into the journey, in the middle of nowhere, there is a loud bang. The tyre has just blown. After getting out to check that it is the tyre, the driver continues on his way accompanied by more banging noises. A few miles on, he stops at a garage. The bus stops again and the driver gets out.

Not a word has been spoken to his passengers. No estimated repair time or even what's wrong. If this were the UK, it would have gone something like this:

Coach driver: 'Ok folks, unfortunately it seems that we've got a burst tyre. We will be endeavouring to change it at the next service station so I'm going to drive you all on a damaged wheel for the next few miles. I'm not sure how long it's going to take to fix it but I will keep you updated'.

All the passengers: 'Oh no! I don't believe it! This is terrible!'

Cue lots of worried phone calls being made and disapproving Facebook statuses.

Here, everybody starts eating snacks.

Resting at an old ruined temple

Teaching Online

Three months on from my last post and I find myself rather unexpectedly still in Thailand. I am not however in heavenly Phuket but in the sweltering heat of Bangkok in the hot season. When I look around and take stock of my daily life and surroundings, I am not, however, disappointed. There are many things pleasing to the eye and soothing to the soul.

I live in a luxury apartment by the river, complete with infinity swimming pool and outdoor jacuzzi. There is a large, air conditioned gym with the glass walls facing out onto the river so that while you exercise you can watch the big black river barges, loaded up to the limit with sand, being towed slowly past by a tiny wooden tug boat. Just up the road is a Villa supermarket that stocks every kind of imported food you could want. Down the road is a local market that stocks everything local you could want.

To help support myself in this artificial but nevertheless agreeable oasis, I am teaching English online to Chinese kids. See? I don't even need to step outside this oasis. No sweaty commutes in the notorious Bangkok traffic for yours truly. I teach one to one via skype or QQ Messenger – a Chinese version of Whatsapp that supports video chat but refuses to send or receive photos. The money is less than half of what I get for teaching face to face in England but then the monthly rent for my condo is exactly half of what I would pay for living in a room in a shared house in Plymouth.

My students range from three year olds to business men in their forties. Mostly though, they are kids between five and thirteen. My first student today is an eight year old boy called Leo. He has booked a twenty-five minute lesson with me and has already uploaded a pdf file of what he wants to study. Today is his first time with me and he has opted to study via skype.

Ten minutes before the class is due to start, I send him a friend request on skype. He does not respond. Two minutes before the class I send him a message in that hope that he will see it despite not having accepted my friend request. Still nothing. I am typing a message to the help desk of the Chinese teaching company to inform them when my smartphone starts beeping. It is a video chat request from someone called Leo.

I press accept and there is a chubby faced little boy with his black hair combed forward like one of the early Beatles smiling out of the screen at me.

'Hello Teacher!' he beams.

'Hello Leo! How are you?'

'I'm fine thank you and you?'

'I'm very well thanks. Do you have your book?'

I go through the lesson with Leo. It is a simple children's book aimed at 7-9 year olds. Leo reads well with good pronunciation and intonation. It is easy for him, he knows all the target vocabulary and can answer the comprehension questions at the end of the chapter. I ask him at the end if he has any questions. He beams happily.

'Yes teacher. What is your KG?'

'My what?'

'Your KG. I would like to know your KG?

A young Chinese woman suddenly leans into the screen. Presumably it is Leo's mother. 'Hello Teacher!' she says in heavily accented English. 'KG. Is that right? What is your KG?'

'Hello Leo's mum. Ummm. Kay what? Can you write it?'

She disappears again and is replaced by Leo. He types something on his keyboard. A moment later it pops up on my screen.

'Scales'.

'Oh, my weight! You mean how heavy are you? Or what is your weight?'

'How heavy are you? What is your weigh?' chats Leo.

'Weight! What is your weight?'

'Weight. What is your weight?' repeats Leo dutifully.

'Guess. You have to guess.' I hold up three fingers. 'You have three guesses!'

'One hundred KG!' shouts Leo gleefully.

'One hundred kilos. No, down. Down, down!'

Leo chuckles with delight. 'Eighty kilos!'

'No. Down, down.'

'Sixty kilos!'

'No, up!'

'Sixty.....ummm...sixty-three!'

'Very good! Yes, I'm sixty-three kilos.'

He clucks his tongue with concern. 'Oh Teacher! You are very few kilos. Now you can ask me questions.'

'Ok. What are your hobbies?'

'Insects! Studying insects. I love insects!'

'Ok, great. What music do you like to listen to?'

'The Beatles!' shouts Leo joyously. 'Yeah!'

The Beatles? How could an eight year old boy from China where there is no access to Facebook, Google or even Youtube possibly have heard of the Beatles? This was fifty years after their heyday...or was Leo still thinking of insects?

'What's your favourite song?' I asked slyly, thinking that he would say some Chinese pop song or maybe a One Direction song.

'Hey Jude,' said Leo. 'It's my favourite song!'

Heaven and Hell worlds

Travel diary 2015

14^th December

I arrived in Bangkok last Wednesday after my stop over flight being unexpectedly upgraded to a Thai airways direct one. I spent a few days getting used to the lovely heat and humidity and holiday pace of life. I met Rosie, an English girl I used to teach with 5 years ago in Krabi. She is now living in Bangkok, working only 3 days a week and earning more than twice what we were earning working full time all those years ago. However, she isn't saving much as she seems to spend her free time meeting up with and having sex with guys that she meets on Tinder – a dating app. Most of these guys are western men because, as she puts it, 'my fanny is really big and stretched now so I need a big penis otherwise I can't feel anything. The best guy was this German boy. He had a huge fat cock and he shoved it right down my throat and my eyes were just streaming. It was amazing. Unfortunately he comes really quick. And the worst were two Italian men I dated. They were a nightmare and tiny penises – who would have thought it?'

    Rosie sighs at the problems of modern dating. 'To be honest, I wouldn't mind dating a few Thai guys – but think I'll have to lose some weight first.'

     Leaving Rosie to sort out her sex life, I fly down to Phuket. It is hot, crowded and frantic but is also clean with perfect beaches. Everywhere I go, tarted up Thai women offer me a massage and fierce dark skinned men offer me a taxi or tuk tuk. I suppose I will have to have one soon. Everywhere are western men from young lads to old wrinkly men living the dream. Cigarettes and beer can be had for less than a pound, women for twenty. The men, young and old, ride about on rented scooters which are also readily available and cheap; semi-naked in just their swimming shorts, their bodies an angry red from too much exposure to the fierce tropical sun.

    Yesterday morning, I awoke early and went to the beach before breakfast. The sun was up but it had not yet attained the characteristic fierce tropical heat and half the beach was still in the shade of the tall palms. I swam out to the limit of the swimming area and then looked around me. It was paradise. The beach was a gentle curve of white sand with swaying palms. The sea was clean and turquoise and just the right temperature. Out at sea was a huge cruise liner, white against the morning sun, its huge windowed side sheer like a cliff. Further in was an antique sailing boat with two masts. Maybe it was a clipper.

    I swam in and decided to go for a run. I ran towards the north end of the beach and then slowed to a walk to admire my surroundings. The beach was even more beautiful here with lush green hills curving off into the distance. A tall, very athletic looking black man ran past me. When he was about 50 yards ahead, he performed a smooth shoulder roll on the sand and then carried on running, seemingly without any check in his forward motion. I have often noticed people doing all kinds of extraordinary things on the beach from extreme yoga poses to backward somersaults.

    I neared the very end of the beach where the white sand gave way to sheer black cliffs. A young woman standing in thigh deep water caught my eye. She was slim and tanned with small breasts and black hair pulled back in a smooth ponytail. She was wearing a black bikini, the bottom half of which was a thong. I could help noticing how extraordinarily beautiful her bottom was.

    'She looks more goddess than human, like a nymph,' I mused to myself as I walked past trying hard not to stare and appear like a pervy satyr. I reached the end of the beach and turned back. As I walked along the waters end, the nymph with the beautiful bottom came out of the water accompanied by another nymph equally beautiful, also dark haired, also in black bikini thong, also heavenly bottomed. They could have been twins, in fact the only difference between the two was that the second nymph had bigger breasts. They passed very close, within touching distance of me.

    I walked on, intensely conscious of the heaven world that I was in, complete with bright sunshine and heavenly nymphs. As a child, this was always how I had imagined heaven must look like... although I possibly hadn't included the nymphs. For me, heaven had always been a beach. Ahead, the tall black man was doing extraordinary things on the sand. He had fallen onto his hands as if he was going to do push ups but instead was doing vertical jumps into the air like a frog off his hands and toes. There was a boat anchor with its rope stretching a foot off the sand down to to a long tailed boat and the black man was doing his incredible frog jumps back and forth over the rope.

    This was no ordinary mortal, I realised. This was some lusty young god showing off his physical prowess. The heaven world was complete; the nymphs, the young god and the thoughtful satyr walking through. A middle aged man came running towards me from the opposite direction, his flabby chest bouncing painfully up and down to his ungainly movements, his face twisted in physical and mental agony. Here was a being from the Underworld and I doubt he even noticed the heavenly inhabitants of this place anymore than they noticed him.

    Back at my apartment, I received a message from Rosie via Line messenger. She was down in Krabi for a short break and was just about to visit her ex boyfriend who was now in jail. I wondered what she would make of Thai jails. I had once taught some Thai lawyers in Bangkok several years ago and they had painted a grim picture of what jails were like over here.

    '50 or 60 men crowded into a room no bigger than my office,' said my student Chang. 'No fan or air conditioning. Not enough room for everyone to lie down on the floor to sleep. Have to take it in turns to sleep or sleep standing up. One bucket to shit or piss in, emptied once a day. No showers or place to wash.'

    What would Rosie, a middle class girl from sheltered England, make of this hell hole? Would she still cherish romantic feelings for her ex lover, the violent petty criminal who had rebelled against his rural Muslim upbringing to spend his days and nights drinking, gambling and smoking the illegal yar baa?

    At the end of the day I had my answer in the ecstatic message from Rosie. 'Omg! I love Thailand! I'm sat eating strawberries with the prison guards. I'm feeling really horny. So many dark bad boys with their shaven heads and prison uniforms! Why am I such a freak? I've got a crazy plan to shag the guards and then sneak my bf out of prison. They say I must pay 3 million baht to get him out of jail. God, I'm so wet!'

    Unlike the simpler Christian concept of heaven above us and hell below, Buddhists talk about several different worlds from the lowest hell worlds to the highest heaven. All these various worlds or perhaps levels of experience exist simultaneously so it is perhaps more like 3 people sitting in the same room, each with a TV tuned to a different channel. This day I had seen heaven worlds with nymphs and young gods, I had seen (via my lawyers) hell worlds and now here was my friend Rosie, a bit like in an inverted version of the Bob Dylan song 'Knock, knock, knocking on Hell's door'.