Geezer Rock

I turned the TV on early Monday morning here in Bangkok not so much to watch the Superbowl as to see if Pete (at 64) and Rog (65) could still strut their stuff. Half a Who, after all, is better than no Who at all.

The Monday Morning Quarterbacks were divided. Writer Todd Everett, a friend from the music business daze, drolled on Facebook: "Talkin' 'bout an abomination..." My bass-playing friend from Guitar Player Magazine, Ferd Mulhern, wrote that "half a who is less than the sun of its parts. Lame." Townshend's guitar playing was "very good," he added, but "the vocals sucked." Son Chris was prepared for the worst, but found them "pretty awesome." John Mendelssohn, rock critic for the Los Angeles Times in the 1970's, titled his blog post "So Sad About Us" and refused to watch "the superannuated half of a group that should have been dissolved the day the first of them died." Ellen Sander wrote, "All right! Rockin OUT! I'm going to forgive the medley. Hard to type while dancing." One critic noted that Pete's "belly made an unwelcome TV debut as it flapped out of his shirt on Sunday." Daltrey told an interviewer, "What can you do in 12 minutes? I thought it went OK. It's a TV show. Cameras were everywhere. I was so blinded that I couldn't see." Pete said, "We were trying to put on a great show. We had as much fun as we could have."

No, it wasn't the full group I watched up close and personal during the Quadrophenia tour of 1973 when I was publicity director for their U.S. record company. Pete's windmills and Rog's microphone-held hand raising seemed pale reiterations of their original moves. Despite the overkill of lights and pyrotechnics in the stadium, each looked as if they were having fun and the songs retained the cutting edge spirit that made them anthems of the 60s and 70s. The surviving front men at the Miami event were backed by Ringo's son Zak on drums, Pete's younger brother Simon on rhythm guitar, bassist Pino Palladino, and keyboardist John "Rabbit" Bundrick.

I missed the manic Keith Moon who trashed the record company hotel suite in Montreal with Pete's help and got us all thrown in jail. And the stoic Ox, John Entwistle, should have been there as well. Sure, it's decidedly odd to sing about a "teenage wasteland" when you're only a few years away from a rest home. But give the old geezers credit. They prove that rock and roll will never die, and will never fade away either. Child protection advocates protested Townshend's appearance at the Superbowl because of his 2003 arrest for viewing online child pornography. He avoided a jail term by claiming it was for research purposes only, but was ordered to register as a sex offender for five years. Another couple of geezers, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, both 66, toured with the Rolling Stones last in 2007 and rumors have them going on the road again this year. Despite faces ravaged by age, their energy seems inexhaustible. Mick has seven children by four wives, and Keith was the model for Johnny Depp's characterization of Capt. Jack Sparrow in the "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie series (the rocker played the pirate's father in one film). As their record company publicist, I watched the Stones record in Jamaica and perform onstage in Hawaii back in their glory days. The music retains its primal growl even though Jagger is now Sir Mick. (Richards reportedly said he did not want to take the stage with someone wearing a "coronet and sporting the old ermine. It's not what the Stones is about, is it?")

Another old geezer, 62-year-old Elton John, also the recipient of a British knighthood, showed up at the Grammy Awards recently in the company of 24-year-old Lady Gaga. The piano-playing pair opened the show, and it was overkill all the way. I was present at Elton's America debut at a small club in Los Angeles in 1970 before the wild outfits and crazy glasses took over and "Your Song" from his first album has always been my favorite. On the Grammy telecast he sang an updated version with Gaga on a Siamese piano topped by black arms and hands. Both were smudged with ashes from Gaga's earlier performance of "Poker Face." Go figure. The entire show, aside from a few moments, was mystifying to me. Music has changed drastically since I was involved in the 1970s. Can I be forgiven for thinking it seems like another disco interlude, when surface effects hide an absence of depth? Is Pink an acrobat or a singer?

I feel like an old geezer mostly when I try to sit on the floor to eat lunch with my students after class on Saturday mornings. I'm teaching the five Buddhist precepts in English to graduate students in education administration. Most but not all are monks who know much more about Buddhist morality than I. It was easy enough to give them the English words for the precepts to abstain from killing, stealing and lying, but explaining the meaning of sexual misconduct was more of a challenge. Fortunately, most of the lay people stayed home to study for a test. I told the monks the Dalai Lama was against homosexuality but that the Buddha had not mentioned it anywhere. In Buddhism, the precepts are like training wheels on a bike for helping the follower live a moral life without falling. They are not commandments like the Judeo-Christian rules given by God to Moses on Mt. Sinai. If Buddhists fall, they pick themselves up and start all over again rather than go to hell. This week I will try to explain to them why they should avoid intoxicants as well as various drugs that cause heedlessness. On the way to class last week I spotted the pink commuter bus that takes students daily to the new campus at Wang Noi near Ayutthaya. On the back was my photo which was taken last year to promote the new language center. I couldn't teach in the center this term but may do during the next term which begins in May.

After a couple of months of avoiding the Buddhist expat community, I attended two talks in the past couple of weeks. Last Monday, Ajahn Kusalo from Tisarana Monastery in eastern Canada, spoke about the desires that prevent us from the happiness of living in the present moment. Speaking from personal experience, he asked himself if he could be happy with cancer (despite lymphatic cancer, the answer was yes). Desire for what we don't have (health, wealth) can be stilled by stabilizing the mind. As a father who ordained in New Zealand after his marriage ended, Ajahn Kusalo evoked this by describing how he held his crying son until the tears stopped. "The mind is like a child," he said. As someone with cancer (who would prefer it to go away), his advice was particularly poignant. But I had problems with his advice to not buy a newspaper and get rid of gadgets. Fine if you're a monk who has renounced the world, but not good advice for a lay person. Ajahn Amaro, a British monk who is co-abbot of Abhayagiri Buddhist Monastery in California, spoke two weeks earlier about the clinging to sense pleasures that holds us back from liberation. He described the movement from "I like" across a bridge to "I want," and finally to "I gotta have." For Ajahn Amaro and many Buddhists, there is an inevitable disappointment even after we get what we want, almost as strong as when we do not realize our desires. "Desire is a liar," he told his audience of English-speaking expats. To argue that sense pleasure always engenders the dependency of addiction goes too far, I believe. Sensual pleasure is not so much the problem, I think, as wanting it to continue forever. Desire gets a bad rap from Buddhists. Must we avoid the beauty of a sunset or the love of a child? Ajahn Kusalo, when asked the difference between sense desire and the desire for enlightement, described the later as an "aspiration" which I think is to play unhelpfully with words. Liberation, I suspect, will come from the full acceptance of change.

It's been a busy time for films in Bangkok. Our IDEA discussion group watched a DVD of "Burma VJ: Reporting From a Closed Country," a documentary by Danish filmmaker Anders Ostergaard from pictures take by Burmese video journalists during the protests against the military regime led by monks in the late summer of 2007. The scenes of crowded streets filled with cheering people before the crackdown made it apparent how much the generals are hated. "Burma VJ" was nominated last week for an Academy Award. The next week some of us went to the Foreign Correspondents Club for a screening of "Breaking the Silence," a documentary by Canadians Pierre Mignault and Helene Magny newly translated into English about the ethnic Karen within Burma who are struggling for independence and freedom. Then John Solt returned to Bangkok for his second annual (and last) Buddhist Film Festival at Thammasat University. I only saw two of the films over a two week period but they were both terrific. "The Burmese Harp" is a Japanese film made in 1956 that takes place during the ending of the war in Burma, and it's an eloquent testament to non-violence after the horror of conflict. "Enlightenment Guaranteed" is a comedy about brotherly love between two Germans that surfaces in a Japanese monastery." Made in cinema verité style by director Doris Dorrie in 2001, the film says more about the Buddhist dharma (zen in this case) than many a dhamma talk. I'm trying to see as many of the Oscar-nominated films as I can before the March 7th (the next day here) ceremony, and have been most impressed recently by "A Serious Man," "Up in the Air," "An Education" and "Invictus." None have played in the big Bangkok multiplexes so I have to resort to subterfuge. Nan and I saw Jackie Chan in "The Spy Next Door" and laughed a bit, but of course it's not in the running. Director Oliver Stone recently came to speak at the Foreign Correspondents Club and gave an entertaining political rant. I'm looking forward to his "Wall Street 2" as well as his TV series on the secret history of the U.S. (R.I.P., Howard Zinn).

As for books (R.I.P., J.D. Salinger), I just finished Naomi Klein's master narrative of the last 35 years of political economics, The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. We'll discuss it on Friday at our monthly IDEA Group meeting. For those who can't breeze through its 560 pages as I did, I've downloaded the Michael Winterbottom documentary of the same name. But I do not think the feature-length film does the densely researched book justice. Klein bookends the recent tragic histories of countries, from Chile to Russia to Sri Lanka to Iraq, by comparing electroshock experiments in psychiatry which contributed to torture techniques with the neoconservative economic theory developed by Milton Friedman that advocates destroying economies in order to rebuild them, through privatization, deregulation and drastic cuts in social spending. Friedman's idea that freedom and absolute laissez faire economics go hand in hand was adopted by leaders from Pinochet to Reagan, Thatcher, Yeltsin, the two Bushes and even Nelson Mandela. But Klein provides ample evidence that an unregulated free market in every case only enriches the wealthy and impoverishes the poor. Even more horrifying is her story of how the United States government was privatized. Just as global corporations are now hollowed-out brands, subcontracting everything, under Bush and Cheney the federal government was also downsized and hollowed out, leaving the real work to subcontractors (more of whom are in Iraq than soldiers on the federal payroll). I'd like to know how much of this Obama has (or even can) turn around. Shock Doctrine is an unbelievably important book for the 21st century and any hope of restoring democracy to the planet.

This Sunday is an unusual confluence of holidays. Besides Valentine's Day, February 14th is also Chinese New Year, a very big holiday in Asia, and also the beginning of the Year of the Tiger. The shopping malls of full of red and cold decorations and various depictions of the tiger. Tiger prints are very popular in the clothing stores and stalls. And the infamous Tiger Temple in Thailand is coming under renewed scrutiny for what wildlife activists consider cruel treatment of its animals. My friend Michael treasures the photos taken of him snuggling up to a tiger during his trip there last year, but the evidence I've seen condemns the practice of turning wild animals into pets for the enjoyment of tourists. I don't know whether to give Nan red roses and chocolates before or after our evening visit to Chinatown where, if last year is any guide, a million people or more will crowd into the streets to enjoy the festivities. Valentine's Day is another holiday that Thais have adopted, perhaps for crass commercial reasons (the tourists in the shopping malls feel more at home). I suppose you could say the same for Chinese New Year, but since most Thais have Chinese blood somewhere in their ancestry, it's a time they embrace with zest, fireworks and dragons.

Onward Buddhist Soldiers

So you thought Buddhists were nonviolent?

In Thailand the military is independent of the government's control, and in fact it has the power to overthrow and replace governments elected by the people. In 1932, a bloodless coup by civil servants and army officers ended 150 years of absolute rule by the Chakri dynasty of kings. Despite a constitution (quite a few of them), the first 50 years of Thailand as a democracy were dominated by numerous coups and military dictatorships. Today, Thailand is defined as "a democracy with the King as head of state." Although the King is declared above politics, the military often defines its role as the protection of the monarchy. The last military coup in 2006 toppled the government of Thaksin Shinawatra which had twice been elected by popular vote. Following the post-coup election in 2007 that returned Shinawatra supporters to power, the military stood by while street demonstrations and politicized judicial decisions brought down two governments. Then it helped install a coalition government of anti-Thaksin political parties led by Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva who has never won an election.

All this is background to help understand why coup rumors are again in the air. Thaksin in exile is a thorn in the side of the military, bureaucratic and business elite that currently rules Thailand from Bangkok. While in power, Thaksin, who had been a lieutenant colonel in the Thai Royal Police (a powerful parallel military institution to the armed forces), strengthened a military that had been in decline. But the current army chief, Anupong Paochinda, has purged those officers allied with the ex-prime minister. Last year a group of retired generals joined Thaksin's Puea Thai Party of supporters. And earlier this month a grenade exploded outside Anupong's headquarters. There were no injuries but the general covered up the attack for a week. Khattiya Sawasdipol, a rogue major general better known as "Seh Daeng" who has a cult following because of his colorful exploits as a soldier for over 30 years, was accused of masterminding the attack and weapons were reportedly found at his home. But he was neither arrested nor charged with any crime. Instead, a show of support for Anupong has been orchestrated in the press with troops pledging their loyalty at mass rallies. Khattiya has been a vocal supporter of Thaksin and his red shirt followers, but it's hard to see how he presents a threat to the powerful military. The truth in Thai politics, however, is rarely on the surface. A Reuters story last week by Martin Petty was headlined "Are cracks appearing in Thailand's military?"

D Day for the anti-government forcs is Feb. 26th when the verdict on Thaksin's 76-billion-baht($2.3 billion) assets case will be handed down by the Supreme Court. It is expected that the seized money will be claimed by the government and that Thaksin will be considerably weakened financially. Since the moratorium on demonstrations during the King's birthday celebrations in December, the red shirts have mobilized selectively throughout the country to protest unequal treatment under the law, even forcing a retired general to give up the luxury vacation home he had built illegally on national park land. The English language press is full of predictions of unrest instigated by the red shirts (who in turn argue that the closing of the airports a year ago by the anti-Democratic yellow shirts has yet to be punished).

A headline last week read: "Coup? What Coup?" I don't know what to expect. Yesterday morning I heard several helicopters overhead and ran to my balcony to see if the coup had begun. Despite Abhisit repeatedly giving assurances that all is fine in the "Land of Smiles." whether it be about the forced repatriation of Hmong refugees to Laos or the GT200 bomb-finding devices purchased by for billions of baht by the military that have been shown to be useless. But there are public disagreements among coalition parties that could bring the fragile government down. Everyone knows that Thaksin's supporters would win if another election were held, for the ruling elites are politically and financially powerful but few in numbers. A coup would be disastrous for the economy and would probably not be bloodless. The pro-democracy movements (for not all support Thaksin) have declared that they would resist a military takeover this time.

Thailand has a large and well-funded military with a disproportionately large number of generals to command the draft-fueled 300,000 troops and 200,000 reservists. They own most of the radio and TV stations and generals sit on the boards of many large corporation. It's hard to see why such a bloated military establishment (largely created by America funds during the Vietnam war) is needed. A long-standing insurgency of Muslim separatists in the south commands most of their time, since low-intensity border disputes with Burma, Laos and Cambodia are more amenable to diplomacy that defense. In exchange for putting Abisit's coalition into power, the military received a hefty increase in their budget, allowing them to buy top-notch weaponry from various countries selling their technologies of warfare.There appears to be no government oversight and control. Voranai Vanijake wrote in the Bangkok Post yesterday, "When the military interferes in political affairs, they are abusing their role in society. Instead of standing on the wall with a gun, defending us from external forces, they mean to interfere, manipulate and control the political course of this nation." In another article in that paper last week, Suranand Vejjajiva wrote , "So long as a coup d'etat remains a viable political option, democracy is immature. That is a pity for Thailand, which has been experimenting with the democratic system of a constitutional monarchy for the past 78 years." He insisted that "the Bangkok elite and intellectuals must learn to respect the will of the people. Power must be shared. They must trust the people's judgment and learn to live with the result of what the majority of the people want."

The Democracy Monument, built to commemorate the achievement of constitutional monarchy in 1932, was designed by designed by Corrado Feroci, the founder of modern art in Thailand who spent much of the 1920s designing monuments for Italian fascist dictator Benito Mussolini. He later changed his name to Silpa Bhirasr and was a founder of Silpakorn University, the major school of art in Bangkok. Here is a version at a recent toy show built with Legos, a fitting symbol Thai democracy:

Where Was God?

For a week we've been listening to the tragic news and seeing the horrific images of the earthquake in Haiti that may have caused as many as 100,000 deaths, untold injuries, and the almost total destruction of the capital city of Port-au-Prince. Aside from the lunatic Christian preacher Pat Robertson, no one seems to be asking: Where was God?

I long ago discarded any belief in an omnipotent and omniscient supreme deity who knows all and controls the fate of the universe. To think that such a patriarch (for God is almost always masculine) with a long white beard exists is absurd. If the word "God" is meaningful at all, it must be in a metaphorical sense (for example, the divine might symbolize the "highest good" in our thoughts, intentions, aspirations and actions). A god that intervenes, however, who hears and responds to our prayers, can only be the creation of projection and wishful thinking. In Haiti, when a lucky few are pulled from the rubble several days after the city came crashing down, grateful relatives thank God for answering their prayers and the rescue is invariably termed a "miracle." If God can be praised for the miracle of saving one or two, then He must also be condemned for the senseless murder of thousands, particularly the young innocents in Haiti who never got a chance at a decent life while growing up in one of the world's poorest countries.

Natural disasters, like the Haitian earthquake and the 2004 tsunami, pose a special challenge to philosophers and theologians. What is the meaning of suffering, particularly the suffering of innocent children? If God is all-powerful and knowingly permits such suffering, then he must be evil. Deists try to escape from this conundrum by claiming that humans cannot understand the mind of God and that all that happens does so for divine reasons. As Liebniz said, this must be "the best of all possible worlds." Muslims consider whatever happens the will of Allah, to which we must submit rather than intellectually understand. Unfortunately for Christians, there is only one lifetime with no possibility for the slaughtered innocents to get a second chance at life. Buddhists at least get innumerable rebirths, but then they do not believe in a personal God whom they can blame or absolve for evil, but only a impersonal Dhamma (eternal law) which governs all existence.

What does it take to shake the consensus of belief in a benevolent God? Just such a challenge occurred on Nov. 1, 1755 when an earthquake and tsunami destroyed most of Lisbon, Portugal. It was estimated to have been 9 on the Richter scale (compared to the 7 quake in Haiti) and many think the death toll was in the tens of thousands. Felt as far away as Finland and North Africa, the Great Lisbon Earthquake shattered the religious certainties of Europeans and was much discussed by Enlightenment thinkers like Voltaire and Rousseau. Some think the paradigm-changing effects of huge disasters are similar to such unnatural events as the Holocaust and 9-11. The destruction of Lisbon was the result of people living in cities, wrote Rousseu, who used it as evidence for his back-to-nature, noble savage, philosophy. For Voltaire, the Lisbon quake disproved the optimism of Liebniz and he devoted his humorous masterpiece of sarcasm, Candide, to demonstrating the futility of looking for divine benevolence. One of the disasters the protagonist witnesses in the book is the Lisbon quake. There is no point in looking for the hand of God, Voltaire concludes. In the end, all we can do in the face of suffering and evil is tend our own gardens.

"God" is a most useful concept when one needs to cast blame or point fingers. John Wesley, the Methodist founder, attributed the Lisbon tragedy to "sin," to "that curse that was brought upon the earth by the original transgression of Adam and Eve." Televangelist Pat Robertson, who has said that God caused Hurricane Katrina because of legalized abortion in America, told his viewers after the earthquake that Haiti was suffering because it "swore a pact with the devil" to break free of French rule in a revolution that achieved independence in 1804. "Ever since they have been cursed by one thing after another," Robertson claimed. The late Christian evangelist Jerry Falwell once announced that "AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals, it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals." Russ Limbaugh, never one to summon God to assist his overblown ego, said that Obama will use Haiti for his political advantage by improving his standing with "the black community, in the both light-skinned and the dark-skinned community, in his country." And on his radio show he said that he wouldn't trust that money donated to Haiti through the White House Web site would actually go to the relief efforts. He said Americans don't need to contribute to earthquake relief because they already donate to Haiti through their income taxes. The White House spokesman called Limbaugh's remarks "stupid" and even George Bush, who said during his time in office that God spoke to him, defended Obama's relief moves. The problem with attributing either miracles or disasters to God is that he's not talking, and such arguments are unprovable, in this world at least.

The dilemma of senseless suffering is raised to high art in Dostoevsky's epic novel, The Brothers Karamazov. There Ivan Karamazov, the rationalist, talks with his younger brother, the monk Alyosha, and explains why he rejects a world that contains any suffering permitted by God, where peasant children can be torn to death by dogs at the whim of a feudal landlord. In a sense, the nihilist Ivan agrees with Robertson and says in "The Grand Inquisitor" story he tells his brother that the church has made a pact with the devil to protect its followers from the burden of free will. "So long as man remains free he strives for nothing so incessantly and so painfully as to find someone to worship," the Inquisitor tells Christ who has come back to earth in Seville during the time of the Inquisition when heretics were burnt at the stake. In response, Christ kisses the Inquisitor on his "bloodless, aged lips" instead of answering him and is allowed to disappear into the city while the church remains in the control of the priests. "We shall triumph and shall be Caesars, and then we shall plan the universal happiness of man," the Inquisitor trumpets. At the end of Ivan's parable, Alyosha, the spiritual soul of the novel, kisses his brother, indicating to me that in a world where God is helpless before innocent suffering, only the possibility of selfless love, freely chosen , can suffice.

That hopefully is what is happening right now in Haiti as dozens of countries around the world send assistance and aid to prevent starvation, provide medical help for the wounded, and begin rebuilding the infrastructure which, in this case, means from the ground up, since all basic services, never good to begin with, are now in ruins. If the old benevolent God no longer exists, perhaps humans with compassion and kindness towards the victims of human suffering are the "hands of God." Unfortunately, disasters also attract predators eager to make a profit from the misery of others, as Naomi Klein points out in The Shock Doctrine which I am just beginning to read along with other members of the IDEA Group. Citing stories after Katrina and the tsunami as evidence, Klein calls these "orchestrated raids on the public sphere in the wake of catastrophic events, combined with the treatment of disasters as exciting market opportunities, 'disaster capitalism.'" Rather than freeing the market from the state, she finds political and corporate elites merging to "trade favors to secure the right to appropriate precious resources previously held in the public domain." The hand of disaster capitalism, pioneered by the late economist Milton Friedman and his neocon followers can be seen in Pinochet's Chile as well as in Iraq, in China after Tianammen Square and in Yeltsin's Russia, in addition to Thatcher's Britain after the Falklands War, and in Asia in the wake of the financial crisis of 1997-8. In all cases, the mantra is: privatize, deregulate and cut social spending. Obama's administration, of course, will handle things differently. Or will it? "U.S. Mulls Role in Haiti After the Crisis" reads the headline of a story in the New York Times today. Obama says that the U.S. will be there for the long haul. Some are already warning that the "shock doctrine" will used as an excuse to take control of Haiti's resources. Others are citing the long history of U.S. involvement in Haiti which is largely responsible for the country's chronic instability and poverty (Tracy Kidder calls it a "Country without a Net").

The Haitians are a very religious people and practice faiths as varied as Catholic Christianity (80 per cent of believers) and vodou which can be traced back to the African homeland of slaves who were taken there to harvest sugar cane. On the television news shows, many could be seen in fervent prayer, kneeling down in the rubble-strewn streets. I don't know how many raised their fists in anger at God or Loa, the primary vodou deity, demanding an explanation for the destruction of their country and the deaths of their friends and relatives. It was an equal opportunity earthquake, leveling churches and hospitals, government buildings and schools. Even the homes of the wealthy (rich Americans, like the late Ahmet Ertegun, founder of Atlantic Records, had vacation palaces there) were flattened. I'm sure no one felt singled out by an angry god. For most, the fantasies of their faiths probably gave them some comfort. A meaningless death is much harder to take. The children have gone to a better place where they don't have to suffer the degradation of poverty any more. I wouldn't want to take that from them now. Marx was right; religion really is an opiate for the masses, a drug that anesthetizes our pain while blinding us to the truth. It's not God that will save us but other human beings who will provide compassionate care when the walls come tumbling down and who won't demand that we sell out our future to the disaster capitalists.

The Perils of Benjapes

Many Thais believe that reaching the age of 25 ("Benjapes," from the Pali word for 25) brings the potential for bad luck. Its numerical power is similar to 13 (in my condo the 13th floor has been renumbered 12A). While not all that superstitious, Nan immunized herself against danger by donating gifts to homeless children last Sunday and performing rites at the large Chinese Buddhist temple in Chinatown, Wat Mangkon Kamalawat, on the morning of her 25th birthday Tuesday. I helped by taking her on a dinner cruise down the Chao Phraya River in the evening. As we passed the lights of the Grand Palace, I gave her a diamond ring.

In his best-selling book Mind Management, the popular Thai monk Phra Wor Vajiramedhi, writes that Benjapes "casts its long and ominous shadow on Thais." Somebody approaching 25 "goes through a stage of agitation with the heart palpitating strangely for fear of some unknown, unproven myth, pushing the envelope to see how they will survive the ominous age and land safely at 26." Some even indulge in "weird rituals" which they hope will break off kamma and diminish misfortune. Rather than looking outward to find blame for any bad luck, the monk advises, 25-year-olds should look inward and accept the maturity they have achieved through a quarter century of life.

Both Nan and I consider ourselves very lucky since we met for coffee and dinner seven months ago after first meeting online. She had grown up in a small village in Phayao, a northern province, and worked in a factory after two years at the local college. She came to Bangkok nearly two years ago in search of a better life, and after working with a cousin selling mobile phones she found a good job in the office of a company making packing materials where her computer skills, organizational abilities and English facility could be put to use. Nan's experience with Thai men had been disappointing. One boyfriend got another girl pregnant. It is not easy to be a country girl in Bangkok where dangers lurk, and she'd had her heart broken. Her younger sister had been with an older Thai man for four years, so Nan determined to look for an older farang. And she found me.

I was much older and she was quite a bit younger than the partners we sought, but from the moment we met there was an undeniable attraction between us. She was cautious: the photo she used on the dating web site was of someone else, and some of the details in her bio were invented to disguise her identity. I had met many Thai women online and was weary of the dating game. Soon we were revealing truths about our lives to each other than few others knew. We had fun together. We laughed alot, and when her father was sick, we cried together. We went to movies, to the zoo, strolled in Bangkok's parks, watched a puppet show at the Suan Lum night market, rode scary rides and went swimming at the Suan Siam amusement park, took a weekend trip to the island of Ko Samet together and another to Hua Hin, and we ate at expensive restaurants as well as cheap sidewalk cafés. We slept in each other's rooms. She celebrated my 70th birthday with me, and we consoled each other when her father and then my son died.

After my marriage ended seven years ago, I lived alone in California. While I enjoyed the freedom independence gave me, traveling unencumbered throughout Europe, Latin America and Asia, I missed the joy of sharing a life with someone. The Catholics and the Buddhists have it all wrong when they tout celibacy as the necessary door to enlightenment and salvation (however much theologians praise the laity, it is the sexless priests who are privileged in both religions). We humans are made to live together, and love is our highest art. When I first came to Thailand I tried sex alone and found it insufficient. On my third visit I met a working woman on Ko Samui and lived with her for two weeks. This "girlfriend experience" confirmed for me that it was a full relationship that I ultimately wanted and not serial sex with strangers. I became adept at online dating and met many wonderful women. One of them I lived with for ten months, but we finally separated because she felt my age could not be accepted by her friends and family (from whom she'd kept our affair a secret). This failure did not deter me, and I continued to look for love, despite the advice of a monk who suggested I should be preparing for death rather than pursuing pleasures of the flesh (celibates can only see desire as a threat).

It's not easy being a cliché. Thailand is full of older men in search of younger women. An extreme May-December romance that would be condemned in Europe or America is more acceptable here (although, as noted above, not by all). Men are attracted by a social ethos akin to the 50's in the west before women sought equality to men; here in Thailand, at least apart from urban elites, the gender roles remain separated: women care for the men who provide for them (at least in principle). For women from poor backgrounds, an alliance with a foreign resident or visitor can provide opportunities only dreamed of. I've been tutored in Thai-farang relationships by my friend Jerry who has been married to a wonderful woman from Surin for over 10 years. And I've read numerous books and articles of advice. At times it seemed as if love in Thailand was little more than a business transaction, one involving a solitary foreign man on one side and an extended Thai family on the other.

Until I met Nan, when the theoretical became real. When I protested that I was too old for her, she countered with "you think too much." As our love grew and took shape, she told her friends and family about me. After her father's death, I flew to Chiang Rai to bring her back to Bangkok, and met her Yuan, her mother, her half-brother Nok and her cousin Edward, the young son of Yuan's late sister and her New Zealand boyfriend. As we left, Nan's mother held our hands and blessed our union. Back in Bangkok, we set up house together and the last four months have been like an extended honeymoon.

Last weekend we went shopping for the ring I gave her on the Chao Phraya River Tuesday night. We call it a "boyfriend ring" to show that she is taken. Her sister Anne has one from her boyfriend who is a married man. It's not an engagement ring, with a promise for the future, but a sign of what we mean to each other right now. To Nan, I am her husband and she is my wife. She knows that I cannot afford to marry her family, the usual custom in Thai villages. I can only be responsible for her (and she can, if she wishes, send her family some of the monthly allowance I give her). We were in fact married in the eyes of Thai culture as soon as we began living together.

There are numerous possible bumps in the road ahead of us. I cannot give her children, which she says is fine because she wants to take care of Edward, now seven, the son of her Aunt Ban Yen who died of cancer several years ago. As for me, my children are not pleased that they might have a step-mother younger than they. I warn Nan that my youthful energy and vigor could fail at any time, and that taking care of an ailing old man will be no bed of roses. She dismisses my concern, and shows a sensitivity to my needs that I've never seen in another woman before. Long-term planning for me seems fruitless, but I worry about Nan's future. When I asked her to tell me her dreams, she said she would like to finish the last two years of university to get a degree in business. So I've agreed to pay for her education. She has enrolled in one of the government schools convenient to her work and our apartment and, because she enjoys working and is encouraged by her boss to get a degree, will begin late afternoon classes in May.

We feel confident now that Nan need fear no bad luck from her Benjapes, and that her year after become 25 will be filled with love, adventure and opportunity. I, too, look forward to my year after turning 70 with optimism and hope, secure in the knowledge that I have found the last love of my life. Our challenge in the coming months is to find a larger yet cheaper place to live, an apartment as conveniently located as our present one. Nan is selling the furniture in her room which we've kept until now to store what could not be moved to my condo. I've been less than frugal these past couple of months, and so we must plan a new economy for the long haul. There is so much I want to share with Nan, and she is eager to learn and curious about the wide world far from her village in Phayao. Lest I give the impression that this is a Pygmalion relationship, let me say that in many respects (aside from years) she is my equal, and that in quite a few she is definitely my superior.

Happy Birthday, Nan.

Out With the Old, In With the New

Our 2009 ended by the pool at Bill Resort on the island of Ko Samui where New Year celebrations included a sumptuous buffet of Thai delicacies, traditional dancing and drumming by local groups, a cabaret performance by katoeys from a club in Lamai Beach, and a show by monkeys trained to climb palms and pick coconuts. It was followed by a spectacular fireworks display up and down the beach as hundreds of sky lanterns drifted over the island under the full moon.

I wasn't too happy about the monkey siting on my shoulder after the show for a photo op, but the fat ladyboy who lip synced to Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" was terrific, and the grilled seafood was delicious. Tickets for the pricey party were included in our six-day stay and we were seated next to a Dane with his Norwegian girlfriend who had obviously gotten a head start on festivities. Most of the guests seemed to be from northern European countries which were experiencing their coldest winter in thirty years. Georgio's Bao Bab Restaurant, my hangout on Lamai Beach when I visited Samui three years ago, was filled with Italians who clearly loved their pasta, and on one of our excursions I talked with a couple from Vladivostok (Russians are now everywhere, judging and by the signs and menus in their language).

I was surprised to find so many children at Bill Resort (seeing my old name stenciled everywhere felt a bit odd), and even a few babes in arms. In the first hours of 2010 (2553 here in Thailand) they were on the beach helping their parents to send aloft the candle-fueled sky lanterns (called khom loi in Thai) and waving sparklers while the thunder of fireworks resonated far out to sea. The tables for the outdoor food stalls in the center of Lamai were filled with families, right next to the brightly lit bars with their bikini-clad pole dancers. Although the sand and the sea are spectacular, the little village of Lamai is quite tawdry, catering to every tacky tourist taste. It was about a 15 minute walk from our resort, which was nestled within a hillside jungle, and we went to visit several times to purchase necessities and vary our diet. The whole fish with lemon sauce at Black Diamond was aroi maak (to die for). We bought tee shirts that promoted Ko Samui and new sandals for Nan and sampled ice cream at several shops (one serving Buds "from San Francisco"). The alternative to walking was to take a taxi for the short drive home, but the rates were outrageous; a 35 baht ride in Bangkok would cost 350 baht from Lamai Beach. Even the songthiews charged two to four times the rates we're used to. It was a seller's market.

Nan brought three bathing suits, two bikinis and another one a bit more demure. She was shy partly because Thais are a rarity among the beach tourists and locals who keep to themselves swim in their clothes. The surf at Lamai is a bit rough normally so we spent most of our sun time by the pool. On the second day, well-lathered with sun screen, we walked a short distance down the beach to a large collection of rocks to see Hin Ta and Hin Yai (grandfather and grandmother), geological formations that resemble a penis and a vagina and which are hugely popular with Thai tourists. There were dozens of visitors scrambling over the rocks to get a good view and a photo of the sexy curiosities. Nan found herself to be the only woman in a bikini and was sorely embarrassed, covering herself as best she could with my shoulder bag. After that the bikinis were put away.

This was my second trip to the island and Nan's first. Last time I visited the nearby Ko Pha-Ngan, host of the famed full moon parties, and this time I wanted to see the Ang Thong National Marine Park, fictional location of "The Beach" (which was filmed near Phuket), and Ko Tao. I signed up for two day trips. The first promised kayaking and snorkling in Ang Thong, a beautiful archipelago of 42 small islands with limestone cliffs and hidden lagoons. Our guide on the overcrowded boat was chatty enough to be on yaba (the Thai amphetamine). We stopped on Ko Wua Talap at the park headquarters while the crew unloaded kayaks. Nan and I were joined by a Japanese man who did not understand English or rowing instructions. By the time we set out, the sky had darkened and winds had made the sea choppy. Within five minutes my back was killing me and the Japanese man was taking us straight into a cliff. Rain made it an unforgettable experience. Back on the boat we ate fried chicken for lunch and watched the other kayakers struggle in. Somehow the time for snorkling disappeared. But we did visit Ko Mae Ko and climbed through a limestone passage to view the lovely landlocked turquoise lagoon. From the top of the island we could see in all directions this pristine islands park that survives despite the daily influx of packed tourist boats. Leo was nowhere to be found, having left the beach.

The next day we set out in a speedboat from Bo Phut pier to the nearby island of Ko Tao, the diver's paradise. This highly organized tour made the previous day's excursion seem amateurish. Our boat sped past Ko Ph-Ngan which is much bigger than the southern spit of land where the monthly parties are held. Our first destination was Mango Bay where we donned mask and goggles to oggle brightly colored fish among the shoreline rocks. It was delightful! The last time I snorkled was at Hanauma Bay on Oahu over twenty years ago. A number of boats docked in the bay, some with divers in full gear, so we got to watch them watching fish on the sea floor below. I think we saw just as much and didn't have to bother with heavy oxygen tanks. After a couple of hours in the water, we sped around the island to Hat Sai Ri, the main town on Ko Tao, and were served a tasty set lunch in a sea view restaurant. Afterward, we explored. Even though the island attracts mainly divers (training and certifying more of them than anywhere in the world), it's a lovely place for anyone and we resolved to return for a longer stay.

The afternoon's treat was Ko Nang Yuan, several atolls linked by a sandbar and close by Ko Tao. Indescribably beautiful (that's why I take photos), we found dozens of boats unloading hundreds of day trippers. A steady stream of them rounded the first atoll on a wooden walkway to cross an inlet on a shaky pontoon bridge before reaching the prime snorkling lagoon. More divers with tanks and wetsuits were receiving instruction as we paddled around the rocks looking for fish. On the other side of the lagoon, even more swimmers disembarked from another half-dozen ferries. The tiny island features accommodations and an outdoor restaurant with exhorbitant prices. After our swim and snorkle, we lay on the sand for a short while and listened to the melange of foreign languages spoken by the sun bathers. It seemed as if it was rare to hear English. I had rubbed my toe on a jagged piece of coral and it was beginning to throb. But before our speedboat left, we wanted to climb the island's highest peak to get the view you see in the photo above. It was steep and arduous, and the last few meters required scrambling up and over big rocks with no steps. As below, it was also crowded above, and we had to wait for others to leave before we could take in the scene. From such a height, the overcrowding seemed unimportant. We didn't notice the dark clouds forming on the horizon. By the time our boat got underway, it had begun to rain and there were whitecaps on the sea. It was a white-knuckle ride, interminable and terrifying, but, amazingly, no one threw up. Nan vowed never to ride in a boat again.

On our final day, we hired a car and driver and took a sightseeing trip around Samui, stopping to see the tall Laem Sor Chedi on the southern coast, Nam Muang Waterfall inland where Thai boys swam under the falls whose waters had been reduced by a long dry spell. We attempted to reach the top of Khao Yai, highest peak on the mountain, but the road was no longer passable. So we went to Nathon, the island's largest city which is mainly a transit point for tourists who take the ferries from Surat Thani on the mainland. We walked along the small harbor where the fishing boats were at rest and visited a market where the day's catch of shrimp, calamari and various kinds of fish was being sold. After a hot cappuccino and a cold drink for Nan, we drove to the north coast where Ko Pha-Ngan is clearly visible across the waters, and stopped at Fisherman's Village in Bo Phut. There old shophouses have been turned into charming restaurants and stores. After a shrimp cocktail and fruit drinks at an Italian restaurant on the bay, we visited the spectacular Wat Plai Laem with its 18-handed Buddha, numerous temple buildings, lagoon, and assorted statues and art, a veritable Buddhist Disneyland. Close by this temple is the Big Buddha at Wat Phra Yai on an artificial island just off the coast. We climbed up the steep stairs and rang the temple bells. Planes to Samui fly right over Big Buddha and it was only a short drive to the airport which has been completed renovated since my last visit. Large and elegant, it is now clearly a world-class international airport, although I believe it is still only serviced by one airline, Bangkok Airways.

I made no New Year's resolutions and felt neither happy nor sad at seeing 2009 fade into history. Its final month will always stay in my mind because of the death of my son Luke. Friends continue to send me condolences, and remark how difficult it must be to lose a child. The loss is still too close to analyze; his memory comes to mind in the midst of both fun and fear. I learned a bit more about my body's limitations as the aging process takes hold. No more kayaking, and no more climbing over rocks (but snorkling is just fine). Unlike Nan, I think I'll still be willing to get on a boat, but not in stormy seas. After six days of holiday, life returned with a bang. We arrived home late Tuesday night and the next morning I had 30 homework papers to read before my two English classes with the monks that afternoon. In addition, I was asked to take Dr. Sman's Saturday classes for the next month and teach his graduate students in education administration how to talk about the Five Precepts of Buddhism in English. Since most are monks and know the precepts quite well (although in Pali), it will be a challenge, and I struggled to quickly prepare a PowerPoint lecture which I think went over well.

Nan's birthday is tomorrow and to celebrate it she has wanted to offer donations to homeless children. She learned from a friend about Ban Kru Noi, just such a place for underprivileged children in the Ratburana area of south Bangkok. Yesterday we bought a taxi trunk load of stuff (soap, toothpast and brushes, shampoo, milk and chips) at Tesco Lotus and arrived not long before lunch. Kru Noi is a woman who started helping children in her home after she suffered a stroke in 1980. Since then she has assisted over 800, some poor who remain with their parents, and some homeless orphans who now live with her or in the neighborhood. When we arrived with our load of gifts, it was chaos in the small yard with a large number of Sunday visitors, and children of all ages running and screaming. Since Ban Kru Noi has received considerable publicity, the children are used to attention and seemed rather blasé when approached. They dipped their heads and held their hands in a wai after receiving Nan's gifts. Kru Noi, presided over her menagerie with a lovely toothless smile. It was a grand beginning to Nan's birthday celebration, which concludes with a dinner cruise on the Chao Phraya River Tuesday evening.