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Monday, December 29, 2008
The Future of 20/20 Cricket – Can it, or should it, replace One-day Internationals?
Closer inspection of this phenomena shows that in the near future it may well out-perform one-day internationals in terms of financial returns and crowd numbers. This format provides excitement in the form of big-hitting and the likelihood of a large number of wickets in a short period of time. It also attracts large numbers of people.
In addition to this, holding 50-over matches in a day-night format has proven the benefits of having evening cricket where people can come after work. The logical extension of this is that a match is played in its entirety in the evening or for that matter on a Sunday afternoon. People can go and do other things that day as well as attend the cricket. On a workday, this is extremely beneficial for crowd numbers. It also attracts those who like their cricket but perhaps not enough to spend a whole day at a ground. And let's not forget that, particularly here in Australia, people may not be enticed by the prospect of sitting in 35º C in full sun. Sitting under lights in the cool of the evening is likely to be a more attractive option. The huge success of the 20/20 World Cup is indicative of the potential of this game.
At this point I have to point out that I am a 'traditionalist' where cricket is concerned. Test matches are the pinnacle of international cricket, and that four-day games are the pinnacle for domestic players. I regularly go to the WACA to watch at least two days of the test match, however one-day cricket has never held the same attraction for me and I sometimes struggle to motivate myself to go. It is also a relative newcomer, having only been on the international stage since 1970. Having said that, I do acknowledge that there is a need to cater for shorter attention spans and a desire for more action and entertainment in the game.
I also acknowledge that one-day cricket has been instrumental in changing test match cricket for the better, leading to some of the best test cricket I have seen in recent years. However, the growing number of meaningless one-day tournaments that clog up the cricketing calendar are fast making this form of the game a burden rather than a benefit, a fact that is increasingly being commented on in the media by both players and spectators. Add to this the fact that one-day cricket is becoming very formulaic, with the middle 25 overs often being fairly tedious as fields go back and good shots fail to reap the value they deserve, and it could be argued that it is time for a change.
So let's challenge the status quo! The 20/20 game provides a way to address this schedule for international teams if it substantially replaces the one-day game as the second string to a tour. Is this too radical? It's certainly no more radical than when the one-day game first came into the spotlight. The reality is that people now want to live their lives at a faster pace, and the 20/20 game caters for this need while at the same time providing a great marketing opportunity.
Perhaps the way to go is to reduce the number of one-day internationals (perhaps a maximum of five) and play five 20/20 matches during a tour. After all, who remembers which team wins the one-day tournaments each year, and here in Australia, who can remember the third team that takes part? We do, however, remember who played the test matches and who won that series, because it is these matches that are the true test of cricketing skill.
So let's do away with these meaningless one-day tournaments and get more people through the turnstiles to watch 20/20. They'll have their fill of big-hitting, excellent fielding, and exciting finishes. They can see the whole match in three hours and fit it into their tight schedules. 20/20 provides a convenient way to maintain the financial health of the game, while at the same time reducing the match time of the players and ensuring that the game is marketed to a broad section of the population. The only true test of a nations cricketers is a Test match, so who really cares what the form the shorter matches take?
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Current Affiars: Rescuing round-the-world sailors is well worth the cost.
Those, particularly in Australia, that criticise the cost of such activities should bear in mind that many would not be living where they are today unless someone with an adventurous sprit had not boarded a boat and sailed into the wide blue yonder. While a comfortable and sedate experience is what many people long for, the human race would stagnate without those who try to push the boundaries in all sorts of fields and endeavours. There are indigenous races that may rue this adventurous sprit, and one cannot begrudge them this opinion, but exploration and competition appear to run in the blood of much of the human race.
Those that wish for the quiet life have every right to seek that experience, but they should not begrudge assistance to those who seek more active and physically challenging experiences. Just as some follow the suburban dream and conventional career paths, other dream of sailing the ocean or climbing mountains, or perhaps even going into space.
And as for the cost? Bean-counters use figures suggesting in excess of one million dollars, but is this real? Are the navy sailors not paid irrespective of whether they are at sea? Perhaps they get paid more at sea, but how much more? Is the fuel not going to be used at some point or another in the year? If not this voyage, then another. So what is the real cost of this rescue that wouldn't otherwise be expended? I would hazard a guess that it is much less than the figures quoted.
I applaud those who still find ways in which to be adventurous and challenge the elements. They remind us that humans are a curious and dynamic animal that seeks out new experiences. We need to keep climbing mountains, sailing the oceans, exploring deep caves, the sea floor and the deserts. The alternative is that we become a risk-averse race that crawls along, afraid to take chances and nervous of challenges. Why should everyone be chained to their job? Why criticise those who choose to push the limits? In the long-run, their spirit of adventure benefits all of us, shows that the world can still be a wild and wonderful place, and reminds many of us of the origin of the cities where we live today.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part III, Days 4-6)
It was time to spend a day acclimatising to the altitude, but what do you do on a rest day?
Jangothang provided a magnificently scenic place where we consider what to do. The enthusiastic went off visit a nearby mountain lake, while the rest, including Miriam and I, decided that a day of rest and relaxation would be more appropriate. And besides, my dull headache. The previous night I had woken up with a thumping headache that I needed to treat with some painkillers. They had dulled the ache but I had not had a great night's sleep even though I had kept my head elevated to try to prevent the build-up of fluid on the brain. I had been expecting a headache, but I never been at this altitude for a prolonged period of time and it had been much worse than I had expected.
(The domestic chores of a rest day)
The thing about this headache was that, if it did not improve or got worse, it could keep me from carrying on with the trek. It would be for my own health and safety, but the thought was still disquieting. The next day was the first high pass (4890 metres), after which there would be no way to walk out of the trek route without going over another high pass. And there was no way Sumit would let me do it if I hadn't improved. He had started me on Diamox by now, which would help keep the fluid build-up as low as possible. Every year people die because they don't properly recognise or deal with the symptoms of altitude sickness, so to have an experienced guide is something I would highly recommend. While we didn't know it until we had completed the trek, a group walking a couple of days behind us, lost one of their number two days further on from Jangothang. It was a sobering message and made us appreciate the fact that we all made it through safely.
However, on our day of rest and acclimatization, the sun was shining and my headache was reasonably mild. The majestic peak of Jhomolhari towered above the campsite, its snow-covered flanks and peak glistening in the morning sun. It really is a magnificent peak. I spent most of the morning sitting in a chair doing a bit of reading and periodically becoming entranced by the mountain and spending what was probably hours just staring at it, watching clouds brush across the snow and listening to the distant sound of unseen avalanches. Jhomolhari is one of the mot sacred peaks in Bhutan, and at 7300 metres one of the highest. Nobody is allowed to climb it from the Bhutanese side, or any other mountain in excess of 6000 metres for that matter. I think this is a good thing. To leave some mystery in the world only makes it a more interesting place!
To make the day enjoyable, the crew had decided to make deep-fried sandwiches for a morning treat, and despite my raised cholesterol levels, I felt that I had to sample at least on of these culinary masterpieces. This was one of the first clues that our cook was going to excel on this trek. The group members who went wandering came back in the early afternoon, and I decided to explore the Jangothang site.
In addition to the stupendous views, there are also ruins of another 17th century fortress at this site. This one was adorned with many prayer flags, giving the scenery some colour and giving the ruins a festive feel. Like Drugyel Dzong, this fort is a relic of when the Bhutanese were defending their valleys against incursions from Tibet. We were to come across more on this trek; most just collections of stones that were crumbling, or just a distant jumble of rocks.
The rest day was over all too soon and we were all soon sitting around our trestle-table watching a feast of carbohydrates being brought out for us. We soon realised that this was a sign that the next day might be a tough one. Due to a camera malfunction that cost me a roll of film, I have no photos of the stunning Jhomolhari on the rest day...but take my word for it - it was magnificent! Below is the best I can do!
Day 5
That night I awoke with a splitting headache at about midnight and quickly accessed the painkillers I had brought for just an occasion. I had very little sleep for the rest of the night, but woke, with much relief, with no real headache a Diamox to take before breakfast.
So this was the day when we were going to climb our first high pass, Ngile La, which rises to 4885 metres. The day began with a gentle walk up the valley before we turned east and began the long climb up to the pass. The day was cloudy and this meant that we didn't get to see the summit Jichu Drake, one of the more spectacular mountains in the region, however it did keep us cool. The trail soon turned very steep indeed. I was at the back of the group already feeling the pace, and wandering if all that training had been for nothing (I had been doing runs up to 20km long as part of my preparation).
It soon became a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and accepting that there simply is not the same amount of oxygen in the air up at this altitude. It was time to take things easy and it provided many opportunities to stop and admire the view back down the valley to our campsite. The previous night's snowfall on the surrounding peaks added to the vista.
About two hours into the climb, it became a matter of setting myself into a rhythm and keeping going. My legs were feeling the 800 metre climb, and while I didn't feel out of breath in any way, I could feel the tiredness coming on, along with a dull headache. After a short break we reached what looked like a flatter section, perhaps we were nearing the top.
However, when we turned the corner we were met with another climb that promised to tax us even further. At the valley's head were snowy peaks, and between them, a saddle which promised to be the pass. Miriam, Sheila, and I put our heads down and trudged onwards and upwards. This was not so steep as the initial climb, but after that steep early section, together with my body rebelling against the lack of oxygen, it felt just as tough, if not more so. By this time we had probably climbed about 400-500 metres, only another 300 to go!
(View back toward Jangothang)
Approximately 3 hours in and I was wondering why I was not still sitting back at the camp with a deep-fried sandwich! Of course, they'd packed up by then and I could see the loaded yaks coming up the mountain some distance behind me, catching me up if I was any judge. The pass looked close now, but one of the crew, who sauntered past me with incredible ease, told me that it was probably at least an hour away at my pace. To make me feel better he told me that our leader was with two people even further behind than us. It gave me a sort of perverse pleasure to know that someone was suffering more than me. Terrible, I know, but I blame it on my oxygen-starved mind.
Eventually the pass came into sight, marked by the multi-coloured prayer-flags that were fluttering in the considerable, and cold, breeze. Howling gale would be a more appropriate description. By now I was carrying a couple of lead weights in each of my legs and could not manage more than a few dozen steps at a time, small steps I might add, even with the pass so tantalisingly close.
With only about fifty metres of climbing to go, I was reduced to counting twenty steps at a time and stopping for a breather, but even this proved too much, and with the prayer-flags within spitting distance, I was reduced to ten steps at a time. I hoped to god that all the passes were not going to be like this because I had ten more to go on the trek after this one.
The freezing gale helped propel me up the last few metres and all of a sudden I was on a gentle downhill slope. My legs, still with their lead attachments, carried my down far enough to sit out of the wind, and gaze across the bleak, but magnificent, landscape that lay before me. The dry landscape was framed by the mountain peaks that lined the horizon beneath a broken layer of cloud. Miriam took some photos, but I just felt awful and didn't worry.
Once I had sat down, we thought about having some lunch, although I must admit that I wasn't feeling that hungry. After Sumit caught us, he headed on to catch up with the rest of the group, telling us that Margo and Neil were not far behind. This was one of the most enjoyable rests that I had on the whole trek, and I was pretty reluctant to get up again, but we still had a few hours walking to go before we reached our camp near Lingshi.
The descent started well enough, my body rejoicing in the downhill gradient, however, after about two hours, the physical toll of my fist real climb stated to have an effect, and I could feel my legs going weak at the knees. The descent took us down into some lovely forests, but I was far too tired to take much notice, only concentrating on putting one foot in front of other and watching out for treacherous parts of the track.
After about four hours I was wondering if the day would ever end, and looking up in hope every time we came around a corner with new view of the valley below to see if our tents were in sight. The descent turned into a bit of a blur as I fought my way through the fatigue. Thankfully at four-thirty, we saw our tents, but this was just a tease! We still had to clamber down a steep and rocky slope, making way for yaks at the same time as they passed us on the way the camp. After another forty minutes of fatigued walking, we finally reached the camp and I don't think I could even manage a smile as I sat on a log. Miriam was kind enough to lay out my sleeping bag in the tent and I gratefully lay down, only lifting my head to talk to Sumit when he came by to see how I was feeling – bloody awful!
However, after two hours of lying down, and a cup of tea and some chocolate, I was feeling a lot my like myself again. I managed to get up to have dinner, and another dose of Diamox. As I sat and ate my daily intake of carbohydrates with some vegetables, I fervently hoped that I was over the worst of it. Thankfully it was. I slept like a log that night.
Day 6
I awoke feeling 100% better than the previous day. We started with a short but hard climb up to the Lingshi Dzong, guarding the Lingshi pass that crosses into Tibet to the north. The view from this place are fantastic, with the rugged mountains stretching in all directions. The dzong here is also a centre for traditional medicine, and there were many herbs drying in the sun. Inside the dzong there were some relics of the colonial influence, with some old firearms on the walls from that era. We left a donation, spent some time looking around the old building, and then made our along the track towards Chebise.
We walked along a track carved into the steep mountainsides and up to a mid-level pass. It was a steep climb up to what was more of a ridge than a pass, but nothing like the previous day. The views were, as usual, fantastic. We then made our way along more paths down to the village of Goyok, where we stopped for lunch. It was a great stew (probably mutton or yak) and we ate in the courtyard of one of the houses, sitting among the various drying meats and greenery. The view coming down into Goyok is one of the best of the trek, with the village sitting in a narrow valley, surrounded by sheer rock faces.
(View coming in Goyok)
Above the village is one of the oldest monasteries in Bhutan, Goed Dzong, built in the 16th century as far as I could tell from our guide. Like many of the dzongs, it has been renovated through work by the local villagers. It sits carved into the mountainside, however we did not visit it.
We carried on towards Chebise, walking on paths that clung to steep mountainsides, promising a long fall if one of the many landslides that we clambered over decided to move at any time. Chebise provided a welcome campsite, and a view towards the waterfall at the head of the valley. I felt good now, still taking the Diamox, but no headaches any more. I was adjusting to the altitude, but I continued taking the drug until we reached Laya, the mid-point of the trek.
(view towards Chebise)
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part II - days 1-3)
The official start of the Snowman Trek was in the shadow of the overgrown Drugyel Dzong, an old 17th century fort that now looks somewhat time-weary. It was a humid day; the monsoon had decided to linger later than usual. It gave the sun some extra bite, the humid air magnifying the intensity. I began the trek with a leaky bladder, and I hasten to add that I am talking about my water carrier in my pack, which promised to cause me much hassle if I was not careful. I hurriedly acquired a few 1.5 litre plastic water bottles to make sure I was properly equipped. They lasted the whole trip too!
In the warm, humid air, we began strolling along the lush valley, passing a holy man burning something with an interesting smell. Then we got into the mud. It would not usually be this muddy but for the late monsoon. The rocks were covered in slippery mud, and where there were no rocks, the mud sucked at our boots. It made for a very tough first day, an energy-sapping day where the hours merged into one long endurance test making the customary hard first day, harder than expected.
Stopping at the Gunitswa Army Camp to have our trekking permits checked, provided a good excuse top stop and sit down on a bench for a while and admire the surrounding mountains. By the time we reached the campsite (Shana), it was getting towards evening and nearing twilight. It was a pleasant campsite, with the Paro River gushing past and providing a foreground to traditional farmhouse illuminated by the soft evening sun. At 2890 metres, nobody was suffering from the altitude in any significant way. I slept well that night.
(Paro River at Shana)
Day 2
Our intrepid leader, Sumit, had informed us on the previous evening that the second day was going to be full of ups and downs, and that we would be climbing over 600 metres in altitude. In reality, we would probably be climbing more than 1400 metres once all the ups and downs were completed. It was on this day that people started to feel the effects of the thinner air as we went higher. There were some pale faces on the trail, and we came across one person vomiting as a result of the effects. At this altitude, it isn't usually too serious, but there were people were in some distress. Neither Miriam nor I were suffering anything more than a bit of breathlessness from the reduced oxygen, at this stage.
This was a bit of an endurance test, and although we went slowly, it remained tough all day, as our bodies protested at the altitude. There was, thankfully, less mud on this day, and we visited a small settlement where the locals treated us to some stew for lunch. It was a pleasant surprise and a respite from never-ending trail. It was no more than three houses in a high and remote valley, but it was a place to sit and take the weight off our feet, and have some yak meat (probably) and fresh vegetables.
Our pack horses passed us relatively early in the day, carrying our gear to the next campsite. We would get used to getting off the narrow trail to them pass, and look forward to the chance to sit down for five minutes every now and then, particularly in the steep mountain sections.
Following lunch, we entered birch and larch forests and would soon come across the rhododendrons. Bhutan has almost fifty species of rhododendrons and often has perfume companies come to extract scents to work on. You could say it is the national plant of Bhutan…but then again, maybe not! There are also hundreds of species of orchids. The rhododendrons are used for domestic uses including traditional medicine, incense, and woodcarving.
As we climbed higher, each hill became harder and I began to wonder exactly how far ahead the camp lay. As the day wore on, we trudged through steep-sided valley that took sunlight away early in the evening. Shadows from the surrounding peaks crept across the path, increasing the gloom. This effect was magnified when walking through dense forest, making it important to watch the ground carefully so that we didn't turn an ankle on the one of the numerous rocks. We spent some time wondering whether we would make camp before dark. We did, but only just.
On the way we came across a large chorten festooned with prayer-flags. A fellow traveler (Margie, I think) saw our fatigued expressions, and told us to look up and to the left. Our fatigue faded away as the summit of Jhomolhari towered up in the distance, its snow-covered peak glistening in the evening sun. It was a magical sight; we were close to the snow. The view and moment are still etched into my memory.
(Jhomolhari at sunset)
In another half an hour we were at the campsite (Soi Thangthanka) and gratefully sitting down with a cup of tea. We had covered 22km in about ten hours and were now at 3800 metres. That night I got my first altitude headache of the trek, but I still managed a reasonable night's sleep. It was hard not to sleep after that day.
Day 3
A dull throbbing headache greeted me on the morning of the third day. My body was keen to tell that I was at altitude. This didn't surprise me, as the only other time I had been up to this height (also in Bhutan) I had suffered the same headache. Being an optimistic type, I thought that a little bit of walking would sort it out.
Cloud shrouded the surrounding peaks, as we had a quick breakfast and then headed off onwards and upwards. We passed through some small collections of houses, somewhat optimistically called villages in the trip notes I have subsequently read. For me this day was one of dull headaches and other than that, it was uneventful. The trail followed the Paro River We climbed almost five hundred metres before reaching Jangothang, at 4100 metres (also called Jhomolhari base camp, although it is no longer possible to climb this mountain, at least from the Bhutanese side). We had climbed about 1800 metres in the last three days and I was certainly looking forward to the rest day.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Philosophy: Are you an optimist of pessimist? There is no middle ground.
It is my belief that there is no such things as a realist, because the reality of a future event is unknown, and only becomes apparent after the event has occurred, no matter how easy or difficult it is to predict the result . Prior to this there is only conjecture about what will occur, and all conjecture has a bias towards pessimism or optimism depending on the outlook of the individual concerned.
Pessimists are generally acknowledged to have a bias towards less than satisfactory outcomes, a negative view of the future. Optimists have the opposite outlook. Pessimists might not necessarily believe a bad outcome will result, but given a choice of potential outcomes they are likely to choose the one that is less positive. Optimists will choose to believe that the better outcome will occur. Pessimists may see the downside of a current situation, while optimists choose to focus on the positive aspects. The classic example being the glass half-full or half-empty conundrum.
Optimists are dreamers. They see positive outcomes in the most dire of situations. They will confidently march into the dark with a sunny outlook to cast some light, taking setbacks as mere speedbumps on the way to the good outcome that lies somewhere ahead. Of course I'm sure the officer overseeing the charge of the Light Brigade was also an optimist, probably verging on the insane type, as were the generals who decided that trench warfare would get them significant gains in the First World War. Or perhaps they were simply not in possessions of all the facts. This, however, does not necessarily (and sometimes unfortunately) prevent an optimist from making a decision.
Many pessimists steadfastly maintain that they are realists, however in my view, this merely shows them to be in denial about their own pessimism. The half-empty glass is a classic example of this, there is only a choice between the positive or the negative. Many will argue strenuously, in the case of future events, that they are looking at empirical evidence (the interpretation of which can be subjective and therefore pessimistic or optimistic) from similar past events where outcomes may not have been good, and that they are merely projecting a likely outcome. However, such a view does not allow for a different, more positive outcome than what has happened in the past, and is therefore pessimistic. I would go as far to say that the vast majority, if not all, of people who say they are realists, are pessimists.
The crucial point about optimists and pessimists is that we need both of them to make sure that important decisions are made properly, with the appropriate amount of consideration of outcomes. In world where there was only pessimists, very little would change and it is likely our psyche would most likely be permanently damaged. In a world full of optimists, it is likely that it wouldn't be long before we ran head-on into a brick wall that didn't move. It could be disastrous. But we do need decisions to be made.
And it is also true that most people alternate between optimism and pessimism depending on the situation they find themselves in. This is only natural as we are emotional creatures. Only very few of us are consistently of one frame of mind or the other. And we all know how annoying the constant optimist or pessimist can be.
So don't say you are being a realist when you are being a pessimist. If you can't see the positive outcomes in a situation, admit it and get on with explaining why the optimist might be on the wrong track. If you are an optimist, acknowledge that the pessimist has a role to play in tempering your enthusiasm and natural wish to keep the sun-shining, in order that you don't find yourself on a path to destruction.
Please, just don't call yourself a realist. 'Realism' simply doesn't exist before an event has taken place.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Sport - the great allrounder
While nobody can deny that a healthy and enquiring mind is one of the most important parts of being an effective functioning human being, that on its own will only deliver a portion of a person's potential. The physical body within which the mind is carried is also a vital part of a person.
Athletes are merely using the human body in a way that it was designed for. The human has not evolved to its current state to be sedentary. Sitting at a desk all day is not what the body is intended for. We need to move. We have bones which need to carry the weight otherwise they will become brittle through inactivity. We have muscles which will weaken and not support our body properly if we let them atrophy. Getting the blood pumping around oxygenates the brain and can help us to think more clearly. It also improves, in the long term, our blood pressure. Exercise also has beneficial impacts on cholesterol levels. This is by no means a comprehensive list but it demonstrates that there are physical benefits from playing sports, however it is true that you do not have to play sports to get these benefits, which you might also get from a daily walk or other form of exercise. This has the potential to save a great deal in terms of the cost of society's health care. The cost of not funding sport might outweigh the costs of funding as it is today. However, the physical benefits to muscles, bones, and the circulatory system are only part of the benefits of sporting activity.
In addition to physical benefits, there are intellectual benefits that come from sporting activity as well as experiences that can benefit the human spirit. When running or swimming, I certainly find myself entering a calm, and almost meditative, state which helps in dealing with the day-to-day stresses of modern life. It is a haven of peace where the space is mine, and mine alone. Participants in team sports find camaraderie and the sense of belonging, which might not be something easy to achieve, and learn a great deal of interpersonal skills and the opportunity to apply strategic thinking to a problem. It also allows a creative outlet and puts into action that side of the brain related to coordination and lateral thinking, thereby assisting our ability to solve complex problems.
Spectators of sports find much joy, and sometimes angst, in watching their favourite teams or individuals in their preferred sporting event. As with the arts, there are also aesthetic rewards to sport. The aesthetic pleasure of watching an effortless cover-drive at a cricket match is as pleasing to the cricket-lover as an exquisite painting is to an art connoisseur, or a classic poem to a lover of literature. The can be said for the high mark in football, or the perfect cross in a game of soccer. Sport, as with the arts, can provide a huge emotional uplift where a day is otherwise proving to be mundane or disappointing.
But there is still more. Sport provides an outlet for competitive spirit, and most of us are competitive in some form or another, albeit sometimes reluctant to admit it. The more physically inclined look to sport to provide an outlet for this urge to compete, while intellectuals and academics may compete in the area of publications, and artists may compete for prestigious prizes or awards. No matter who we are, we all get a bit competitive, only some choose not to see the parallels with activities outside their own pursuits (and this applies to sporting people too), or are in denial that they are competitive at all. Competition also teaches the young about dealing with failure and overcoming adverse situations, something that they will need to do in their adult life. Some out there will have a philosophical outlook that this sort of competition is not healthy for one reason or another, but they are being competitive themselves by trying to convince others of their arguments.
There is no excuse for looking down in sport because it's not your pursuit of choice. It provides many of the same benefits to its devotees as intellectual pursuits do, and is no less worthy. To those who might not have been fortunate enough to have been brought up in an environment conducive to educational excellence or intellectual development, it provides an essential outlet for competitive spirit and a good way to let off steam in what might be a depressing and frustrating environment. Those that think that paying someone to represent the country at sport is a waste of taxpayer's money obviously have trouble thinking outside their own world view of what is important for our society as a whole.
Just as movie stars get paid millions of dollars to play a role in a film because they will attract huge numbers of people to the cinemas, sporting stars also get paid commensurate with their ability to draw people through the turnstiles. They give pleasure to many and get rewarded accordingly. This is simply a reflection of the number of people willing to see them perform, and the consequent financial spin-offs for those paying performers in the first place. For the same reasons, the money flowing into the arts and intellectual pursuits is not as great.
This does not deny their crucial role in society. The evolution of our philosophical approach to life, government, economics, and social development in general is of paramount importance, but it is the preserve of relatively few; those with the reputation and ability to argue their cases. I have spent many enjoyable hours listening to the Western Australian Symphony Orchestra, strolling around the art galleries and museums of our capital cities, or reading and writing poetry. I enjoy these pursuits, and would not wish them to disappear.
These pursuits, however, do not provide the same package of cognitive, spiritual and physical development as sports do. Sports have developed to fulfill this need and, hopefully, keep us from physical conflict. They are unashamed in their appeal to the masses and this is how it should be. For those unwilling to acknowledge the role sports play, this is perhaps more of a reflection of their competitiveness relating to their own favourite pursuit's lack of attention and funding. Or maybe it's pure green-eyed jealousy at its worst, brought on by the equivalent of throwing a tantrum and then going away to sulk. I would be very comfortable if the same amount was spent on Olympic athletes for the London games as was for the Beijing games, the various sporting academies, and on grassroots level sports.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Travel: The Snowman Trek (Part 1 - Arriving in Bhutan)
Arriving in Bhutan
Flying into Paro is a gripping experience. After a short stop in Calcutta to pick up passengers, our flight from Bangkok continued over the Ganges delta. It wasn't long before we saw the Himalaya rising up in the distance, and rugged foothills between the clouds beneath us. To the northwest the Everest massif rose majestically out of a sea of white stratus cloud. It looked like a glistening white island rising out of an off-white sea, framed by the deep blue sky. At least it looked that way if you were lucky enough to on the same side of the plane as I was, those on the other side could only take our word for it! Along with Everest (8848m) there were a number of other peaks in the group including Lohtse (8511m), which towers above the lesser mountains around it. Cho Oyu (8153m) which is on the Nepalese –Tibetan border may also have been visible.
Once I stopped trying to crane my neck to keep an eye on the world's highest point, I noticed that the hills below were becoming increasingly high and very steep. The word precipitous came to mind. The trees were getting closer and appeared to be reaching up towards the plane as they clung to mountainsides. The valleys were all v-shaped, a sure sign that torrents of meltwater had relentlessly cascaded down them for tens of thousands of years from the high mountains to the north. I wondered what the mountains further to the north would be like, and whether I was going to be fit enough to get up and down the passes.
The plane banked sharply between mountains on either side and we began our descent into Paro. The trees were getting uncomfortably near at this time, almost close enough to reach and touch. Well, I'm sure they weren't that close, but in an aircraft it is only natural not to see them as close as they were now, and the same could be said for the powerlines below. However, in no time at all we were rumbling along the concrete of the runway towards the arrivals building.
It is not a very long walk across the concrete between the Druk Air plane and the airport buildings, but it seems to take quite a while. This is because most people spend time looking at the mountains surrounding them and taking some pictures. Then they turn around and see what looks like a temple, or religious building of some sort, into which the other passengers are going. This is probably the most welcoming arrivals building anywhere in the world. It is constructed using traditional Bhutanese architectural features, as are most buildings in this country, and is brightly painted, as is the custom here.
Inside there are numerous murals on the walls, all depicting scenes of the Buddha and his experiences. It makes the queuing for passport checks and other formalities seem even shorter than it is. And it does not take long at all.
Once through, we took a minibus to our hotel, stopping on the way to take in views of the magnificent Paro Dzong and also to watch a local archery contest. The dzong imposes itself over the river beneath. It is the administrative centre of the town and its high, white walls remind the viewer that it was once also a fort. If we were here in May, we might have been able to see one of the many festivals held in Bhutan. But we were not. Above the dzong is the National Museum, itself and old fort that had been built to provide a high lookout to warn of approaching enemies.
On a previous visit I had had the opportunity to spend an hour or two looking around it. It is a splendid museum, containing many treasured artefacts, historical information, examples of Bhutan's famous postage stamps, and examples of traditional dress, all within its circular walls, the different galleries being connected by low passageways that wind their way through the walls. From beside the museum there are wonderful views of the Paro Valley, also called the golden valley because of the lush crops that grow in the soil there.
The archery contest in Bhutan does not use a conventional target, but rather small wooden targets. Contestants are allowed to shout and try to put off their opponents as they aim at the targets. It is a very good-natured sport, and is the national sport of Bhutan. Most villages will have an archery contest. We spent some time here watching, and taking in the atmosphere, but the sun was biting and it was soon time to continue on to our hotel.
Sitting on the banks of the Paro River, the hotel consisted mainly of small hexagonal single-story buildings that contained six rooms, each with a small table and chairs on an outside verandah. The main building was double-storey and contained the lounge, bar and the restaurant.
We were allowed a couple of hours to collect our thoughts before lunch, and it was during this time that I discovered that I had left the keys that would allow me to unlock the steel mesh that encased my pack, at home. This was a good start to the journey! I managed to track down some pliers, courtesy of Sumit, our tour leader, and spent at least an hour painstakingly severing each strand of wire (and skewering my hands) before eventually gaining access to my luggage. The wire was written off, but that did not worry me too much. If anybody wanted to rifle through my smelly trekking clothes on my way out of Bhutan, then they would be most welcome.
After lunch, and still feeling the effects of travelling for most of the past twenty-four hours, we embarked on an acclimatisation climb. This was to the Takstang (Tiger's Nest) Monastery. It was to break us in gently I suppose, but it sits at 3100m above sea-level, and this meant a 500 metre climb from our starting point. Despite this daunting prospect, the monastery is well worth seeing. It clings to small ledge above a sheer drop and was originally built in the late 17th century at a place considered to be where the Guru Rinpoche flew up to a cave on the back of a tiger to battle a local demon. It is a site of considerable significance and is visited by people from all over Bhutan.
In 1998, the monastery was destroyed by fire. It has since been rebuilt, using a cable lift to transport materials up from the valley floor. This was still in progress on my previous visit and I had not been able to access the building, having to be content with admiring its golden roof from afar. However, it is now complete and, after the fatiguing two-hour climb, I was able to walk through the buildings and appreciate the views from this structure and the waterfall that cascades down from mountain above. All too soon, it was time to make our way back down to the waiting minibus.
The descent seemed long, and this was exacerbated by the realisation that it was getting dark, and the damp slippery mud that we had managed to avoid on the way up, being a bit more challenging to see on the way down. It was very gloomy indeed as we picked our way through a path covered with slippery tree roots in the forest at the base of the climb. The coaster bus was a welcome sight, and we were soon back in our hotel. We settled in for a quiet night of repacking and a light dinner, followed by a beer or two. We had an early night in anticipation of the next day's walk.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Homelessness: They're People and we should acknowledge that.
As I walked further down the street, not more than twenty or thirty metres, it was like that last image had caught me like a bungee rope. I had very little money on me, but as I got closer to the street corner, the bungee rope reached its longest point and I stopped. A battle raged inside me, one side looking a the 85 cents in my hand and saying that giving a paltry amount as this would be a bit cheap and insulting, and the other saying that it would be better than giving nothing.
What really drew me back was the image of someone who could not look at the world, along with the fact that my 85 cents was better in his pocket than mine. It might be the difference between eating something or going hungry. I placed my money at his feet, but that was not enough. Just to throw money at someone does not acknowledge their existence as a person, it merely acknowledges a 'problem'.
So, in addition to giving my fairly inadequate contribution, I said hello and got him to look me in the eye to make sure that he knew I was seeing him as a person, and not just a faceless member of the homeless. The more I thought about this, the more I believe this was far more important than the money I gave. He had been sitting on the ground unable to look people in the eye, probably somewhat ashamed of his predicament, while the world walked by. Mostly ignoring him or wishing he didn't exist to jog their conscience.
As my wife says (she's quite wise you know), some people are damaged, and it is the responsibility of society to look after such people. They may have mental problems, be traumatised, or in some way be unable to fit into the society the majority of us have created. And because we have created this society we have a responsibility to care for those we have left behind.
Such people are not, as some would like to day, a drain on society. They should not be ignored or hidden away as some would like, often municipal councils who see than as a blight on their vision of what their locality should look like. This is simply ignoring reality and hoping it will go away. It is a harsh view that does no justice to us as human beings. The idea that we apply a 'survival of the fittest' ethos in this case is a flawed and ultimately flexible idea that civilized societies should see for what it is – the arrogance of those privileged and well-off who have defined what the 'fittest' should be.
Now, I'm not talking about those who are commonly referred to as 'dole-bludgers'. I'm talking about those who find themselves out on the street unable to find a home. I would be happy to pay an extra cent or two in the dollar tax to help homeless people. What is that to me? A few beers each week? It could kick in above a certain income threshold. This obsession with reducing tax ignores what it can be used for to benefit our society as a whole, and relies on the 'market' to decide where money goes. Well the 'market' would like the problem of homelessness to disappear and appears to view it as an inconvenience. It appears unable or unwilling to help solve the problem, suggesting it is a problem for government. Hence the need to use tax revenues.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Philosophy: Uncertainty and Change
But uncertainty and change also play a vital role in making our lives interesting. It brings stimulation to each day and forces us into instances where we need to make decisions. Imagine knowing what the outcome of every decision you make would be, or the outcome of every sporting contest before it happened, or even everyone you might meet during the day. While on the surface this may sound appealing, the interest in each day would rapidly decrease and be replaced by monotony; one long and tedious experience.
Uncertainty can provide more benefits than making life interesting. It helps us to grow as individuals. A moment of uncertainty can propel us into making a decision and potentially changing the course of our lives. This, at its core, is what uncertainty is all about. By forcing an individual to make a decision, uncertainty can assist a person in gaining some control of their life through taking responsibility for their future direction.
Unfortunately there are many who find decision-making, in one form or another, to be quite intimidating. The fear that the wrong decision might be made can lead to a paralysis and no decision being made. When this happens life can become stagnant in an area, and if it is a repeated outcome, life becomes stagnant in many areas. Without a decision opportunities are missed, and when this becomes a common occurrence, individuals can stop seeing those opportunities even when they are still there.
I understand that there are some people out there who find uncertainty so painful that, for instance, they find the idea of watching their favourite sporting team in real time action a form of torture. They would prefer to watch a recording only after the result is known, and they can thus shield themselves from watching a poor performance. Personally, I find watching a game where I already know the result to be quite boring. There is very little mystery left and no journey to take. There are only subdued emotions associated with such an activity. There is no angst when your team is behind, and no consequent relief and joy if it pulls off an unexpected win. There is very little drama to make it interesting. What is the point?
There have been studies that show that when people get put into a position of uncertainty, particularly in a decision is required quickly, they can panic and often make an unwise decision. This give ammunition to those who see such instances as stressful and problematic, and long for certainty. However, learning to deal with such uncertainty is surely beneficial to us all. Avoiding it merely ensures that the same stress occurs the next time.
If you find uncertainty unsettling, think about this. When you do not know an answer there can be purpose and enjoyment in finding it out. Once the answer is attained there might be a fleeting moment of joy or elation, but then what? Certainty has returned to add some more dullness to your life.
Uncertainty also provides a platform by which we can evolve both technically and spiritually. What is and is not possible has changed throughout history as people have questioned the 'certainty' that was prevalent at the time. There is no doubt that both socially and scientifically, some changes have been incredibly painful and have caused much anxiety and soul searching, however this how we learn as a society, make new rules and improve lives.
The unexpected occurrence is one of the other benefits of uncertainty. While planned fun can be enjoyable, it is rarely as enjoyable as an unexpected benefit or social occasion. Conversely, the bolt from the blue that brings bad news is another part of uncertainty. Such bad news brings into context the joy that comes from the positive experiences. Without the balancing negative, similar positives are not possible. In between lies certainty, where little changes and little evolution of thought or character takes place.
Individuals need to be comfortable with the fact that they will make bad decisions every now and then. This is just part of life. Such decisions should not be dwelled on, or allowed to become a large barrier to future decision making. And also, seemingly bad decisions or outcomes can have unseen benefits that only become clear later on. Getting turned down when asking a girl out may lead you to the love of your life, who you might never have met if you hadn't suffered some setbacks earlier on. When uncertainty is met head on where small decisions are concerned, people are less likely to be intimidated by the bigger decisions that might come later in life.
Encouraging the younger members of society to take the consequences of their decisions and learn from them, without discouraging future decision-making is one of the challenges that society must overcome. The alternative is to wait for others to tell us what to do, and this is surely an inferior way to deal with uncertainty, as well as a lazy one that takes away the responsibility of the individual for their own life.
We should therefore embrace uncertainty, from early on, and acknowledge the developmental benefits it provides. After all, without a level of uncertainty there would be little point in getting out of bed in the morning. Embrace uncertainty and life becomes the richer for it.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Philosophy: Why sport is important
While nobody can deny that a healthy and enquiring mind is one of the most important parts of being an effective functioning human being, that on its own will only deliver a portion of your potential. The physical body within which the mind is carried is also a vital part of a person. So what is the physical body all about?
The human has not evolved to its current state to be sedentary. Sitting at a desk all day is not what the body is intended for. We need to move. We have bones which need to carry the weight otherwise they will become brittle through inactivity. We have muscles which will weaken and not support our body properly if we let them atrophy. Getting the blood pumping around oxygenates the brain and can help us to think more clearly. It also improves, in the long term, our blood pressure. Exercise also has beneficial impacts on cholesterol levels. This is by no means a comprehensive list but it demonstrates that there are physical benefits from playing sports, however it is true that you do not have to play sports to get these benefits, which you might also get from a daily walk or other form of exercise. Athletes are merely using the human body in a way that it was designed for. But, the physical benefits to muscles, bones, and the circulatory system are only part of the benefits of sporting activity.
In addition to physical benefits, there are intellectual benefits that come from sporting activity as well as experiences that can benefit the human spirit. When running or swimming, I certainly find myself entering a calm, and almost meditative, state which helps in dealing with the day-to-day stresses of modern life. It is a haven of peace where the space is mine, and mine alone. Participants in team sports find camaraderie and the sense of belonging, which might not be something easy to achieve, and learn a great deal of interpersonal skills and the opportunity to apply strategic thinking to a problem. It also allows a creative outlet and puts into action that side of the brain related to coordination and lateral thinking, thereby assisting our ability to solve complex problems.
Spectators of sports find much joy, and sometimes angst, in watching their favourite teams or individuals in their preferred sporting event. As with the arts, there are also aesthetic rewards to sport. The aesthetic pleasure of watching an effortless cover-drive at a cricket match is as pleasing to the cricket-lover as an exquisite painting is to an art connoisseur, or a classic poem to a lover of literature. Sport, as with the arts, can provide a huge emotional uplift where a day is otherwise proving to be mundane or disappointing.
But there is still more. Sport provides an outlet for competitive spirit, and most of us are competitive in some form or another, albeit sometimes reluctant to admit it. The more physically inclined look to sport to provide an outlet for this urge to compete, while intellectuals and academics may compete in the area of publications, and artists may compete for prestigious prizes or awards. No matter who we are, we all get a bit competitive, only some choose not to see the parallels with activities outside their own pursuits (and this applies to sporting people too), or are in denial that they are competitive at all. Competition also teaches the young about dealing with failure and overcoming adverse situations, something that they will need to do in their adult life. Some out there will have a philosophical outlook that this sort of competition is not healthy for one reason or another, but they are being competitive themselves by trying to convince others of their arguments.
There is no excuse for looking down in sport because it's not your pursuit of choice. It provides many of the same benefits to its devotees as intellectual pursuits do, and is no less worthy. To those who might not have been fortunate enough to have been brought up in an environment conducive to educational excellence or intellectual development, it provides an essential outlet for competitive spirit and a good way to let off steam in what might be a depressing and frustrating environment. Those that think that paying someone to represent the country at sport is a waste of taxpayer's money obviously have trouble thinking outside their own world view of what is important for our society as a whole.
Just as movie stars get paid millions of dollars to play a role in a film because they will attract huge numbers of people to the cinemas, sporting stars also get paid commensurate with their ability to draw people through the turnstiles. They give pleasure to many and get rewarded accordingly. This is simply a reflection of the number of people willing to see them perform, and the consequent financial spin-offs for those paying performers in the first place. For the same reasons, the money flowing into the arts and intellectual pursuits is not as great.
This does not deny their crucial role in society. The evolution of our philosophical approach to life, government, economics, and social development in general is of paramount importance, but it is the preserve of relatively few; those with the reputation and ability to argue their cases.
Intellectual pursuits do not provide the same package cognitive, spiritual and physical development as sports do. Sports have developed to fulfill this need and, hopefully, keep us from physical conflict. They are unashamed in their appeal to the masses and this is how it should be. For those unwilling to acknowledge the role sports play, it is perhaps, more of a reflection of their competitiveness relating to their own pursuit's lack of attention and funding, and pure green-eyed jealous at it's worst, brought on by the equivalent of throwing a tantrum and then going away to sulk..
Friday, October 10, 2008
How much expertise do we need?
The large number of options now available, for many things, requires the consumer to do a lot of research and become relatively proficient in evaluating what is on offer. For instance, if a person wants to buy a new washing machine they now have numerous manufacturers to choose from and numerous stores selling washing machines at different prices. They might also feel obliged to consider other factors such as environmental impacts, the type of labour conditions in the factories that make the machines, and whether it is made within the country of purchase. This all takes time.
Other larger purchases may take more time. Deciding which company you are going to have provide various types of insurance is of concern to many, as is the provider of the mortgage on a house, or the type of superannuation fund that is best for them. With the breadth of choice now available this is a complex and time-consuming activity. As all those who have read mortgage contracts and insurance policies know, trying to evaluate what is actually being provided and the potential pitfalls is a challenge in itself when reading one, let alone trying to compare a variety of such documents. If you have the money, then you can get a professional to look at this for you, but then again, which professional to choose?
With a greater emphasis on people providing their own retirement fund, we are now being asked to become proficient in the assessing investments in the Stock Market. Becoming an expert on the financial markets is not something that happens quickly and yet more and more of us are being asked to make decisions on investments and superannuation. The current Stock Market turmoil is taking its toll on many institutional investors and funds, and one can only speculate about what it is doing to self-funded retirees and those who are nearing the time when they are set to retire.
Of course, the experts also tell us that we should review all of our major financial commitments on a yearly basis. Is our house and car insurance still the best? Should we be considering changing our bank or mortgage provider? Is our health insurer as competitive as it should be? Perhaps our car and/or computer is out-of-date and in need of upgrading. Are we getting the best deal on our telecommunications? All these things are changing at a rapid rate and we are all being asked to keep up.
But, in addition to spending all our time delving into these big financial commitments and purchases, there is a need to do even more research. The nutritional value of some of the food we buy at the supermarket is doubtful, so should we take any notice of the non-stop advertising that assaults us on a daily basis? And do we need to know what those numbers relating to additives mean? A trip to the shops becomes a matter of looking closely at the labels to see if there are any dubious additives included, or whether the weight or quantity has been reduced while charging the same price. This lengthens the time needed to get the job done.
I haven't yet mentioned the environment. We now need to consider our carbon emissions, our water use, whether we should recycle what we consider waste, and the carbon footprint of everything we buy. This is not a bad thing, in fact it is very good to consider these things and act accordingly, but after considering much of the above, it becomes yet one more call upon our time to research what we should be doing.
The modern media and internet are constantly bombarding us with conflicting views about what we should be doing and how we should be doing it, giving us yet more urges to go and do research.
I have only covered choices relating to singles or couples. For families there are numerous additional choices that have to be made.
Why is this so? Perhaps it's because we lack trust in the professionals now, or maybe it's because governments are now giving us freedom to make our own decisions. The free market might be to blame, or perhaps it's our own insecurities that we are somehow not getting 'the best', whatever that might be. And there is the potential for people to feel guilty about not having 'the best', as if somehow this makes them inferior.
The bottom line is that we are being asked to become experts on areas that are the preserve of those who have spent many years learning to become professionals. And yet, despite this, we are still corralled into feeling obliged to have significant knowledge of these areas. This all takes time. And so much time can be spent on these things that we fail to find enough time for ourselves.
Getting 'the best' may, in fact, involve reclaiming time for ourselves rather than spending inordinate amounts of time trying to learn everything about everything. In terms of mod-cons and services, in the long term 'the best' cannot be bought anyway, because everything is constantly evolving and changing.
It surely must be time to re-evaluate all of this, and realise that life is something to be enjoyed rather than something to be endured.
First published at www.onlineopinion.com 10/10/08
Friday, October 3, 2008
20 Songs to Relax to on a Hot Summer's Evening
Big Log (Robert Plant) - This solo effort from the Led Zeppelin frontman captures the mood of solitary reflection and contemplation while on the road. A fine effort.
On the Beach (Chris Rea) – From the guitar master with the gravelly voice. This smooth combination of a catchy beat overlain with keyboards and a relaxing guitar riff runs for almost 7 minutes. It's well worth the time though.
That's Entertainment (The Jam) – Paul Weller at his best. This track is a great reflection of urban life in the late 70's, but also holds true for urban life today in many areas.
Last Train to Heaven (Paul Kelly & the Coloured Girls) – As well as being on the album gossip, this mellow track can also be found on the surfing film Jungle Jetset. Paul Kelly remains a classic Australian musician.
Girls on the Avenue (Richard Clapton) – Perhaps not too well known outside Australia. An ode to girls of negotiable affection.
Maybe Tomorrow (Stereophonics) – Great stuff from these guys. Strikes the balance of melancholy with a simple chord progression.
Walking in the Sunshine (Bad Manners) – The ska boys in rare reflective mood, but intent on drinking red wine. This song has a saxophone 'riff' that just resonates and is, in my humble opinion, one of the best uses of the saxophone in 'pop'.
Long Hot Summer (Style Council) – If this song doesn't relax you, then nothing will. One of the first Style Council songs, from the summer of 1983.
Slave (James Reyne) – The Australian Crawl lead singer in solo form. A bit of late night classic to wind people down.
Every Kind of People (Robert Palmer) – The late Robert Palmer's cover of this song from 1978 leaves you feeling laid back and tolerant of the other occupants of this planet of ours.
School (Supertramp) – Classic use of the keyboards and a song that ebbs and flows. May be not their best song, but many people will know the piano hook from the mid-section of this song.
Saturday Night (Cold Chisel) – One of Australia's finest rock bands. Sadly not well-known outside the antipodes. This is one of many great songs. Good use of recorded sounds from a pub in the intro.
Cars and Girls (Prefab Sprout) – Under-rated and under-played, Prefab Sprout were the master of the melodic pop song. This one will take you on smooth journey.
Take it Easy (The Eagles) – One of the earliest, but one of the best songs from the Eagles. Just under three minutes of country-pop that won't leave you bored.
La Viguela (Gotan Project) – This combination of French and Argentinean musicians will get you wanting to dance the tango, but you'll be able to resist this and just enjoy the flow of the music, while imagining latin scenes in far away Buenos Aires.
This Too Will Pass (Rodney Crowell) – Rodney is big in the USA, I believe. I only have two CD's but this optimistic song stands out as a country-pop classic.
In These Shoes (Kirsty MacColl) – The late Kirsty MacColl shows her sense of humour and latin musical influences on this track, which has been used extensively in advertising.
Summertime (Gerry & the Pacemakers) – What can I say about this. This cover is just silky-smooth even after all these years. Cole Porter would be proud.
Kiss Me (Sixpence None the Richer) – A short-lived band from Texas that produced a classic. I can't remember the film that this came from, but it's a great piece of laid-back pop.
Jamming (Bob Marley & the Wailers) – I couldn't not have some reggae in this list, and who better than Bob Marley could I include. Jamming must be one of the best mainstream reggae tracks of all time.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Modern Jargon: How to use it to disguise your moaning and whining
Every new generation of kids and teenagers comes up with words and phrases that are new and confuse older generations, however it is now the adults that are coming up with new stuff. The trouble is that this new jargon often doesn't make sense, even though it infiltrates modern language. I have two examples that I want to rant about, because they are really nothing more than excuses for begin miserable and trying to paint oneself as a martyr.
What does time-poor mean? Has there ever been a more annoying phrase? How has anybody got any less time in the day than anyone else? Don't we all have the same number of minutes and hours in each day?
Yes, as you may have gathered, this is a phrase that really strikes me as inane. If there is not enough time in the day it probably means that you are trying to do too much. Most of us have a lot of choice about how much we try to fit in. So, if you are finding that there are not enough hours in the day, perhaps you need to slow down a little bit and take some time to smell the roses.
At the end of the day it's your choice how much you take on, irrespective of whether you feel you have to or not. Learn to say no, or at least put aside time for yourself (and don't compromise on this one!). There will always be jobs that appear to be, or at least we perceive to be, urgent and it is so easy to get caught up in the rush to achieve for achievements sake rather than for any worthwhile outcome.
Perhaps we need to slow down and accept that there are things we have to let go of. Everything is not urgent, no matter what we may think. Opportunities come and go, but the chances are that more opportunities will come along. We don't have to fight every battle that comes our way either, the confidence to let an issue go frees up time we can use for our own enjoyment. We can be selective. Put simply, if you find you are struggling to fit everything into your day, don't try to do so much!
And above all, don't use the phrase time-poor, it sounds like the workaholics justification for not allowing time for themselves to enjoy life.
Getting Ahead
Getting ahead of what? Exactly how will anyone know when they are 'ahead'? Who will they be ahead of, and how? I hear this phrase so often and I still wonder what, or who, the users of this phrase are competing with.
The question arises – if you are ahead of someone, on your self-generated scale, surely there are probably people you are 'behind'. And if you are 'behind' people, can you possibly say that you are 'ahead'? It makes my head hurt.
By all means set goals which you want to achieve, but to use the term getting ahead is tantamount to saying that you are somehow not up to scratch and struggling to keep up. It is a way of reinforcing that you are somehow inferior to others and cannot be good for self-esteem. Is that any sort of way to live a life? I expect a lot people trying to get ahead also use the term time-poor.
Negative Growth
Sorry, this is just drivel. What is negative growth? Growth is an expansion of a substance of a network or some other 'thing'. It cannot be negative. The phrase is contradictory. What people who use this word mean to say is something like, shrinkage, or contraction, and they usually mean this in relation to a business or the economy.
So when treasury or a business executive say this annoying phrase, they are doing everything they can not to mention other words, but this is pointless. Everyone knows what they mean if they utter this phrase – we're going backwards.
This is symptomatic of our fear of a bad result, our fear of failure, of admitting that we might not have succeeded. It's pathetic really. And it's also very bad English, irritatingly bad English. So economists, executives and bureaucrats, please stop using this phrase.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Travel: Walking therapy on the Bibbulman Track
There are wineries that offer cellar-door tasting, and producers of fresh fruits and vegetables. There are also numerous art galleries and restaurants. In addition to this, there are offers of recreational opportunities including walking among the treetops of the karri forest, riding horses, swimming, fishing, and four-wheel driving. All along the way are chalets and farm-stays that provide pleasant accommodation. Invitations to adventures or pleasures are signposted on the side of the road.
Yet, on the horizon to the south lie the coastal hills. They seem so far away, but they lie only a few kilometres distant. Karri forests offering shade and mystery lie to the north of the road. Narrow access roads leave the highway on an irregular basis. They lead to small car parks and walk trails hidden behind the dense foliage or in distant dunes.
This method of visiting the south coast is like watching a slideshow. One minute you are in a forest, the next you are in a winery, the next you are at the coast. Then there is a fleeting image of an orchard or some farmland, or perhaps a picturesque town. None of these images stay with you for very long, it is all so superficial. The experience you get is two-dimensional – a pretty picture, some nice colours, a few tastes and smells, but no real warmth. All too soon you find yourself back home with some fast fading memories and a vague feeling that there was more to see and do, or that an important experience was missed.
However, walking through the landscape is a very different experience from driving through it. When a person walks a track, they become part of the landscape and have the chance to experience it as it changes. When safely cocooned inside a car, coach or train, or racing through on a motorbike, an individual is isolated from that which they see.
While many shy away from the weather, preferring the cocoon, it is the feel of the rain as it hits your skin, the sound of the rain hitting a jacket or dropping on to the leaves of surrounding trees, which indicate you are within the landscape. It is the feel and sound of the wind tugging at clothes or rustling the through the vegetation that tells you that you are in a dynamic environment. And it is the smell of freshly dampened vegetation or the approaching rain, which lets you know you are in a three-dimensional place, and not simply looking as you would at a postcard.
Walking takes time, and this can be a problem to those who have convinced themselves that time is in short supply. Time is a precious commodity, too much of which that should not be wasted on the mundane or unenjoyable, but should instead be used for the fulfilment of life and the chance to immerse oneself in enjoyable experiences. The phrase 'Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time' comes to mind. Taking time to walk puts the emphasis on enjoying the journey rather than achieving the goal. This slows us down and encourages some reflection and thought outside the screaming urban centres, where we are bombarded thousands of messages each day from a multitude of sources, asking us to make decisions, telling us we have to achieve quickly or we might miss out, or that we are falling behind in an attempt to achieve the 'perfect' life.
So, if you drive between Walpole and Albany you will, all too soon, arrive back into the maelstrom of everyday life. Two hours and it's gone; you're in Albany looking for a hotel. But if you take a walk on the Bibbulman Track that runs between these two towns, you will experience the forests, the coastal dunes, the beaches and the inlets (in fact the track runs from Perth to Albany, a distance of eight hundred kilometres or more, and this just the last leg). You will find secluded huts where you can simply put your feet up and enjoy the views, remote benches overlooking majestic coastal cliffs, and dense forests that hide a multitude of wildlife rarely seen by most people.
The track asks that the journey not be rushed. It insists that you do not brush off the views, the smells, and changes in the weather and light. You can't close windows, turn on the lights, or turn on the air-conditioning. It demands that those who walk its length cast off the shackles of urban life and surrender to the whims of Mother Nature. It presents a chance to cleanse the mind and body of stress; to return to that peaceful place we all need to go to reclaim our sanity and our humanity.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Sport: Does Olympic Gold cost too much? - Not really
There are a lot of positive impacts of having a strong sporting team representing the country, that are not easily measurable in economic terms. The same can be said for funding other activities such as the arts and public festivals. However, I will use the Olympics as an example as it is current.
The figures that have been touted about the cost of each gold medal won at the Olympics that range (from memory) up to $50 million, sound large, but there is very little detail about what is being counted in this figure. It's a bit like saying the cost of the navy rescuing a yachtsmen is 'X' number of dollars without clarifying that this money includes wages that would have been paid anyway, fuel that was going to be used anyway, the goodwill of the nation whose yachtsman was plucked out of the ocean etc. The other option is to cost such an activity in terms of additional money that had to be spent over and above what would be spent in normal circumstances. It's all about how people choose to calculate the figures.
So, when trying to apportion dollars to our Olympic performance we need to separate what is spent over and above our spending on grass roots sporting activity, coaches and athletes who turn out for domestic events that would happen in some form or another. Making sensational claims about the cost of medals often appears to come from those who don't, or refuse to, see the wider benefits of investment in sport in physical and mental health benefits. This is a proper use for public money.
What is often left out of such calculations, because of the difficulty of putting dollar values on them, are benefits including the joy many people get out of seeing their athletes perform on an international stage, or the pride felt when an athlete wins in their chosen field. These can last for days and keep give people something to be happy about that might distract them from the monotony of everyday life (although this can be accompanied by the irritation of overly nationalistic television coverage). The better people feel, the more likely they will be
In addition to this the Olympics provide something that young athletes can aspire to and is a way of bringing people together as a nation. In the current climate where there is mortgage stress, worries about climate change, problems with social groups, and numerous other pressing concerns, the value of this should not be underestimated.
The intangible benefits of investment into sport, and the arts for that matter, should not be ignored. Also, given that the returns are difficult to quantify and are of benefit to the wider community, it appears that public money is appropriate for this purpose.
Out athletes, providing they are successful, can do very well out of this too, but if they brighten people's days, then I do not think that we should begrudge them their success. That would be very small-minded indeed. And we should also acknowledge that many of our sporting stars also contribute a great deal through their work in supporting charitable organisations. This would not have the same impact of they were not successful.
So, I think we should be comfortable that public money is spent on training these athletes, although I would not necessarily be keen on increasing the current expenditure (we do very well for a nation of 20 million people). The insecurities that are coming out because Australia got less medals than the English, reflect poorly on this country.
In conclusion, the funding of sports and arts needs to be maintained, and it has to be acknowledged that these activities provide a great deal of benefit to our society. It does nobody any favours to carp at the current expenditure on the Olympic team, we should instead be happy that the we got the great results we did and that the athletes provided us with many moments that that will be remembered for years to come.
Travel: From Olgii to Ulaan Bataar
Getting to the airport for our flight back to Ulaan Bataar was no major operation, now that my stomach had settled down! We were up and breakfasted by 6:30am and at the airport by 7:00am. We milled around aimlessly until they opened the small terminal for checking in baggage. It was a long, drawn out process that appeared at the same time chaotic and ordered. It's hard to explain! Anyhow, we eventually got our luggage in, but no sooner had this occurred than we started hearing rumours that the flight had been delayed. This, of course, turned out to be a rumour and not true at all. Our flight had not been delayed, it had been cancelled! There was some story about how the Turkish ambassador was flying through the airspace, and that all other flights had been cancelled for security reasons. How important could an ambassador be? Surely not so important to close national airspace and ground all other flights in a region! However, apparently this was the case.
We were told that they would try to get a new flight for 7pm that evening, so we all had a reason for hope. It did mean that we were going to miss our free afternoon in the capital, but we would have the next day do some sightseeing before our flight to Moron. By now problem number two had become apparent. Our checked in luggage had been locked away in the airport and was not reachable, so we were left with whatever we had with us in our hand luggage.
With nothing else to do we spent an enjoyable few hours in the town of Olgii where we visited the Khazak Museum and wandered around the city centre looking at the local rugs, two of which we bought. However, there was only so much that we could see and do in such a small town and so, other than the odd passing conversation with local who spoke English, we were soon thinking about lunch.
Our guide had excelled again successfully negotiated the use of the Gers (traditional Mongolian tents) with the owner of the Ger camp, that we had stayed in the previous night, and so we headed back there for lunch and an afternoon rest. As the camp was on the Khovd River, which happened to be flowing rather quickly, we had our meal sat in the grass watching the local birdlife prey on the poor old fish in the river. After this there was precious little else to do other than complete our diary entries and laze about in the sun. This was certainly not an unpleasant experience, but by mid-afternoon we still had not heard about our flight and a vague suspicion was creeping into our minds that there was no flight coming for us that night.
We spent much of our time watching two yaks that had somehow managed to get through the torrent of water that was the river, on to an island mid-stream. They seemed to be content to stay there and we took some solace from this, after if they were content to be stranded and in isolation, perhaps we could relax too. It soon came to pass that the yaks were considered an omen for our own predicament and that until the yaks moved from their island, we too were going to be stranded in Olgii.
On a brighter note, I did manage to skip a stone twelve times on the river, a fact that was doubted by other members of the party, as I had no witnesses to confirm my momentous achievement. However the lack of other entertainment options meant that I took the opportunity to invite a whole group down to witness my attempt to repeat the feat and promptly skipped a stone fourteen times. The point was proven and another half hour was occupied with further attempts at glory. It was certainly a highlight of the afternoon.
There was some brief excitement when a plane came in to land in the late afternoon, however after speeding off dramatically in dust cloud, our guide returned with the news that this had been a regular flight in from Kazakhstan and would not be taking us out of here. By six o'clock that evening we were still sitting in our Ger camp and had learned that our flight was indeed not going to arrive that evening and would be leaving the next day. This caused some consternation among those people who were scheduled to fly out of Mongolia the following day; however, they were all re-booked successfully on alternative flights. Thankfully there were no more guests due that night so we had use of the gers once again. At about this time we learned that some of the local goats had got into one of the gers and had started eating the bedding. It was all happening!
Despite the assurances that we would indeed be on the flight the next day there were still some doubters and doomsayers predicting that we would be stuck in Olgii for some time, but to me the omens seemed promising. Our two yaks, for so long stranded on their island, had now successfully reached the comparative safety of the riverbank and were wandering away towards the town. To me this led to no doubt that we were indeed flying out the next day and I could sleep easily during the coming night. 'Don't be an idiot,' I was told!
So I was left to lie on my bed and reminisce about the day that was now coming to an end. I remembered how I spent hours watching the ants and other insects climbing up and down the frames of the beds and gers and deliberating on the plight of the yaks that had been stranded. It had not quite reached the heights of a couple of days previously, where I had spent the best part of an afternoon watching the raindrops hitting my tent flap and forming little rivulets as they succumbed to the forces of gravity, but it was close to it! And then there was a summons to the main ger where had our meals.
Our guide, Dashka, had again moved heaven and earth to organise some entertainment above and beyond the call of duty. We arrived in the ger to find the premier traditional dancer and throat singer for the Kazakh region, and his son, ready to perform for us. So in the soft light of candles we were treated to some throat singing and some traditional dancing, including a performance of the 'eagle dance'. How Dashka had managed to organise this at such short notice I have no idea, but it was a magical performance. I certainly went to bed happy and content that night.
The next morning we were successful in finding a plane to fly us to Ulaan Bataar. It flew in sometime around mid-day and that meant we might even make our flight to Moron that evening, which was to leave at six-thirty. However, we were told that this would be tight and that we 'should' make it time!! We weren't exactly brimming with confidence, but then again, Dashka had done a good job so far.
The aircraft that we flew in was an old Antonov 24 and to start us off on our journey it felt like it bounced three times before it managed to get airborne. Some further inspection revealed that there was a family sitting on top of bags at the rear of the plane in a luggage compartment. There was no wasting space on this flight! Being an old twin-prop plane it wasn't going to be able to get us to the capital without a refuelling stop after two hours. The landscape we flew over was dry and barren desert with the odd lake dotted here and there and I wondered at what town we would be landing to refuel. Were there any towns out here? That question was soon to be answered as we began descending.
We landed at a non-descript airstrip and all got out to stretch our legs while the plane was attended to. In the distance we could see what looked like a substantial town but there was no indication of where we were. The sign on the airport building was in Cyrillic form, or some other form that I could not understand.
'Where are we?' I asked Dashka.
'Moron,' he replied.
'Moron?' I repeated. 'Isn't this where we need to fly to tonight? Can we stay here and wait for our luggage?' Our luggage that we had left in Ulaan Bataar was to be reunited with us today.
Unfortunately, Dashka told me, no-one was allowed to disembark from the flight at this point as it was only a fuel stop and not a scheduled stop but we were all entitled to our 'in-flight' meal. This was served in the airport building and consisted of a rather nice combination of mutton and assorted cooked vegetables.
Then once more we were in the air heading towards our destination, hoping to arrive in time for our flight to Moron. It was going to be a close run thing too. We landed in Ulaan Bataar at 5:45pm. This was followed by a nervous wait for our luggage at the carousel, before we were rushed through to meet our new tour leader and check in for our flight back to where we had just left. Thankfully we made it, and were soon in the air and on our way to start the next leg of our trip.
Travel: Horse riding for beginners - Mongolian style
Day one consisted of an introductory riding lesson. I had been told that no previous experience was necessary, however I must admit to feeling some trepidation.
'Have you ever ridden a horse before?' the trek leader asked me through the interpreter.
'Uh…no not really. Well once, when I was about nine years old I did, but only for about 15 minutes.' I replied.
'Never mind. It's easy. Just get on the horse and we'll go from there.' I proceeded to get myself up into the saddle and found a set of leather reins being put in my hand. They were more like shoelaces in my opinion.
'OK Peter, tug left and right to steer, and tug back to stop.' I nodded and made some tugging gestures to show that I had understood.
'To get going say "Cho" and give the horse a good jab in the ribs with your heels. If you want to go faster just dig the ribs some more and say "Cho" in a louder voice.'
I waited for some more instruction, but I waited in vain.
Not having any other option, off I went, or rather, off I tried to go. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts at getting my trusty steed to move, one of the local horsemen came to give me a hand. It was then that I learned to trot as we caught up with the rest of the group. To encourage me further, one of the guides was thrown from her horse. However, we don't talk about that because you just don't fall off horses in Mongolia, and anyhow she was ok. So no worries!
We rode for six hours until we reached our campsite. On the way I learned how to cross rivers, holding on for dear life. At the end of the day it was compulsory to open a bottle of vodka and share its contents. So that's what I did.
Day two started with sore knees and some excitement. This was the day that we were going to see the Tsaartan people. After breakfast I got back on the horse, which was now looking at me in a scornful way. I could swear it was smirking, and I knew that it was thinking, 'Right sonny Jim, you thought you had a tough time yesterday, but just you wait. Hahahahahaha!' Perhaps this paranoia was just part of the learning experience.
We rode a short way before we entered the forest. It was dense and muddy, and downright boggy in areas. The path wound its way up and down very steep and slippery slopes between the trees. Some trees had spaces of approximately one metre between them through which the path went. My horse, bless him, thought it was entertaining to try scraping me off at these points. I had to either mastering basic steering, or be good at putting my knees back into place. It was usually the latter. It was an evil horse!
Once out of the forest we proceeded up precipitous rocky slopes. I tried to ignore the long drop to my left. I prayed my horse's instinct for self-preservation was greater than its desire to send me tumbling into the raging mountain river some hundreds of metres below.
Of course, there was no let up after this. Just as we were nearing the Tsaartan camp, we could see it in the distance, we encountered severe boggy ground. My horse found itself up to its backside in the mud on many occasions. It was impossible to tell which bits of ground had a covering of six inches of mud, and which hid pools a metre or more in depth. At this point my horse decided to ignore my yelling and screaming, preferring to stand still and wonder which way to go next. My local guide came to my rescue and found me an equally boggy and hazardous route. This further 'cemented' my relationship with my horse, however I was grateful to be led by an experienced horseman during this, and some of the more challenging parts of this journey.
Despite this, we did make it to the Tsaartan camp. However, time was of the essence, so after a short break for lunch and some photo opportunities with cute reindeer, some entertaining repartee with the local people, and a chat with the local shaman, it was time to leave. Of course I now had an idea of what to expect on the return journey.
At the end of the day I resisted the urge to utter sentences like, 'Ahhhh my knees' or, 'I have chafing' or, 'I can't walk anymore'. No, instead I walked confidently to my tent showing no signs of protesting joints. To prove my fitness I went through two or three rounds of traditional Mongolian wrestling with my guide. I think that being dumped on my back a few times may even have loosened my aching muscles and realigned my spine.
As day three dawned I tried to ignore my aching limbs and back, now unsure whether the wrestling had been wise, and stoically mounted my horse once more. I wondered whether my look of supreme confidence fooled anybody. Our guide was obviously fooled as he took me for a canter as we neared the end of the journey. He tried to teach me to grip with my thighs and half stand in the saddle like the locals did. I tried, but not having spent a lifetime in the saddle it lasted for only a few minutes before my protesting muscles won the argument. We eventually slowed down and came to our waiting vehicle. It was a day-and-half drive back to Moron airport, but I was, by now, looking forward to getting off my horse and relaxing in a seat. Without me on its back my horse quickly distanced itself from me to avoid the shame being associated with a mere novice. In fact novice was probably too advanced a definition for the horse's liking.
So the ride finally had come to an end. Despite the aches and pains and moments of terror, it was a great journey! Where else could I have gained such varied experience of riding in such a short period of time? The goal of reaching the reindeers had been attained, but it was the journey that stuck in my mind. With no previous experience, my wife and I had ridden over 100km. Each evening we had sat around a fire waiting for the night's chill as the sun slowly fell behind the mountains, which engulfed us in their shadows and. We shared vodka and food with our guides and gazed up at the endless clear night sky. We rode in glorious sunshine over land seen by very few people, and we had plenty of laughs along the way. I even learned some Mongolian wrestling moves, so next time I won't be such a pushover. The memory of the aches and pains quickly fades when I remember those three days. In fact, what aches, pains and physiotherapy bills?