A few weeks ago I made a trip to Thailand’s Eastern Seaboard (the area between Bangkok and Cambodia) to update that chapter of the Rough Guide to Thailand. I relished the opportunity to spend some time on Thai beaches, and to visit some islands that I hadn’t been to before, such as Ko Mak and Ko Kood. As a result, I’ve put together a small gallery of images, which I’ll post here along with a few words about each island.
This tiny, hilly island is little more than an hour’s journey from Bangkok, but it’s rarely visited, perhaps because it doesn’t have any stand-out beaches. However, it’s got a great, laid-back vibe, some comfy lodgings, super-friendly locals and several low-key attractions which you can visit in a ‘skylab’ (a glorified tuk-tuk).
It’s supposed to be a national park, but you’d never believe it with the boatloads of visitors streaming on to and off of the island each day. It has several gorgeous beaches on the east coast, some extremely expensive resorts (think $1000 a night) and some yummy seafood. Quiet on weekdays but frantic at weekends.
Thailand’s second-biggest island, ‘Elephant Island’ didn’t really get going as a tourist base until the 1990s but is making up for lost time and is now developing rapidly. Fortunately, the further south you go on the west coast, the quieter it gets, and there are still a few budget bungalows on the beach.
This small, mostly flat, island is unusual in that its inhabitants have got together to ban the sordid side of tourism such as jetskis and hostess bars. This leaves a tranquil island ringed by beaches and an interior given over to coconut and rubber plantations, which are great fun to explore on a bicycle or motorbike.
Not far from the Cambodian border, this must be one of Thailand’s last remaining undiscovered gems, though presumably not for long, as access is very easy these days. Fabulous, empty beaches, gushing waterfalls, towering ancient trees and winding sealed roads await explorers. Get there before it goes the way of all tourist resorts.
Putting the world to rights in five minutes
Our planet is in a mess—environmentally, economically, socially and politically. Hardly a day goes by without some horrific news about villages buried under landslides, politicians arrested for corruption or suicide bombers blowing themselves and everybody nearby to bits. Despite amazing advances in technology during the last century, we don’t seem to have learned anything about how to live together despite our differences. Even the modern sciences of psychology and sociology have no blueprint for improving relationships.
While I can’t condone acts of violence, I sympathize with disaffected youth who see no future for themselves and resort to extreme acts to let their feelings be known. After all, as a radical student in the UK in the late 1960s, I protested about the Vietnam War and threw rotten tomatoes at Margaret Thatcher, ‘the milk snatcher’, when she visited my college—South Bank Polytechnic, now known as South Bank University, in London.
Things don’t look too bright for the future of our planet either, with leaders like Donald Trump and Theresa May to guide us. Topics like Trump’s travel ban on Muslims from certain countries and May’s stance on Brexit are guaranteed to spark off arguments among American and British subjects, and even going on holiday is a nerve-racking experience these days, running the gauntlet of inefficient security systems at airports worldwide.
I get grumpy myself at times—who doesn’t?—but for years I’ve believed that negative attitudes and stress are the quickest way to an early grave, so I try to reduce these conditions to a minimum. In that respect, I feel blessed to live in Thailand, often dubbed ‘the Land of Smiles’, which may sound like clever PR by the tourist board, but it’s actually true; most Thais do go around smiling.
I suspect that it has a lot to do with a Buddhist upbringing (95% of Thais are Buddhist), as in general they don’t bear grudges or grumble when things don’t go their way. Instead, they are always eager to help someone out (it accrues merit towards the next life) and are ready to smile or laugh at any opportunity. Sanuk, or having fun, is a guiding principle for Thais in everything they do.
If I don’t get inspired by Thais smiling all the time, I remind myself of a song performed by the members of Monty Python at the end of the film ‘Life Of Brian’. The characters in the film are in a difficult predicament; in fact they are being crucified, but they cheer each other up by whistling along to a tune called ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’. So why not give a listen, and whistle along yourself: just click HERE.
‘Kuala Lumpur’ means ‘muddy confluence’, referring to the meeting of the Gombak and Klang Rivers. This name was probably appropriate when it was a small tin-mining settlement in the 1850s, but it doesn’t quite capture the vibrant mood of the gleaming city that stands there today. Now you’d be hard pushed to find the confluence of those rivers, hidden somewhere between overpasses, underpasses and soaring skyscrapers; in fact, ‘cement city’ would be a more accurate, if unflattering, title. I’m not sure whether it’s because Kuala Lumpurians want to disown their muddy heritage, or perhaps because acronyms are currently fashionable, but these days the city’s inhabitants prefer to be called KL-ites, and their city simply KL.
I’ve been to KL several times before, but never got nearer to the city than Kuala Lumpur International Airport (KLIA), which is over 50km away, to the joy of taxi drivers. Now I find myself based in the city for a few days researching a story on Malaysian starfruit, and find time to check out a few sights.
The one ‘must-see’ sight in KL is undoubtedly the Petronas Twin Towers, the city’s most prominent icon. It’s not far from my guesthouse, so I decide to brave the heavy traffic and walk. Luckily I check with the receptionist, who sends me in the opposite direction to the route I’ve planned, to take a raised walkway that isn’t marked on the map, and which leads all the way to the towers. I notice that pedestrians on the walkway are protected from the fumes and noise of traffic choking the streets below, so well done KL! One of the few cities I know that makes provisions for pedestrians as well as car drivers.
The ‘towers’ experience is as I expected—a rigid routine of ten minutes on the skybridge (41st floor) and twenty minutes on the observation deck (86th floor), ushered around by staff sporting fixed smiles. It’s difficult to compose images creatively in a place that’s been photographed a million times, but I have fun shooting architectural details and people taking selfies.
On leaving, I pass through the enormous Suria KLCC, one of the city’s most popular malls with several floors of designer shops, and I notice smartly dressed KL-ites pondering purchases that are way out of my league. I head into KLCC Park looking for an image of the towers from the outside and am immediately relieved to be among trees, ponds and lawns. Here’s another treat—a precious green lung right in the city centre, even if it is surrounded by cacophonous construction.
The towers may be Malaysia’s best-known symbol, but for a taste of the country’s multi-cultural character, I make my way to Chow Kit, the city’s biggest fresh market. Indian, Chinese, Malay and mixed-race vendors sing out their wares such as mangoes, jackfruit, and guavas. The vast, covered area displays a staggering variety of fruits, vegetables, meat and fish, and helps to explain the rich diversity of Malay cuisine.
After a few days in KL, I realize that the entire population is obsessed with food. It seems that the main thought on everyone’s mind is “What shall I eat for my next meal?” This question comes to a frenzied climax each evening along Jalan Alor, a street dedicated entirely to eating, and along Bukit Bintang, which is lined with trendy bars and restaurants. Locals and tourists wander up and down, gazing at displays of seafood on ice, barbecued meat on sticks, spicy curries and durian, all the while being badgered by barkers to sit down in their restaurant.
I join the throng to sample a pan-Asian fusion meal; Cambodian amok (a seafood curry) a Thai tom yam (spicy, sour soup) and a Malay mee goreng ayam (stir-fried noodles with shallots, egg and chicken). As I wash it down with a starfruit shake, I’m beginning to understand the KL-ites’ fascination with food. With so much to choose from, it’s easy to experience new taste sensations every day.
Getting around a city is always important, and KL gets a big thumbs-up for its user-friendly transport system. Well-marked and regular trains and buses run a great service for just a few cents, or in some cases free. From Raja Chulan, a KL monorail station just five minutes’ walk from my guesthouse, I can get almost anywhere in town.
While riding the monorail, I notice the sharp contrast between the rigid lines of high-rise towers and the intricate and colourful carvings on Hindu temples tucked away in the backstreets. So I head round to the Sri Maha Mariamman temple and marvel over the craftsmanship of carvings that adorn the temple, and the quietness of its courtyard induces a relaxed mood.
Not for long, however. Round the corner from the temple I hop on a bus to the Batu Caves, about 15km north of the city centre, to see something of Thaipusam, KL’s biggest annual Hindu festival. At the caves, amazing scenes are unfolding—men performing the kavadi attam, or ‘burden dance’, while carrying circular decorated canopies above their heads, spinning round in a trance. Many of them have hooks in their backs and are restrained from charging forward by someone holding chains behind. On the steps up to the caves, a solid mass of humanity surges up and down beside a giant-sized statue of Lord Murugan, to whom the festival is dedicated.
As I leave the city on the KLIA Ekspres train, having already checked in for my flight, I feel strangely calm before the experience of passing through an international airport, which can be fraught with anxiety-inducing delays. After undergoing the security checks, I sink into a vibrating massage chair and ask myself if I’ve ever had a smoother introduction to a new city before. The answer, I think, is no.
Time to freshen up the website for the new year, so I’ve made a few additions and changes. Firstly, I’ve added a few scans of stories that appeared in printed magazines (an increasingly rare form of media!) during 2016. These are:
- Deep in the Delta, a photo essay on the Mekong Delta for Jetstar Asia magazine.
--Strange Town, a focus on Antananarivo, capital of Madagascar, for the South China Morning Post.
--Blissful Bloom, a story about the sacred lotus for Morning Calm (Korean Air inflight).
I’ve also changed the sample story from my collection ‘Searching for Shangri La’. ‘Sweeping Meditation’ is a chronicle of my changing attitudes to the fascinating activity of sweeping leaves. There’s also an audio version of the story, so rest your eyes for ten minutes and listen to the tale unfold.
Recently, I’ve been on the trail of vanilla, the magical spice that flavours our cakes, custards and ice creams. Along the way, the trail took me to Madagascar, where they produce the finest vanilla in the world. It’s called ‘Bourbon vanilla’, after the former name of nearby Reunion Island.
Did you know that vanilla comes from an orchid (vanilla planifolia)? That its flower has to be pollinated by hand in order for the vanilla pod to grow? That the pod must be picked on a particular day of its growth, and then go through various stages of conditioning for almost a year before it is ready to use?
I didn’t know any of this; I didn’t even know what a vanilla pod looked like, but I found out pretty quickly before boarding a plane to Antananarivo (better known as Tana), Madagascar’s crazy capital.
I started tracking down vanilla in the city centre, at the huge Analakely Market, which was teeming with produce, and I went bananas shooting images of the vendors with their artful displays of bell peppers, shredded carrots, shellfish, succulent strawberries and gleaming tangerines. As for vanilla, after a careful look I was able to distinguish top-quality beans (long, slender, dark, glistening) from the cheaper stuff, which was short, stubby, lighter in colour.
I had to be on my toes all the time, because—as just about all Tana’s citizens keep reminding you—this is one dangerous town. Thefts and muggings are regular, which may have something to do with the fact that about half the population have no work or income. Fortunately I emerged unscathed, and was even brave enough to join the crowds at the annual Madagascar Carnival—wow, those Malagasy can dance!
In the kitchens that I visited to see what chefs are doing with vanilla in Tana’s top restaurants these days, it was invariably the top-quality vanilla pods I saw stored in tall glass jars. I got to photograph (and eat!) some amazing dishes, such as chicken escalopes with vanilla sauce and pork and sweet potato with vanilla. And much as I enjoyed these exotic dishes, nothing could beat the vanilla soufflé for its uncompromised vanilla-ness.
Before leaving Tana, I bought a few bunches of vanilla pods to experiment with at home. Now I’m a vanilla addict and each time I head for the kitchen I’m dreaming up new ways of adding it to any dish. Its sweet, creamy and smoky aroma has got me under its spell.
Y'all know Wikipedia, dontcha? That wonderful bastion of philanthropy, the so-called ‘free’ encyclopaedia staffed by selfless sharers of essential information—one of the world’s ten most popular websites, written by the people, for the people?
Well, I got news for you—Wikipedia is wicked, and I don’t mean that in a ‘so bad it’s good’ way. I mean wicked, as in nasty, calculating and, worst of all, corrupt.
How do I know? Well, one of their regular contributors just tried to sell me a page about myself on Wikipedia…for $910, non-negotiable. Ali Khalid tried to hook me in with the tempting thought that…”These days, anyone who is important is on Wikipedia. It shows people that one is popular and credible”.
So, just how credible is Wikipedia? Ali sent me links to the Wikipages of a couple of satisfied customers, who had paid the going rate to be deemed important, popular and credible. Lyn Mikel Brown, it appears, is an American feminist and Nancy Cruickshank retails beauty products.
I’ve no doubt that there are still a few well-intentioned souls writing for Wikipedia who want to warn us of the dangers of fracking (or whatever their obsession is) without receiving a cent for their troubles, but it seems there are richer pickings to be found by dipping into the endless supply of real-life people who want to be considered important or notable.
Fancy a go? Then here’s what to do. Write a few (free) biographies for Wikipedia of little-known but notable dead poets/musicians/artists/etc, in order to establish yourself, then market your talents to the millions of semi-successful people on this planet who would happily part with $910 for a taste of notability. Soon as you know it, you’ll be rolling in clover.
When I was about seven years old, my Dad took me to the cinema to see a film called ‘Dunkirk’ starring John Mills and Richard Attenborough, about the evacuation of hundreds of thousands of British soldiers from the beach at Dunkirk as the Germans overran France in the Second World War. It was one of the first times I had been to the cinema, and the film made a strong impression on me, particularly the scenes of helpless, terrified soldiers trying to take cover in the sand dunes as German planes dropped bombs on them and strafed them with machine-gun fire.
A few days later at my primary school, our teacher asked us to write about a book that we had read or a film that we had seen. I picked up my pen, opened my notebook and started writing about Dunkirk. Somehow the next 40 minutes flashed by and at the end of the class I had written several pages, but still hadn’t got beyond the introductory stages of the film.
The following week, when the rest of the class was given a different task, our teacher suggested that I continue with my story of the film, which I did. Again the time melted away, but at the end of class I still hadn’t finished recounting the events of the film. This process continued for several weeks, until finally I finished my account of the film, using up about 30-40 pages of my notebook. The teacher expressed great pleasure when I was done, and told me she was going to put my ‘book’ into the school library.
I had completely forgotten about this incident until a few days ago, when I was watching a film called ‘Atonement’, based on a book by Ian McEwan, who incidentally is one of my favourite writers. Near the end of the film, there was a scene of the same events at Dunkirk that suddenly unlocked my memory of all those years ago. I remembered bending over my notebook as a young boy and going into a kind of trance as the words tumbled onto the page, sensing a thrill of creating the story anew and feeling great satisfaction as I completed the last sentence.
I can’t say that I made up my mind there and then that I was going to be a writer when I grew up, but some kind of seed was sown, which gradually grew into a love of literature and of writing. I can’t even remember the name of the teacher who set us our writing task on that day so long ago, but I’ll be eternally grateful to her for unleashing a passion that I never knew existed within me.
There’s an element of serendipity to my current job—writing the text for a photo book on Vietnam called Journey through Vietnam. Some years ago when I was working on a souvenir book on Thailand (Portrait of Thailand, published by New Holland, UK), I proposed a similar book on Vietnam, since at the time I had visited all regions of the country and felt I had enough strong images to make a good job of it.
New Holland didn’t go for it, so I dropped the idea. Then, out of the blue, I was contacted recently by Periplus publications in Singapore, asking me if I’d like to write the text for this new publication. “Sure”, I said, “any chance of providing some images too?” “Well, you’re welcome to submit images”, they responded, “but be warned we won’t be paying more than $5 per image as we’re accessing them all from microstock libraries. In fact, in writing the text, you’ll be getting the lion’s share of our expenditure on this project.”
Ironic, isn’t it, that the text for an image-driven book pays more than the images in it? But, as I noted in my previous blog, this is clearly the way things are going, and there’s not much I can do about it. Since I’m already involved in the book, I expect I’ll submit images for any places or activities that they can’t find in image libraries, and might end up making an extra $10 for my efforts. But at least it’s given me an idea for an interesting story, about all the different forms of transport to be found in Vietnam.
Now let’s see, there are planes, trains, rowing boats, longtail boats, hydrofoils, junks, coracles, cable-cars, motorbikes, bicycles, cars, trucks, jeeps, tractors, elephants, buffaloes……….
I’m sure I’m not the only photographer who has watched with dismay as online stock photo (or microstock) libraries have mushroomed over recent years. Why dismay? Well, I used to sell my travel stories to clients as a package of words and images, of which the images would often be worth half or more of the fee. Yet since these image libraries have expanded to cover every destination and topic under the sun, and since their images are available for use at US$1 or less, most publications I work for now want me to provide text only, which means I’ve lost about half my previous income.
To give an idea how fast these sites are growing, Shutterstock (the biggest) has over 70 million images available, and uploads over half a million more each week. This works out to a staggering 50 images uploaded EVERY MINUTE! The downside for contributors to SS is that no sooner have they uploaded new material than it gets pushed off the first page and so has less chance of selling.
Despite these problems, I finally decided to stop grumbling and adopt the attitude of ‘If you can’t beat them, join them’. So I recently submitted a selection which was accepted, and you can see my tiny portfolio at http://www.shutterstock.com/cat.mhtml?gallery_id=3496445. I’ll post a few samples below, and I’ll be submitting images quite frequently. After all, as SS contributors know, this is a numbers game, and only those who are constantly uploading make any money. Even then, at US$0.25 per image, you’ve got to make A LOT of sales to be successful. Nevertheless, I’ve made a steady start and already my earnings stand at US$1.50!
Usually when I travel, I’m updating a guidebook, so I’m rushing around from dawn to late, checking hotels and restaurants for inclusion in the next edition of the guide. But a few weeks ago I lucked out, spending ten days on a Pandaw cruise around Ha Long Bay and the Red River Delta in Vietnam in order to write and photograph a story about it for the company’s magazine, as it was a new route that they wanted to publicise.
Loved it! Sprawled on a sun lounger, taking in the endless change of view, from towering karst outcrops to container cranes, brick kilns, fields of rice and passion fruit, locals waving from the riverbank. Wandering around small villages, watching water puppet shows, seeing conical hats made, listening to traditional songs sung by teenagers. Writing a few notes about the experience and getting to know my fellow passengers, gorging on gourmet food three times a day. Following are a few images from the trip.
If you want to read the full story, take a Pandaw cruise and read it in the Pandaw Magazine while aboard, or sign up as a subscriber on their website—www.pandaw.com.
is a British writer and photographer based in Chiang Mai, Thailand.