Right now I’m in fortress Thailand – my primary, as I like to think of it, home; in 1644, English jurist Sir Edward Coke (1552-1634) was quoted as saying: 'For a man's house is his castle, et domus sua cuique tutissimum refugium' ('One's home is the safest refuge for all'); so, as it has become interpreted, 'a man’s home is his castle'. So it is here that I am taking refuge from my pc21*.
But I digress.
Riding the motorcycle back from ‘Roti Chaofa’, my habitual breakfasting place, I turned right off main road 4024, taking care because in the land of smiles drivers and riders are very combative, and immediately my view changes from relentless commercial development to the green slopes of the range beyond which lies Patong and the Andaman Sea – or hedonist's heaven as I like to think of it; as a part time resident it’s not somewhere I venture often. Whisps of pure white cloud settle on the upper slopes, and away to the left the brilliant white 'Big Buddha' smiles serenely in my direction.
But where I ride, the local road winds towards the range, there is a temple spire in the distance, the sun is shining, and on some days water buffalo stare at passers-by.
I got to thinking about the role of the motorcycle here – and I found a piece I wrote some time ago that muses on riding not on a morning like today - but rather in the rain.
A splash of colour – reflections on morning rain.
A single sandal bobs quickly by - headed for the nearest unclogged storm water drain on a racing, rippling torrent that is, coincidentally, cleansing the gutter of debris and dust.
Riding a motorbike in an Asian deluge has many hazards - sandal-loss is just one.
Other hazards include engulfing waves created by carefree drivers careening along inundated roadways. At the very least - saturation. Unsteady riders engaged simultaneously in umbrella managing while handlebar manipulating. And oil-slicked road surfaces combined with worn tires add spice to notoriously competitive Asian driving.
There really are many hazards - ranging from potentially lethal to just downright inconvenient - and collision between bike-riding and torrential rain in the wettest months is inevitable - and unavoidable.
On Phuket Island - as everywhere in Southeast Asia - motor-bikes are generally an essential for every family, typically - mothers ride to market - students, of all ages, ride to school - fathers ride to their workplace - and grandparents often ride around doing family chores. Often the entire family rides around together - on a single bike - and pigs, bags of cement, cages bulging with various livestock, very long stepladders - all can be seen precariously placed on the pillion seat.
The world's major motorbike manufacturers have managed to make motorbikes - well, frankly - sexy - sensuous - even hi-so, as they say in Thailand. Vivid colours never conceived for anything as utilitarian as a motorbike - neon lime, aubergine purple, gasoline orange, and Florida pink. Sleek curves - mysterious finishes. Model names more akin to galactic science fiction than earth-bound machinery. And colourful decals and accessorising treatments more worthy of those airliners that masquerade as vast and mobile murals than two-wheeled transport for the masses.
And truly they are transport for dummies. My somewhat coy silver-coloured Mio is fully automatic - it's so damn easy to ride in the dry! But in the wet?
During torrential rain, two wheeled, al fresco transport may create questions, but never - will I ride - or when will I ride? These questions imply choices - and for most there are none - riding is life - as it must unfold this day.
It is for this reason that torrential rain lifescapes feature thousands of haloed headlights, in close formation, distorted by a water curtain; riders, grotesquely bloated by ballooning wet weather wear; hastily converted garbage bags donned raffishly, but entirely inadequately; below-thigh-saturated, high-heeled femme fatales in short stylish raincoats; and sometimes those that brave the elements with no special protection, either through poor judgement or capricious disregard for the certain outcome, a very uncomfortable start to the day.
All are fully engaged in the necessity of getting on with life. As Morgan Freeman's character in the movie 'Shawshank Redemption' say's, 'get busy living or get busy dieing'.
Despite their immediate and unavoidable consequences, climatic conditions are more likely to cause comment among Farangs than indigenous folk.
English author Somerset Maugham once famously remarked of the streets of Bangkok during his visit in 1923, '… their dust, their blinding sun…', and '… they are hard and glittering …'
It is 6.30 in the morning, a morning when Maugham's observation does not apply to Phuket - towering charcoal grey, brilliant white and lacquer-black thunderclouds roil and boil above, unleashing a seasonal downpour. The hilly spine of the island is wreathed in low hanging cloud drapes.
This morning my partner and I left home on our motorbike - but a quick reconnoiter of the sky had us backtracking to get the car.
We stopped at one of the numerous roadside food stalls to purchase our daily morning offering to the monks that tread the highways and byways around Phuket - and across Thailand.
A column of these blessed men approach - seemingly unmoved by, but totally aware of - overtures of an impending downpour - we place our offerings, one to a bowl, and kneel for a blessing. This morning their bold orange-coloured robes are incandescent against the gloomy sky. Nearby, the towering Wat Chalong dun-coloured spire stands proud against the looming gloom.
The colours of this paradise - with its Gauguin or Van Gough palette - are intensified by rain. The green of tropic broad-leaved plants become deeper and more lustrous. Blossoms brighten. Water droplets gather pewter-coloured light.
///. It's as close as I can come to a symbol to represent a tropic downpour.
///. The air is noticeably fresher. And cooler too. But within moments of rain ceasing, temperature and humidity soars.
///. Sitting in our favourite breakfast dim sum restaurant - rain drumming on the roof. Rain cascades off the modern awning flooding the sidewalk - whilst perversely, next door, a sagging fabric awning of an open-sided food stall is seriously threatened as water pools.
///. Millions of droplets plunge kamikaze-like leaving a momentary indentation on frenzied puddles before ricocheting skywards - and when the downpour diminishes, fat lazy drops plop into pooled rainwater and sluggish ripples radiate.
///. Dark clouds and glinting headlights.
///. And the sandal floats by.
Southeast Asia's climate is as exotic - and quixotic - as are so many other aspects of Asian life. Rainy days create unique lifescapes.
So what? You ask. Good question. It's just a meditation that helps me decide how I'm doing when it comes to me dealing with my pc21; it helps me put my decisions in context. It helps me realise that by working at circumventing my pc21, life is the better for it.
As singer/song-writer John Denver wrote, 'Some days are diamonds and some days are stone' - but I'm working at minimising the external influences that cause my days of stone. And as I think about it I'm sure I'm doing all I can; what more can be done?
Are you doing anything in response to your pc21?
Are you doing anything in response to your pc21?
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