First week In Chiang Mai

    So one of the things that really inspired me to writing was the idea that I could show others the world as I see it. No guessing “What the writer is trying to say or his motivation for doing the story” like we were all asked in school. I think I have achieved that goal and I think many readers enjoy my view or “take” on the places I tell you about. Robert Dugoni is fond of telling a story where he is sitting poolside and the person he is with suggests he start writing. His response is that he is, plotting twists and turns in his latest book My Sisters Grave. I remembered that story as I came down to the pool this morning carrying my 13 MacBook Pro. It reminded me of a dream I once had; to be secure enough to be able to sit poolside as an author. To toss off the shackles of Starbucks and the leather padded tweed jacket and live the exotic lifestyle of a “paperback writer.”

Just as we need our dreams to drive us forward, we rely on self-sarcasm to keep us grounded and a creative memory as a guide book.

    Never the less today does in truth find me poolside in Chiang Mai Thailand. Living if not cheaply then inexpensively enough to be secure in my dream as an author. It also finds me struggling to balance play time, research time, travel time, husband time, social media time, and writing time! Mr. Dugoni is again motivational today as I think about our conversation last week in which he told me about his guy who takes care of his social web stuff. So now I have a new goal, thanks, Robert. I need to get to the point that responding to fan email and messages is once again a treat and not one of those things on the list of things struggling for attention. Without achieving that dream, I fear the next book is a long way off! This should not be construed in any way to say I don’t enjoy your letters, messages, comments, and critiques.

    So Chiang Mai. There is a ton of stuff written about this city in the North of Thailand. I have read critiques that people say too nice of things about the place. The inference here is that they are not entirely truthful. While it is true the country of Thailand is under Military Law and the Military has stated they are taking this situation and, as such, the interpretation of Military Law very seriously I don’t feel muzzled as a writer. As a foreign guest here and Russia before this I feel like I can comment on my observations. Just as in Russia I can say what it is like to me as a visitor to a new culture and country but to comment past that I think would be irresponsible. I am hardly an expert on either countries, history or culture.  I think one of the things in this world  that create problems are irresponsible “experts” interfering or commenting in other countries affairs.

    This is not to say I haven’t noticed the increased Military presence. But it is unobtrusive and life seems to go on as normal from everything I have seen. The other day Inga and I walked up to one of the big Universities as it looked like graduation was going on. We were right it was and we walked around past hundreds uniformed officers of various decorations. To a person, they all smiled at us and many nodded and I should point out we were the only white people walking about. We stopped to have a drink at one of the many street side cafes in the area and after a time noticed a lack of traffic. Then two uniformed officers very politely approached us and ask we move back off the street table as the Princess was about to go by in a motorcade. They made the request in English and very politely. While obvious they fully expected me to do as asked it was none the less done with Thai friendliness and good  manners. The Royal motorcade went by and the café’s owner and workers came out to see it and you could see the love and adoration they have for her and the entire Royal Family. Being Canadian I am not really a Monarchist but it was very cool to witness this here in Thailand.

I have been in Chiang Mai before so I am having fun being tour guide for Inga and we are doing the typical touristy things people do in this old city.  We have also been doing a ton of walking and all over the city and not just in the safer tourist areas. I have yet to feel even a little uncomfortable and we have traveled into every manner of street and market.

    The other night we decided to take in a Jazz concert held at the famous Ta Pae Gate, Chiang Mai. It was an outdoor event and was free. Jazz de LANNA it was called and we had seen signs advertising it all over Chiang Mai. It started very early at 5:30pm and continued all night long till about 11pm. The event had many sponsors along with the TAT, better known as the Thailand Authority of  Tourism, and it was a well put on show. The military was there, and again they were all very polite and vigilant. It actually made me feel very safe as I witnessed how they scanned the crowd and watched what was tossed into trash bins. They even watched me when I tossed in the remains of the dinner Inga and I had bought at the market/carnival style food venues. The very interesting old/new mix Thailand does so well was once again on display. Night Market food venues with pricing in reach of the locals and fancy hotel sponsored tents selling exotic food at slightly higher prices but still within a small splurge range for locals. The stage was very professionally done and the sound was truly world class. The event headlined Jazz sensations, Howard McCrary, Koh Saxman and Khun. Legendary Jazz Master Howard McCrary has worked with many famous names in the music scene in the US. The backup acts were talented as well and the range in style and delivery really appealed to the very multinational crowd. Plastic chairs allowed many to sit and a VIP section of leather couches must have had some very special guests as I watched an army officer walk up and take a picture of one of the VIPS saluting before and after. Inga and I enjoyed a large part of the show from the ground before retreating to a third-floor terrace patio that was part of a Starbucks to finish the evening. Even from across the street the sound was perfect and the music and message magical. Harry’s voice communicating great respect for the King of Thailand in an individual song and the love of peace in the entire set, finishing the evening with Imagine.

So while we continue to acclimatize ourselves to the warm winter in the Jungle I really have to say Chiang Mai is as nice as it is reported to be. Tuk Tuk drivers are quick to smile and relent when they try to overcharge you for a ride home by 50 Bhat, or about a buck US. The streets are a little dangerous to cross but most car drivers are vigilant, so you just have to watch the scooters. The people are warm and friendly and not just because you’re a “rich tourist”. Things move at a little slower pace but perhaps that is a cultural lesson we could all learn from.

On the topic of foreigners and scooters we met a Russian fellow by the pool the other day who on spotting my tattoo was very happy to talk in his native tongue to Inga and I. He related an experience he had while driving a larger, more powerful, scooter. He was going north to visit a high mountain temple and got hit. His injuries were pretty bad, damaging his left arm significantly. He doesn’t remember the actual event, just being passed by two cars on a corner and then waking up in the hospital. He said the healthcare system was superb and he was pleased with his progress healing. He told us how the driver stopped and two men he didn’t know got him help and to the hospital. Glad to see this Thai kindness extended to my adopted countries nationals as well.

  So to my friends, fans, and now famous Robert Dugoni, good afternoon from poolside in Chiang Mai. I am writing and please take the time to appreciate one another and the beautiful things we all have achieved. Don’t let those achievements rule your life as life is short and for the living. Specifically to my writer-types “this day we write!”

Culturally Russia

     I was reminded; today by Robert Dugoni that one of the best things about being a writer is the research. If you've been following this blog, you know I am in Russia doing research for the next book in the series with Rhys Munroe. Why did I need to travel all this way and bare the expense is something the taxman may ask me, and something I asked myself.

Before I got here, I don't think I could have answered that question accurately. I mean I have Google maps and street view I could have done all this research sitting at home. At least those were my thoughts prior to getting here. Now I know it would have been a very bland account. Russia has a very rich and complicated history and culture. Even now after three months in the country I am just scratching the surface of this. My grasp of the language is still minimal, but my understanding of the culture is much better. Like a deaf person who is able to see better because of his lack of hearing my ability to understand body language and glean meaning via these observations are far superior to how it used to be. The Russian people and country are, for the most part, very misunderstood in the western world. Simple things like eye contact are ruled by culture. There is an old Russian saying. "A person that sees less lives longer." This saying and behavior is carried forward into the  day to day interactions on the street. You can look at the person coming toward you but if your gaze does more than linger you force the person you're looking at to access why. Eye contact is supposed to be only brief with strangers. These behaviors may be similar in certain subcultures in Western society, like gangs, but unlike subculture modalities it is common here.

Sometimes as a foreigner I forget. A very tall women wearing five inch heels on very uneven streets may catch my attention if I look too long she is forced to figure out why I am "staring." Now in western culture a stare is a look that lingers for say twenty seconds. In Russia, that time frame drops to about seven seconds. So I am trying to keep my thousand yard stare while allowing my perception to record the subtle observations and nuances of the scene I am viewing. As in the above example; how can she possibly walk on these streets with those heels and what kind of pain is she going through for fashion?

     Fashion and dress are another culture difference that was hard to get a grasp on. Neither women nor men just toss something on to go out. While it is a stereotype that Russians overdress for everything, it is partly true. But it is through our eyes and western perception that we judge this as overdressed. The importance of being successful and taking pride in what they do is part of this. The change Perestroika forced on them created a world that was hard in judgment.  If you weren't successful, it was because you were lazy or not trying hard enough. You were all of a sudden free to pursue whatever dream you had and could rise above your birth station in life. We in the western world have long understood that while every child born in America or Canada can rise to be the leader of the country time has tempered this ideology with understanding. Perestroika is still fresh and that temper has yet to take. While we in the west see it as a great thing here, the jury is still out.

This was one of the hardest things for me as a westerner to understand. I mean freedom is held as one of our most-sacred things. So as I was doing research and came to suspect that the average Russian didn't value the new Russia as I did, I had questions.

I asked this question to my good friend and, brother from another mother. He said simply; "Go walking in a graveyard and look at the ages of the ones you find there." I have done this on a few occasions now and I understand what he meant. Russia was handed this freedom without a "how to" manual. It tore a bloody swath through the youth of the land. That revolution was hardly reported on in the western world and the price for these new opportunities was huge. An entire age group barely survived the change.

 Now it is oddly karmic that it was Marx that said "only true change comes through violent (and bloody) revolution."  But what was stranger still to me as a westerner was most local average Russians do not view this as the Great Event it was touted as in the west! They are happy for their new-found freedoms and opportunities, but direction is still missing. The west is still viewed in less than accurate light. When I explain our taxation system and size of our government, I am greeted with stares that reflect a disbelief. Canada is still viewed by Russians as the land of great riches and opportunities. While this is partly true explaining the reality of taxes and houses priced in multi-millions of rubles is greeted with astonishment. Long waits for healthcare and surgery are openly viewed with suspicion. Education and post-secondary grants and structure are past easy translation. Like explaining to a colourblind person what is the colour blue.

Simple and very obvious questions about supporting tomorrow's leaders and researchers are past my ability to explain. The actions of my government in these regards are basically an embarrassment and something past my ability to convey. How do I explain to someone that respects the elderly and supports the efforts of children to learn that we in Canada spend over a hundred thousand US dollars a year to incarcerate a bank robber while allowing our pensioners to live below the poverty line?  That highly trained Officers in jail check on these pieces of social garbage every forty-five minutes overnight to ensure they are alive while my grandmother in an old age home is checked only twice during the night? These are concepts past easy understanding in my culture, yet they are reality and the reality that I can't explain. I mean does the average Canadian actually support this? No! But we lack the ability to change it. While our elected and appointed leaders are supposed to listen to the people there is a severe disconnect. In comparison; Prime Minister Putin actually has a time he takes questions and suggestions live on the air from average Russians. I would love to see my own Prime Minister Harper respond to questions from average Canadians. I mean he is responsible to us the taxpayers, right? These disconnects between the people and the government are far more vast at home than here in Russia.

 Some other observations that are not so politically loaded are the Russian Peoples acceptance. I have discussed this a little bit in other blog entries but let us spend some time exploring this idea. I speak very little Russian and while I am initially viewed as Russian when the truth is discovered it is viewed with a mixture of panic and interest. Panic because the person I am interacting with is now concerned they can't understand what I need. Compare that to the exasperation or outright contempt when most westerners encounter someone who doesn't speak English. When they get past that initial panic and understand that however we need to work it out, we will the interest sets in. They want to know where I am from and how I like it here in Russia. They don't assume that this is the best place on earth and I find that so refreshing.

At this point the broken English, Russian, and Google translate is mixed with a dynamic game of charades and, working together, we understand each other and get past the barrier of language.  This is viewed as fun for my Russian counterparts and they actually delight in the sounds and motions I have to go through to get my point across. The perception is joy interacting with another culture, rather than being inconvenienced by a fucking foreigner that is taking up far too much time.

This is not to say Russia or Russians are perfect. Lots of things are different or get under my skin being here. Time and boundaries are issues for my new Russian friends. The basic infrastructure of things and the way of doing things are different and as such a challenge. But perhaps most of all is the simple clearing of tables. You have to hang on to your drink as glasses left mostly consumed will be taken away.  Sometimes it's the little things in life that irritate you and can't we all be thankful for that!

This Day We Write Challenge!

 

      One of the things I loved about my childhood was Sunday mornings. On most Sundays, my Mom made bread from scratch. She didn't use a bread-maker; they had yet to be invented. I would wake up to find discoloured old pans laid out, greased, and ready for the next batch. The house perfumed with the scent of fresh bread. This in itself is a wonderful memory, but what makes it even better were "Dough-Dodgers."  These were the leftover pieces of bread that Mom would toss in a large vat of oil. They would plump up and were awesome.

The quaint little seaside bar that stocks my Guinness gets something similar delivered at 10 am each day. I say similar, but they are the same with the added treat of being stuffed with mashed potato and cheese or fried onions. I am not quite sure which of these are my favorites, more research is required.

I mention this in the context of "This Day We Write." A phrase I am going to attribute to Robert Dugoni made popular at the Surrey International Writers Conference in 2012. This may not be completely accurate but like most history it is how I remember it.

     The other day I posted a picture on Twitter that showed my new office view and challenged other writers to post up the same. I didn't do this to brag my place was the nicest or anything. I did it to help inspire and place into context some of the ideas of "This Day We Write." As a writer, the most important thing we do is write. We may create and get ideas as we go through our daily lives, but the core of the discipline is writing.

     Yesterday it rained in Anapa. When it rains here it actually pours. Torrents of rainwater rush down the streets threatening small cars and children left unattended. So it was less than my usual sunny day lets go down to the beach eat a Dough-Dodger, drink a Guinness, and write kind of days. I also had the flu, and not one of the wimpy North American varieties. I will spare you the details but consider I never lost a pound in my two bouts in Africa with malaria and this "flu" shaved six kilograms off me in one day. So I didn't feel like writing.

So I sat down and lacking any real creative inspiration past wrapping my Mac in plastic wrap "just in case" I did a bunch of editing. In that process, I discovered a little creativity in cutting things that didn't push the story forward. But the point is I wrote!

For me at least this is what being a professional writer is all about. It isn't waiting for a blast of creative insight or great opening line. It is about the discipline of sitting down each and every day and doing it. When it is kept in the forefront of our mind, research, creativity, and execution come easier than waiting till the nebulas inspiration strikes you.

    So the "challenge" was to allow new writers to see how we as published authors did it. Kathy Chung responded with a very serene picture of the yard with an empty chair. Does the empty chair represent the reader? Does the looming Black Sea in my picture represent the unknown distance Rhys must go in my manuscript?  I am not sure as I am not really that good in "reading" into things.  But I think the exercise is a valid one. So with this blog and with a few more posts on Twitter I will again attempt to get more people engaged in this little exercise. So do it to inspire new writers or do it to get retweeted by someone who has more followers than you but let's do it!

 Russia is ripe with rumors and allegations of hardcore criminal activity, organized crime and gang violence. Until the other night, I had seen no overt evidence of this. Conspiracy theories and stories abound about all sorts of people, places, and things. Russians love to talk in hushed tones with close friends about the latest issue that might be going on. It is a fun pastime and one I am learning to not put much weight in. The locals don't, but they still love to talk about it. The other day we had huge waves and a small earthquake. The various theories ran the gambit of a Russian atom crusher sub getting blown up by an American sub chaser off the coast of Crimea to an event created by HARP in Alaska. The Russian people are very creative. I commented that it was probably just a shift in the plates under the Black Sea, a very seismically active area and wave action usually follows.  While my grasp of the language is poor, my grasp of body language is excellent, and the body language said wet blanket. My logical explanation lacked creativity and something to build on. So like Spock in an improvisational comedy I had dropped the ball.  But I started this paragraph with the other night gang attack so I shouldn't keep you in suspense.

    The night had a crooked moon, blood red with foreshadowing and had I been in a Robert McCammon novel I would have been aware of the pending assault. But I wasn't I was in tourist mode walking back from a popular nightclub after having a few beer and salted fish, as is the custom. Like Vegas walking on the street with a bottle is not really legal but it is for the most part ignored. The Rose Park was closed so I cut down a back alley the street lights failing to reach into the dark recesses of the street. I felt I was being watched before I saw anyone. Years of training did not fail me but try as might to find the reason for this feeling I could not. Although as I approached the corner, this changed,  I spotted the first one. He was sitting down on his haunches, common in Russia, trying to look very casual. Too casual and when his eyes darted in my direction, for just a second, I knew my sense of being followed was correct.

I passed a car and used the rear window as a mirror to look behind me. A flash of movement, crouching low crossed behind me. Hugging the shadows from one side of the alley to the other. Watching my progression down the street with feral eyes filled with need. I knew I was the target of this desire and wished I'd taken a cab. I felt the alcohol fight with and loose to the sudden surge of adrenaline. It was going to happen soon.

I searched for others. The odds were not bad right now, but I also knew more had to be involved. Two more appeared as if on command, summoned by my fear as surely as the streetlight sudden failure had been orchestrated. I tensed my legs pumping blood into the muscles for the fight I knew was coming. There would be no option to speak with these predators; I simply lacked the language skills.  The one keeping point turned and looked right at me, our eyes locked and I knew it was go time.

The demand was direct and drawn out long, and while I didn't understand what the sound was I knew what was being said. Suddenly, as if to drive a point to the demand three others, I had yet to see flanked me and repeated the same sound with authority. The two I had seen took up positions watching up and down the street, for police we all knew would not be coming. The one that had been following me up the dark alley casually bumped me letting me know he was close.

So I was faced with a potentially very hostile situation, six against one. While all of us were adequately armed, I knew, I wasn't getting out of this unscathed. So faced with this reality I handed over the left over fish I had been stupid enough to leave the bar with. Each one approached knowing they had won this challenge and took the tribute in their mouth before disappearing back into the shadows, the last one giving me a light swat with his paw, letting me know I got off easy.

 Cats in Russia seem to be the only overt sign of territorial activity. Certain stores and shops have cats that stake out the front. Welcoming those that are familiar and watching, in that judgmental fashion only cats can do, those they don't know. My apartment complex has a few and each has a very specific territory and while meetings of a sort take place it seems very structured. This has been the only overt sign of gang activity I have seen.

 Now I am not naïve, I know in anyplace where money and transient population meet you will have organized crime. Vegas and Monte Carlo come to mind. Anapa is probably no different. What I guess is different is it is invisible. I am trained to spot these types of people and made a career of doing it well and sensing violence prior to it happening. To date I have seen nothing of the sort. I have most certainly witnessed deference displayed to VIP people, but is this because they are feared or respected? Are they criminals or pillars of the community? Perhaps a little of both?  I said to a friend here the other day that I thought the salient difference between Canada and Russia gangs and criminal activity is in Russia you know who the criminals are. They come by your shop and you pay them to keep the drunks, and petty criminals away. At home, we call that taxes and taxes pay cops to do the same. Here it is just private with fewer people having their nose in the trough. Isn't that capitalism?