Greybeard's week in Bangkok

Saturday the 15th May 2010 was another hot and sticky day in Colombo. Jen and I had decided to walk to the shopping centre to pick up a few things in the morning and were totally unprepared for the phone call that came from Kuala Lumpur and turned the next week or so upside down for both of us.

Michael, the IFRCs Asia Pacific Zone Security Coordinator, had received a request for assistance from the Acting Head of Regional Delegation in Bangkok who was reporting a crisis that was starting to get out of control and become a threat to Federation staff there.

‘Red shirt’ protestors calling for the ousting of Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva had occupied and barricaded themselves into a block of central Bangkok and were engaged in a standoff with the authorities who up to recent days had taken a fairly lenient approach and simply closed off the block. Unfortunately this was a block that accommodated a lot of embassies which had to close, and had the skytrain and underground running through the middle of it which were also stopped. The protest had started to escalate and already some deaths had occurred. The whole shambles was starting to attract international media attention and some disorder was starting to spill out beyond the protest site with tyres and vehicles being set on fire and gunfire exchanges between the authority’s cordons and the protest site.

Michael had just returned from a short mission to Afghanistan and was preparing for another to Myanmar so was not keen to change flights and visas as it is extraordinarily difficult to obtain the required permission in the first place. “Would I be available to go in his stead?” he asked. Of course the obvious and correct answer was – “Yes” so he signed off to go and clear it with both of our bosses with a promise to let me know one way or the other by Sunday afternoon.

Sunday afternoon came and everyone who needed to had agreed that I should go as soon as possible to Bangkok for a week. Unfortunately ‘as soon as possible’ doesn’t take into account the need for a certain amount of bureaucratic process that allows our organisation to provide jobs for a goodly number of people! Gradually and with much articulated encouragement the ‘machine’ swung into action and I was able to get onto a flight which arrived in Bangkok on Tuesday morning. I had by this time been in regular contact with the ‘Critical Incident Management Team’ (CIMT) in Bangkok and had begun to study the background to the whole affair and get an appreciation of where we were at.

 

As I was driven in from the airport to the Federation office near Sukhumvit, I could see smoke rising from what was obviously the protest site. I was struck with the impression that the area was miniscule in relation to the rest of Bangkok and that as soon as you went a couple of hundred metres away from the checkpoints it was pretty much business as usual. “No, I don’t want a massage thank you.” “No, I don’t want to buy a Rolex thank you.”

 

I met with the team at the office and it quickly became apparent that although they were tired from being in a state of heightened awareness for some time, and were a little thin on the ground (HoRD and the Security Focal Point were both out of the country on leave) things had been managed very well, and the incident was in capable hands. While the team was grateful to see me arrive (I think) I had no wish to take over anything and we quickly formed a good working relationship where I was there for support, reassurance, encouragement, and to share the load. By then the 109 staff and dependants had been accounted for and if necessary relocated out of danger zones. Phase Orange had been declared and all but emergency travel banned, and the office, which was adjacent to and overlooking the protest area was closed. I was equipped with a laptop, cellphone, local cellphone, satellite phone, maps, lists and sufficient cheese crackers and beer to withstand a siege. This meant that I could work from anywhere, and was able to function from my hotel room nearby if necessary. The only flaw became evident the next day when the power and internet went off as someone set fire to a substation. The only tolerable place in the nearly 40 degree heat became the hotels rooftop pool so with its sky view at least the sat’ phone was working.

We settled into a routine for the week where we would attend a morning meeting with ICRC to share information from overnight and set the agenda for the day, then we would walk quietly back to the Federation office via the back streets and deal with any matters arising, check in with various people, update everyone and then finish the day with another ICRC meeting. Our morning walks between offices along Sukhumvit were a great gauge of the general feeling on the street (“No thank you, I don’t want a massage”) and enabled us to achieve a better balanced view of what was going on.

Wednesday morning was when Government forces moved in effectively and quickly with troops and armoured vehicles to disperse the Red Shirts. This was a day that saw widespread outbreaks of anger, violence, and arson in various parts of Bangkok as well as a curfew being imposed for the next week. This was also the day that (coinciding with our usual walk to the office) a clash took place at Asok on Sukhumvit near where the office and my hotel were. Thankfully we were some way off so that when we heard shots in the distance we were able to detour via side streets (“No, I really don’t want a massage thank you.”) and spend the rest of the day in another part of town.

Bizarre as it may seem, with all this going on, tourists were still wandering up and down Sukhumvit, and although the streets were relatively quiet I was able to have a good look around, sample some fantastic Thai street food, and get into tourist mode myself for a bit.

Now, several weeks on with things back to normal, at least outwardly, this crisis is reported to have cost 85 dead and 1402 injured.

Despite the circumstances of my visit, I found Bangkok and its people wonderfully vibrant and its food has to be sampled to be believed. This is a place high on my list to explore further in quieter times.

Greybeard goes to Fort

A colleague, in fact my boss in NZ was delighted that I was going to be based in Colombo for 6 months. Not, as it turns out because he wanted rid of me for a while (or so I choose to believe), but rather because a relative was posted here with the Navy during World War 2 and there was research to be done here to fill in some blanks in a book he is writing.

 

I had heard that there was a Maritime Museum in Colombo, but was having no joy finding it by asking any of my local contacts. Taking my usual fallback position in these things I made Google my friend and quickly learnt that the Colombo Maritime Museum did in fact exist but due to some graphical electronic interfacial error was not where Google Maps said it was. In reality it was housed in the only remaining example of Dutch architecture in Colombo in the form of the original Dutch prison here right in the middle of the Sri Lankan Navy’s High Security Zone near the waterfront in Fort (a suburb of Colombo and also originally a Dutch fort)

During my first week here I had an encounter with an officious armed matelot near here as I strolled blissfully ignorant along the waterfront with my camera over my shoulder. Seems this area has been ‘off limits’ now for years – accounting for why no one knew about the museum.

Naturally I was dubious about another visit having heeded my earlier warning and stayed away ever since but nevertheless I engaged a local tuk tuk driver and set off armed with rough directions to look for an old Dutch Prison along the waterfront. Making eloquent use of his several words of English he explained to me that we would go along the waterfront road and try our luck to see how far we got and that if we were stopped he would interpret for me at a cost yet to be confirmed.

Away we went and upon reaching the first checkpoint it quickly became apparent that the security forces were becoming more user friendly and less aggressive. After some smiling, pointing and nodding and much parley in Sinhalese we were able to proceed, but only on foot. The next emplacement was equipped with a very large machine gun which pointed at us through the concertina wire as we walked toward it along the road. I was feeling a little nervous as I was again carrying a camera. Fortunately the gunner was as happy as his colleagues and cheerfully waved us on to the next point a few metres further on and staffed this time by police. This cheerful crew pointed to a long low building in the distance which, as we got closer proved to be the elusive museum and indeed was housed in an old prison like building.

Arriving at a wide open vehicle sized entrance maybe 10 metres from the museum door we were prevented from entering by a policeman who pointed at the ‘Exit’ sign on his gate and an ‘Entry’ sign back the way we had come. Retracing our steps for 75 metres we entered via the entry gate and returned along the inside of the fence to the point we were a couple of minutes earlier and on into the museum.

The museum is quite small, entry is free, and there are few exhibits, but it is interesting and has been well put together. Unfortunately, even after explaining what I wanted I was flatly refused permission to take photographs. I was keen to record one exhibit, and felt like a spy as I hung around until no one was looking before quickly taking out my phone camera and firing off a quick snap before sneaking guiltily to the exit – where I was able to buy for just 300 Rupees (around $3) a comprehensive colour guide to the museum containing detailed photographs of every exhibit I had just seen, several postcards, and a book on the history of the port!

I wandered sheepishly back with the tuk tuk driver / guide wondering how much his services were going to cost, but again was pleasantly surprised when after dropping me across town he gladly accepted my starting offer of 500 rupees ($5) for his mornings work!

One in a thousand

I am a keen photographer with some formal training and what I believe is a fairly good compositional eye, but I, like most of the world have fallen into the trap set by manufacturers of digital cameras. Once upon a time when cameras held real film you had to be careful about composing each and every shot. Developing and printing films was a costly business so you were naturally cautious. Quality before quantity!

Along came digital media and now you didn’t have to do anything apart from downloading your photos to your computer. Photoshop and similar software enabled you to manipulate images in your virtual darkroom, but more often than not you ended up with the digital equivalent of a shoebox of prints in the back of a drawer somewhere. Quantity over quality!

Now, because each image isn’t wasting film I have developed (excuse the pun) the habit of taking LOTS of images. In the days of film I could have a 36 exposure film in my camera for months, whereas now will happily snap away a hundred images in a day. I have found that if I take 1000 photos, 100 or so will be average, then maybe 20 or so will be ‘keepers’ (not that I ever actually throw any away – I just get more storage capacity) and 5 or 10 of the 1000 will be pretty darned good and worth printing and maybe framing.

Then every so often, but quite rarely, I am lucky enough to take an image that is in my eyes spectacular.. this is the 1 in 1000 shot that requires no manipulation or even cropping, the colours are realistic, the exposure is spot on, the composition follows the rule of thirds, and the image 'says something.'

Such was my very good fortune when just a few days ago I ‘snapped’ this image from the terrace bar of a hotel in Galle where my wife and I were spending a relaxing break away from the ‘busyness’ of Colombo.

Divine Intervention

10 days or more ago I lost the wee stylus that slides into the base of my phone.

No big deal - except that I spent an entire day roaming around the city into every mobile phone shop I could find - and there are literally hundreds of them looking for a replacement.

Now every shop had a box full of maybe a hundred or so different types for every phone imaginable - except mine 'cos its relatively new. (Why is it necessary for every stylus for every model and every type of phone to be different?)

Eventually though I managed to find a 'cheap rip off’ copy of the real thing - and that still cost me $10!!

Stay with me here OK....

Walking home from work today past the Buddhist centre (I have only been past this way once before since I've been here) I just happened to glance down to see a phone stylus in the middle of the footpath.

What are the chances........ considering too that every morning here the footpaths are swept to within a micrometre of the thickness of the seal by a fleet of broom wielding little old ladies and men.

This is a footpath on a street that has a traffic jam twice a day as children go to and from the international school next to the Buddhist centre so its not just a sleepy wee side street.

OK... so believe it or not the stylus is a genuine Nokia Xpress Music 5800 stylus (remember every model is different), and it is even the same colour as my original one.

Now explain to me what the chances of that happening are eh??

I reckon its about the same as leaving a full bottle of beer on the footpath in central Dunedin and it still being there after a weekend!!

So now I have two.

Believe it or not - it happened here!!!!!

Pimp my tuk tuk!

Thousands of these funny looking three wheeled chariots prey on hapless tourists in every suburb of Colombo like bugs around a lamp.

Powered by a 150cc petrol engine usually mechanically unmodified and perhaps the size of a lawnmower or chainsaw they are often decorated with various bits of chrome and ‘go fast’ stickers.

Not this pale green beauty!

As it pulled up to the red light which for a change drivers were mostly complying with you heard it first. “Tuck… tuck…tuck…tuck…tuck” it idled with a superior sort of attitude. Pulling alongside you could tell the owner was an enthusiast. The starting handle, normally a 2 foot long lever resting on the floor alongside the driver had been modified to include a raised grab handle – the driver no longer needed to reach down to floor level to start the beast, obviously designed for a racing start.

Plastic Barbie clung onto the 6 foot broadcast whip aerial, and mirror foil stuck to the rear window of the black vinyl ‘pram hood’. White vinyl Toyota mudguards had been modified to fit the miniscule rear wheel arches covering the tiny 10” wheels, and matched handpainted white racing stripes.

This machine’s unusual pastel colour (tuk tuks usually come in just the basic primary colours and cream) set it apart from its many relations, but as it dragged its impressive 150cc away from the lights at a breakneck crawl it was the sound it made that really inspired my comments.

To someone who has had to endure many nights of duty on the streets listening to New Zealand’s lost youth patrolling round and round the central city bocks sniffing petrol fumes and attempting to impress goodness knows who with their baked bean tin exhausts, and leaky butterfly exhaust valves, this sound just made me roar with laughter:

“Tik… Tuk…TUK..TUK.TUK.TUK.TUK……..WHheeeeeeze…” (as second of three gears is selected) “Tik… Tuk…TUK..TUK.TUK.TUK.TUK……..WHeeeeeeze…..” (third and final gear) “Tik… Tuk…TUK..TUK.TUK.TUK.TUK”…… off into the distance it ‘tukked’ enveloped in a light blue haze that emitted from the modified chrome exhaust extension that had the diameter of a large ballpoint pen!!

This Kiwi's ANZAC Day in Colombo

New Zealand has no consular representation in Sri Lanka so by default I have been adopted by the Australian High Commission which also just happens to be across the road from the IFRC Movement Coordination office I work in. Soon after my arrival, in good ANZAC spirit, the Australians extended the hand of friendship and offered ‘sanctuary’ should I have the need to jump over their fence ‘in extremis’. In return I helped them drink some of their very good red wine on Australia Day earlier in the year.

A couple of weeks ago I was hand delivered an official invitation from the Australian High Commission requesting that I represent NZ at an ANZAC Day commemorative ceremony to be held at the War Graves section of the local Kanatte General Cemetry. This was to be followed by a ‘gunfire breakfast’ at the High Commissioner’s residence. Even though I am probably the most easily accessible of the very few Kiwis in Sri Lanka, it was still an honour to asked. I was very keen to experience how Australians ‘do’ ANZAC, and I was eager to learn what a ‘gunfire breakfast’ was all about, though I suspected it had more to do with rum than guns!

At 0500hrs it is still dark in Colombo, and a pleasant temperature of around 25 degrees. Thankfully the monsoon hasn’t quite started here in earnest yet so although very humid it wasn’t raining. The mosquitoes enjoyed the arrival of a hundred or so ‘human breakfasts’ and quickly made feasts of us. Among the official guests were the American Ambassador, the Honorary Consul-General of the Republic of Turkey, a Sri Lankan Admiral, and various other high ranking Sri Lankan military officers. Staff from the High Commission and other embassies as well as a sprinkling of ex-pats, some wearing medals made up the rest of the small crowd. The pathway through the cemetery to the hedged and newly mowed war graves section had been lit with small potted candles and these continued through the graves to an open area under the trees where the ceremony was to take place.

A peaceful and reverent scene unfolded as the sky started to lighten and the service got under way at the appointed 0530hrs. HE Kathy Klugman welcomed everyone and gave a short explanation of the history of ANZAC Day, then Father Ivan Perera, Archdiocese of Colombo led a prayer followed by a contemporary version of the Lords Prayer and then Kemal Ataturk’s speech to the mothers of ANZACs was read by Mrs Bharathi Wijeratne, the Honorary Consul-General of the Republic of Turkey.

The program showed the New Zealand representative (me) laying a wreath after the Australian High Commissioner, then the Honorary Consul-General, and finally the American Ambassador. Unfortunately the American Ambassador (or one of her minions) had neglected to bring a wreath – so an unfortunate Sri Lankan driver was dispatched to find one at 0500hrs on a Sunday in Colombo! To his credit he was triumphant, albeit arriving at the end of the ceremony. We shared the three available wreaths among the four of us and laid them in front of the graves of an Australian and a Kiwi grave that were chosen because they were side by side. In fact the Australian grave was between two Kiwi graves – all three being airmen who died on the same day – February 13th 1943, we are told they were on a transport plane that crashed near Colombo. Later in the day I would find out how poignant that was given the tragic event in New Zealand this ANZAC Day morning. After the wreaths had been laid, Australian Federal Police Detective Superintendent Shane Austin resplendent in full formal dress uniform recited The Ode then ending the ceremony the Last Post and Reveille were played by a pair of equally magnificently dressed Sri Lankan Army Buglers. I would have to say that I have never heard such a well played rendition, especially considering how difficult the timing issues must be when playing two bugles in unison – it was faultless and certainly had the regulation ability to raise the hairs on the back of your neck.

Everyone was invited back to the High Commissioner’s residence where a full buffet breakfast had been laid on including all the usual suspects: Bacon, sausages, eggs, hash browns, baked beans, toast etc. Again the setting was outside on the lawn under the trees. A bottle of Bundaberg rum – being one of two things, red wine being the other, which I concede Australia does better than New Zealand – sat on a table with the coffee ready to be raised in a glass to honour those who gave their lives in the service of their countries. As the sun climbed above the horizon the temperature rose towards the usual daily 34 degrees making formal dress a little too uncomfortable, so by 0730hrs the gathering came to its natural conclusion and everyone quietly wandered off home.

Reviving the lost art

Yes, indeed it has been some time since my last post and a lot of water has passed under the bridge since January.

A great deal of my time is spent in front of a computer screen, so I have been a little reluctant to spend any longer than I need to doing the same at home..... just too much else to see and do.

I won't bore you with every little thing that has happened, suffice to say though that everything has progressed pretty much according to plan.  I am still in Colombo, "Zarges" and I were eventually (after 6 weeks) reunited, I am enjoying a thoroughly interesting job, and  I haven't heard a swear word since I arrived (unless you count the expletive I uttered the evening my Tuk tuk was nearly 'T boned' by one of the many psychopath drivers here coming through one of the few red lights in the country.) My driver avoided our deaths by the thickness of a coat of paint and was rewarded with a handsome tip when I arrived at my apartment.

A Colombo sunset - something they do very well and frequently here!