The city is blue, blue of the Brahmin caste we were told, but I can’t help wondering if there is another reason for its popular -nay ubiquitous-shade. I heard one rumour that it was due to the blue paint putting off the mosquitos. However, I am more inclined to believe it is to challenge the other brightly-coloured-city it is most often confused with (Jaipur, which is bright pink!) I leaned back on the bed and spied out of the window at the huge cliff-wall behind the hotel, and then up, up and eventually to the turrets of the Mehrangarh Fort high above.

It towered over the entire city of a million people, ever watching like a sleeping dragon turned to stone by some mighty magic, frozen with one eye open and brooding over its faded dominance.

The city’s name? Where else but Jodhpur: the blue city of India set amongst the stark landscape of the Thar Desert.

Actually, as nice as post cuddle snoozes are, I could have murdered a beer and so I dressed and headed out to sit with her. I found her sitting on the roof with the owner and a clearly English woman of about our age. They greeted me and I joined them. The owner waved me up a beer from a passing staff member and continued telling us about the city.

“The city is known as the “Sun City” because of the fine weather,” he said, “It was the capital of the Marwar Kingdom founded by Rao Jodha. The wall goes all the way around.”

I remembered our arrival a few hours before, Jodhpur is indeed a walled city with a tight maze of very narrow streets full of wandering cows and tiny stores of all descriptions.

Travelling through it in a tuk tuk, one cannot help but feel that westerners stand out a little too much amongst the backdrop of a city whose sheer cramped size and ancient structure is hugely resistant to modernisation. Not that this is stopping the tuk tuk driver attempting to break the speed of light.

I turned to Cesca, the wind buffeting her hair, “If we travel any faster, we will go back in time!”

She grinned a response.

Eventually we made it to the large haveli or converted palace that you will find all over Rajasthan. It had enormous doors in a giant wall upon which we knocked mightily and were greeted by a staff member who directed us to the young owner. He was the same man holding court with us now and part of the family that had converted the old edifice of residence into the magnificent guesthouse before us.

Suddenly I realised that the reason he was paying us all such attention was that he fancied the English girl speaking with Cesca. At least I hoped it was she and not my baby as this was a very high roof from which to be flung…

Anyway, we espied the city and he told us of the sights to be had in its investigation. He then offered us himself as a guide. We agreed and he took us through the streets and temples showing us the sights. It was all quite excellent really.

That night we stayed up quite late, eating the great food prepared at a moment’s notice by our host, and chatting to the English girl. She was a Doctor by trade, on her travels and heading further into Rajasthan until reaching the desert city of Jaisilmere. We very quickly hit it off and decided we should all go together. Indeed, like all the incredible people we met, it was my darling wife they immediately took too – she just has a very impressive skill of putting people at their ease, which is formed of her intense innocence and classy way.

The next day we walked up to the castle-like Mehrangarh Fort and took a long look around.

Like the palace in Udaipur this was very impressively preserved and indeed still in use by the ruling family. We enjoyed another exquisite audio tour and visits to armouries, ballrooms and private antechamber of the Princes found in this part of India.

It never failed to impress. Outside I filmed the city and animals living on the walls and Cesca, dressed in her traditional and bright orange Indian clothing (bought way back in Mumbai), made friends with locals who were soon chatting to her in excited and animated conversation.

Later we realised that we wanted to stay a few more days here and so we made to find a cash machine. This required a long walk through the city until coming across only two working international choices. The first was out of money, which worried us mightily. Rushing to the other, we found that it was not working properly and took 20 minutes to count our money, but it eventually spat out enough funds to cover our adventures for the next few days.

Now we could go shopping!

The Handicrafts industry has in recent years eclipsed all other industries in the city. By some estimates, the furniture export segment is a $200 million industry, directly or indirectly employing as many as 200,000 people. Other items manufactured include textiles, metal utensils, bicycles, ink and sporting goods. A flourishing cottage industry exists for the manufacture of such items as glass bangles, cutlery, carpets and marble products.

WIKIPEDIA

We asked around for where to buy fine silks in the city (something that it is famous for) and were directed to a slightly tattered looking shop with enormous piles of silks of every conceivable type. There we spent the best part of half a day ordering up bed coverings as presents for our families.

This was an experience that was at one moment highly pleasurable; full of “ohh’s and ahh’s as they laid out the wares for us and claimed everyone from London boutiques to Richard Gere himself bought from this store; and the next moment was sheer pain; as we were pressured to make decisions (something Cesca hates doing) and agree a price. Eventually we bargained down to a fair price, but as always you know that you are being fleeced somewhere and somehow. Still the silks are lovely.

“How can I decide which goes to which person?” Cesca asked me.

“You can’t really baby, people will always like a different one than the one you picked out for them. Just let them do the fighting.”

Therefore, I paid the (massive) bill and the company posted the entire lot home. I remember at the time wondering if it would actually arrive back in the UK, but it did and quickly.

Then we went tea hunting. Jodhpur is also justly famous for its spices and high quality teas. We had a fantastic couple of hours trying all sorts of brews and listening to the happy proprietor explain their many health benefits.

We bought some spices (which I only got half way through after a year) and teas (which Cesca has never opened!).

This bounty, plus a few other gifts we posted back to the UK through the torturous Indian postal system, which requires you to wrap all you items in cloth and seal them with wax. Or rather it requires someone to do this, just not you. No, in another gouge, you must have someone trained in the required technique do it or your package will go missing.

It’s not the cost that prickles, but the time wasted trying to find a suitable merchant to do this for you.

After another fun night talking to Wendy, we decided to move onto the next town together. We found a suitable bus and headed out into the long road into the desert and the sand mountain that is Jaislemere.

Regards,

Basho

I realised upon seeing the chaos on our streets that we were dealing with many different groups of people with different agendas. The following is my take on those who casually looted during the riots. Particularly these two idiots I heard on the radio:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-14458424

The mechanisms used by such people to loot during the recent sequence of UK riots are not well understood. Normal analysis of the behaviour of people has one enormous presumption: that the person was rational at the moment they made their choice to loot. But, to me, this doesn’t tally with their actions. I say they were irrational choices, but they must have had some mechanisms to assist them in making their decisions and in later justifying them (so drunken and stupidly) on the radio.

The behaviour of those casually looting elicits a number of different reactions and comments from “normal” people. Most respond with a large slice of “they’re just wrong’ns” vindictive spleen. It is as if once someone has committed a crime they somehow stop being human altogether and are instantly transfigured into Martians. While I too have very little sympathy for the fate of people committing crimes like this, I do feel it is very important to understand what was going on in their minds in order to be able to prevent such happenings from occurring again. This is not just important in terms of stopping future crimes, but also important in terms of preventing ill thought out, knee-jerk reactions such as, for example, blaming social media.

In general, there are two worlds of behaviour:

The first is the “Social” world and this is the world of our friends and families. It is also a world in which money is very rarely mentioned. After all I don’t ask my friends to “pay” money for favours and I only hazily keep track of the balance of such favours between us. In this world I often work quite hard (as there is little I would not do for a friend) and the work is in my own time and at my own expense. This is a common enough concept that I am sure you recognise it.

In contrast to this friendly world, there is another. When payment is involved it puts us firmly in the “money” world that has different rules. There my time is valued according to my sense of self-worth and career. There I don’t do favours or work late and demand a significant reward for my time. For example I would always offer to buy my mate a pint at the bar and forget the cost, but I would immediately query the barkeep if he screwed up the bill.

This is also why your boss refers to the company team as a “family”. He wants you to work as if you are in the “social” world because you will work harder, longer and for less. However, he also clearly only wants to pay you from the “money” world. As the saying goes, “management is getting the maximum milk for the minimum amount of moo”.

Anyway, put simply, the looters are making their decisions in the money world. For example while most people wouldn’t steal directly from a friend or even a stranger (a social world rule), a faceless high street company is considered fair game. These corporations may be legally “people”, but in the terms of the looting, they have no human “face”.

The following mechanisms represent a slippery slope from simple looting to the sorts of muggings we (tragically) saw on the news. As social norms are eroded by the continual bad decision-making, eventually all sense of right and wrong (as dictated by society) is gone.

The first mechanism is to do with the price the people pay for the things they buy. Normally, buying things in London shops are relatively expensive. The cost of something, a Sony PlayStation for example, is a known thing. However, during the riot, the potential becomes for that price to fall to zero. “Zero” isn’t actually a price. “Zero” is in a whole world of its own. Temptation increases to the point where some people will loot PlayStations and justify it because it’s a faceless crime with no “real” victim. Indeed the looter thinks in terms of being the victim. In other words the price “zero” is the bridge between the “money” and “social” worlds, and is so alluring that even normal people will act against perceived social norms in its presence.

Why is this? Because of the second mechanism:

The second mechanism is to do with herding. When deciding what to do, the sensible thing is to balance the risk and the reward. The risk is arrest and imprisonment, the reward is the ability to have “something for nothing”. However, this is not actually the way we make decisions at all. It is quite hard to stop and make decisions based on sensible logical calculations, instead we simply base our decision on two things:

1. What we see others doing.

If we see others doing the thing we are considering, and crucially having a positive experience (in a crime example: such as they get away with it). Then we will be far more likely to take that choice ourselves. If we come across a $10 note, would we hand it into the police? Yes, perhaps. But, if we came across a millions pounds in the street, and hundreds of people were taking them as they blew away in the wind, would we be so inclined to hand the note it? Possibly not.

2. What we have previously done.

Once a choice has been made for the first time, and if the experience was positive, then we are very likely to take that choice a second time even, and this is the important part, if others are no longer doing it. We effectively use our memory of the prior event as the quick and easy shortcut to the future decision.

So, in a non-criminal example, if we see others buying coffee at Starbucks and enjoying it and we have bought coffee from there before and enjoyed it, then we are much more likely to repeat the experience. Now imagine that there was a sign saying “free coffee today!” outside and that temptation would be massive.

This is one of the reasons that crowds behave the way they do during a riot. They are full of people making all sorts of short-term decisions using the above mechanisms while all the time they are in a terrible place to make “right” choices. This is why people claim in court that they “went too far” or had a moment of “insanity”. In fact, they have behaved in a (unfortunately) automatic manner.

To combat this it is the behavioural conditioning of childhood, which is supposed to contain examples of the benefits of making socially accepted decisions. A person with these memories will have plenty of experience of the positive outcome being when they did not steal.
Finally, there is the related matter of those we look up to. If a person looks up to a particular person or group, then they are likely to act in accordance with how they (think) that group would act. This is doubly strong if it this is the person from the examples above.

So what does this tell us? Firstly that the people looting and fighting against the police are letting off rage against the (perceived) negative influence of the law on their decisions. The law, enforced by the police, is uncaring to their lack of satisfaction with their lives and struggles, and has no cares at all that they don’t have a footballer’s salary or a banker’s bonus. This uncaring has probably been there from all sorts of perceived authority figures all their lives; parents who say one thing and do another, brothers that steal, teachers who cower and a society seemingly having it all. After all this person has little and so all that stuff in the shops must be being enjoyed by others, right?

The second thing it tells us, is that many of these people have very little in their lives in the form of memories of people doing the “right” thing. Nothing that can be used to balance their decisions the way that society wants. This is usually a part of that person’s “tragic” story of drug abuse, parental violence, etc.

Thirdly, the looters are very aware of what others are doing in similar situations to they. This is the root of the whole “BBM” and “Facebook” social messaging issue. The net, the phone and their friends are all communicating a positive reinforcement of the looting action. As is the press in highlighting it on the news.

It seems clear to me that the government is missing a trick with threatening to shut such services down. A messaging system that works for one will also work for another and the police and government should be sending out the message over these mediums, not turning them off. The message should be a reinforcement of the negative outcomes that await looting and the positive outcomes that comes from being “good”.

So, to stop these sorts of crimes, these looters need to live lives full of positive reinforcement of “good” choices and negative reinforcement of “bad” choices.

Whose job is that?

This isn’t just the job of parents, but also of police, government and indeed the entire society as a whole. This is the larger and more difficult issue to deal with. Since their “wretched” lives don’t “naturally” contain these memory forming influences then society could “gift” them by opening lots of social programs in these areas. These can create these positive messages at all levels.

This of course requires us to care about these people and about society in general. Since most of us are not these people, why should we care?

That this is even a question highlights those greater problems that exist in our society. The job of fixing that is the governments. The government is a massive influence in all our lives whether we want it or not, but the social contract is two-way. On a grander stage, our treatment of other countries and even our way of making war should reflect our values we want our people to have, but all too often it is itself a “grab and loot” on a larger scale and therefore a message that reinforces the wrong decision in the mind of our potential looter. Unfortunately, our society rewards aggressive, self-serving and violent behaviour only as long as it is done by companies and in boardrooms. Alternatively, as long as it is performed by “famous” people (who are of course then role models for the negative reinforcement).

Nevertheless, these are larger aims, designed to change society slowly and will take a long time to implement. What can we do right now?

Ethical Training.

Yes, right now every single person convicted of looting, rioting and violence on our streets should (after their term in prison) be sent for training in what would basically amount to “how to make good decisions”. I have often remarked that the first step in avoiding a trap is knowing of its existence. To that end, training people to recognise the situation they were in and how to avoid making the wrong decisions (i.e. they committed the crime and got arrested) will be the most effective way of giving them the memories needed to react correctly when facing the same decisions in the future. This is generally known as rehabilitation.

For some this probably sounds too “liberal” and even that I am suggesting that society should “go easy” on crime, but on the contrary: the complete pillaring of the looters is a vital mechanism in changing behaviour. Indeed these measures will only work if the negative “down side” punishment is harsh enough to enable the lesson.

Only by understanding a thing can we stop a thing. Ignoring the fact that the usual incentive (prison) is not working and blaming the communication technology is worthless in the extreme. If we understand how someone makes the “wrong” decisions and appreciate that the mechanism this person used is essentially the same as ours then we highlight what is missing. These looters can be understood and by this understanding can they and the next generation be prevented from making the same mistakes.

Regards,

Basho

If you have any comments on this article please keep in mind two things:

1. This blog is set to moderate comments. I wont post abusive commentary. I respect the opinions of others and I ask that you do the same.

2. Please leave comments that are a little more constructive than one line or one-word answers. If you want to debate this article, feel free, but keep in mind that this is not /b/ and childish bullshit simply won’t be published.

Staffed almost entirely by Ex-Royal Marine Commandos, Tier 1 Military Simulations has taken the mission to bring the fun back into milsim while keeping the “experience”. Their first 3-day event, “Operation Snakebite”, is coming in April, attendance at which my team mates have talked me into. I am not a natural milsim player, being more of an urban and CQB regular at such sites as The Mall in Reading and Longmoor Urban Training Complex, but recently I have been trying my hand at a little realism. Last year my team and I played as the “scripted enemy” in Operation Zulu by TA Events, which involved getting “very muddy” with the best of them and I enjoyed that immensely. So, when I found out that Tier 1 Military Simulations was putting on a “Training Day” at Elite Action Games in Dorking, I signed up as it offered me the chance to “ease into it”.

We arrived early on Saturday to meet with the Tier 1 crew; a four man team of instructors led by the smart looking and straight backed Stewart and his business partner Eddie. After dropping my bergen (holding all my camping gear and packed for the field with rations, a bivi and my roll mat) we were invited into a small hut. It was then that I realised that Tier 1 were not your normal airsoft instructors. In the hut were five tables all laid out with pencils, print outs and paper pads. As we sat down I also noticed that there was a large plasma flat screen to the front displaying what surely must be a PowerPoint screen. Stewart came in with the others and introduced themselves. In an airsoft world where many people have “served” in one form or another, but more importantly where there are a ton of fakers and exaggerators who claim undue respect through fictional exploits; 1000 yard stares and “issue” gear, these guys stood up and told us where they had served. The entire group had over 50 years’ service in the Royal Marine Commandos between them including decades as instructors. If there is such a thing as getting the “real deal” in airsoft, this is it.

Once the lesson started, and the PowerPoint started moving, I relaxed. Stewart was clearly a professional at teaching. I detected that this was no ego trip for these guys and they had the serious aim of teaching us real Marine tactics straight out of the manual. He had a well laid out day planned with short classroom sessions to discuss the tactics and answer any questions, split by practical tuition in the woods and finally culminating in performing the drills learned under fire at night in a test to see if we have picked any of it up. Despite being extremely tired from London commuting, I found it all clear and well presented.

The lesson started and I took notes. We learned that Operation Snakebite would be “Patrol Warfare” with orders given to platoons to patrol between GPS coordinates with certain orders when contacting the enemy (who have been given orders to patrol a dissecting path) and it would be in this way that they would introduce some form of control to the event that will be otherwise unscripted. But first, we needed to learn what different types of patrol there were.

Soon we were out in the field putting the lessons to good use in three groups. Our first jaunt was patrolling with Bergans in a line formation with the Team Leader at the front. We practiced halting and finding cover, crossing obstacles, how to reccy a village and the use of silent signals to communicate. All led by our short and stoic instructor who very quickly corrected mistakes and offered advice. I asked him what he had done in the Commando’s. He replied that had been a sniper mainly and had never played airsoft or even been shot by an AEG. We immediately offered to rectify that, but he declined with a smile, reminding us that the night event will include “live” fire. I could immediately tell that this night event was going to involved my being shot at by an ex-Commando sniper!

At the end of this patrol we met up with the others and were taught how to lay up a harbour. Harbours are how Commandos form a defensive position in the field. This can be for many reasons, but the most obvious is to be able to sleep. We were shown how to peel into a triangle of one group per side with a command element in the middle with support weapons at the points. Then how to recy the area in front and lay out sentries and communication string. This was particularly interesting stuff as I have never heard of harbours before and it was all explained expertly and made perfect sense.

After a late-lunch of hotdogs we went into a lesson of laying up an Observation Post, something the instructors were all experts in. After taking copious notes we were invited outside to see one for real. Stewart gave us a 30 meter area of trees and asked us to spot the OP. I must admit that I couldn’t see any possibility that people were hiding in that area but, after being led around the rear of the copse, I saw that the other three ex-Commandos were layed up in a smart OP mere yards from where my feet had been. It had a guarded entrance, sleeping/cooking area and front Observation Post all draped in cammo netting. Very impressive and something I would need to know when on ops.

After this we went for a lesson in defensive contact drills. This was more familiar territory, but I still learned a lot of new things. We were taught how to form a tunnel formation on a “contact front” and then peel back while firing, how to form a “gatepost” leading to a “baseline” formation and then retreat by sections. How to manage a man down while providing fire support to the men dragging the casualty from the field. This was all practical and useful stuff that enabled my small team to learn to work together and put down impressive levels of fire onto the enemy.

As the sun dipped down and the night fell the already cold day became freezing and the test was upon us. We had to patrol in the pitch-black night through the wood, following chemical lights tied to trees at 50 meter intervals. We were going to come under fire along the way and we had to react with the drills we had just learned, all under the watchful eye of Stewart who was wearing high end night optics. I wish I had been, as in my mesh mask I couldn’t see hardly a thing. I could just make out the man in front and would be performing the drills basically with my eyes closed. As we picked our way through the wood we suddenly had fire from the left.

“Contact left!” Screamed Trip.

I spun left and went down on one knee and started laying down aggressive and large amounts of fire towards the sound of an AEG firing at me. I had loaded my P-Mags as “Real Caps” and so I was soon performing a mag change (many long hours of practicing in front of the Magpul DVDs paying off).

“Peel right!” Shouted Trip.

It was then it all went to pieces. After a minute of everyone running in different directions, shooting each other and bumping into trees, Stewart called a halt and brought us in. He then took us through the contact and our reaction. It was very impressive, even with the NVG, that he had a total grasp of what happened. He gently led us through it and promised that the other teams had also messed up the first one; we would get better he told us. It was a bit embarrassing for us and Trip in particular took it all to heart as we were a team of very experienced players and used to being together. Only two months ago we executed a perfect peel drill to an aggressive contact when playing at Stirling Airsoft. That had left jaws on the floor, but that had been during the day; this was at night. I was suddenly reminded that Operation Snakebite was to be a three-day event and night ops was to be expected.

We were determined to get better and I am glad to say that we did. Of course the chaos of the contacts, which came from all directions along our route, lent a realistic element to the training that practice can never give. I ran out of ammo and had to transition mid fight, Trip ran into a load of wire hanging from a tree and had to cut himself free (winning our argument about knives in milsim in the process), guns went down, men tripped up. It was marvellous chaos and pressure like all good training should be. By the end we were doing it very well and Stewart announced that our last contact was “75 to 80%” of perfect. That was good enough for me.

After the event we dropped off our gear, ready to camp overnight, and went to the pub with the Instructors. They were very interesting and good company as we drank like only airsofters and Commandos know how.

I asked our team what they thought of the event. Trip has been in airsoft as long as I and is leading the DA Team’s transition to playing more milsim. He and Keith (who has passed Stirling Selection) loved it and are looking forwards to our special role in the event.

“How about you Simon?” I asked our other team member, a stocky Ex-Paratrooper.

“How many jumps did you do?” Asked Trip.

“Oh more than I can count mate,” he answered smoothly, “I used to be 6ft 6!”

I laughed so much I spat out my beer on the table.

“I think its excellent training,” he said, “these guys really know how to teach this stuff.”

I had to agree, Tier 1 don’t teach watered down airsoft versions of real tactics, it is all the real deal. The philosophy is that if we learn the real Commando way of doing things then we will naturally perform better under fire in airsoft. It’s a great idea. Most teams are little more than a barbarian horde in combat or, like myself, unused to woodland. This training has enabled me to react like an element in a larger team. As far as I am concerned the argument about the value of training is dead; if the training is of the quality of that provided by Tier 1 it is worth every penny paid and every effort put in.

Regards,

Basho

Basho and the DAs went to the Tier 1 Military Simulations Woodland Training day at Elite Action Games in Dorking. They paid £50 for a full day of training with food and drink provided as well as overnight camping at the event. This was training given in advance of Tier 1 Military Simulations’ first game coming in April.

Basho (the author) has been playing airsoft for 10 years. He is a committee member of Team Delta Alpha (the DAs) and was the senior marshal at their (now closed) home site of Electrowerkz in London. Basho in no way affiliated with Tier 1 Military Simulations, but Trip is as an airsoft consultant.

I’m an avid reader of New Scientist magazine. In fact I get it every week. The headline will usually be about something “quantum” or allude to some current or near “breakthrough”. Of course real breakthroughs are hardly on a weekly schedule. I know this, but still I buy into it. It is a classic marketing technique that tempts impulse buying. New Scientist covers about Quantum are the geek equivalent of putting Princes Diana or perhaps Jordan on the cover of a ladies magazine or putting Bruce Lee on the cover of a martial arts magazine. In each case the marketers know what make people pick up the edition, what buttons to push.

It is this technique that got me to buy this book.

A few weeks ago my wife started a Skype chat to me at work. Normally this signifies that I need to pick something up on the way home or that I forgot to turn the iron off, or similar. However, this time she was definitely excited about something,

“Stephen Hawking was just on Radio 4 and said that Philosophy was dead!” she announced.

“As an ironic statement?” I typed back.

“No, he means it”

This I had to hear. Sure enough the Cambridge Physicist had a new book out. I picked it up at the train station and thumbed through it. On page one he announces “Philosophy is dead”. Like the banner of a New Scientist magazine, I found myself wanting to buy it just to read why. To be able to feel the argument’s weight, to be able to rebut it, because, frankly, he had really pissed me off. Cash was exchanged for book and I walked to the train with it in my bag, most of my arguments already forming in my head. Then something struck me:

I had fallen for it.

I had, as John C Dvorak would say, “Drunk the Kool-Aid.”

I was now even more miffed. Without even opening the book I suddenly knew how this would go and, I’m sorry to say, I was proved right. This isn’t a book about M-Theory. This isn’t a book inviting debate or interested in discussing the issues. This isn’t even a book for anyone who has access to Wikipedia. This is a book making a statement. Not, as the first page claims, that Philosophy is dead – I will deal with that in a minute – no, this is a book that is trying to setup a different type of mythology.

The mythology of the Physicist.

In this book Physicists are accorded a very special significance, a higher order than mere mortals. We are told again and again that their works are special, unique and different. That they stand apart.

All that is rubbish.

You see, it is a commonly held belief that in the past it was possible to be a specialist in multiple disciplines at the same time. Indeed some of the greats from the enlightenment were what we called then a “Polymath (these days we say “Genius”). Such giants as Goethe, Leibnitz and Hook. These men’s understandings, works and contributions to humanity are almost immeasurable and the fruits of it surround us every single day. However, since then science has been branching further and further into divisions and specialism’s and it is considered impossible for another Leibnitz to exist without him having to focus on one subject or become a businessman. This has led to a lot of scientists jostling for “rank” and “order”.

XKCD satirised this internecine strife perfectly in this cartoon:

The “purest science” award is generally granted to the Mathematicians; creators and guardians of the official language of science and pure in their abstract prowess to describe things in forms of numbers. But there is another group, self-aligned with the math geeks, who apply that language to something in particular; the Universe. These are the Physicists. The self proclaimed wizards of science, they formulate theories that attempt to probe the deepest corners of space and time. Even to the point of realising that space and time are actually spacetime. They exist in a constant battle against each other. The battle of modelling. Since there is hardly any evidence for much of theoretical Physics, these Physicists aim to create models that are “elegant” in their mathematical construction. A poem of maths, which they say points to the truth. They even get a feeling of “just knowing” that the theory is solid due to the ability to simplify the maths down to as small an equation as possible. These mini equations are their haiku’s; piquant attempts to explain the almost ungraspable.

Works of art?

Such grand and lofty aims sometimes lead to a kind of arrogance, conceit and over bearing self confidence that many scientists can get in their work. Ego mania is a strange and afflicting problem in the community (I’m looking at you Dawkins!).

However, entrenched positions that take generations to dig out of are against the basic fundamental principles of science in the first place. Chief being the principle of falsifiability. That is the principle that any theory can be proven wrong.

My Christian friend once asked me what it would take to prove science “wrong”.

“If I held out this beer can and dropped it,” I answered, draining the drink from it. “And if as I let it go, it didn’t fall; it just sat there in the air. And you wrote it down and photographed it, and filmed it and told people, and every time I did it; it was the same result…”

“Right…” He ventured.

“Then, Well, then they would get out the Theory of Gravity and tear it in half.”

“They would do that?” He sounded sceptical.

“Yes. The most cherished, most important, most agreed upon theory. They would tear it in two and throw it away.”

He now looked sceptical as well.

“And I tell you what, they would be glad. They would be happy about you having proved them wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because science is not one man. Not one theory. It is linked together on one vital understanding.”

“What is that?”

“That a theory, any theory, even a theory that has become a law, is only right until it is proved wrong. Once it is proved wrong by demonstration, then it is thrown out!”

“Really?”

“It’s happened before, many times.”

“That must hurt”

“It must be a real bitch mate,” I said and I held out the can and dropped it. It clattered on the floor. I looked at him and smiled, “The Theory of gravity survives for another day…”

He chuckled and passed me another beer.

Professor Hawking has written this book to try and pass the “good news” of his latest thoughts regarding a type of String Theory. A theory he has, in fact, changed his mind about in the last 5 years or so. Early types of String theory have been around for even longer than that. String theory is an attempt to answer two conflicting truths and to unify them. What is called “Classical Physics and Quantum Mechanics” Or in laymen’s terms, the theories of Newton, which are about the everyday normal sized objects, and the theories of Quantum scientists such as Feynman, which are about the very smallest of objects. These two theories make predictions about the future (another vital ingredient) that are seemingly both born out by experiment. In other words, Newton is demonstrably correct regarding gravity and Fennyman is demonstrably correct about Quantum. However, they don’t agree.

How can they both be right?

The general approach to this is to say that they are both wrong in different ways and that a further “truth” is waiting us to work it out to account for them both. A grand theory that unifies all Physics together. This is because, strange as it might seem, Physics theories are a moving target. For example, when I was young, I was taught in school the classical model of physics. This is what most people think of when they think of atoms and such. That classic iconic image:

This is now considered wrong as it ignores much of the known universe – such a gravity of the very very small; quantum gravity. One of the theories trying to explain quantum gravity was Super String. You don’t need to understand it to realise that this will eventually be proved wrong too. But it is a better type of wrong than the first. Lots of people worked on the theory and came up with different flavours, variations and entrenched positions. Then, one man, almost for a joke, wrote a theory for a conference that suggested that the competing string theories should actually be seen as one theory from different angles. He called this M-Theory. The M standing for both nothing and everything that starts with an M, which if you think about it is a part of the joke. However, M-Theory was thought to have something and many people started working on this. It became fashionable rather than freaky and soon Super String was moving from the fringes of Physics to the mainstream. Now it is the official “best candidate” for the Grand Theory and thereby for reasoning (with justification) how the Universe started. A question that has always been levelled at scientific explanations for the creation of the Universe theories such as the Big Bang is basically “who lit the match?” Simply put, in M-Theory, the Universe started by itself and is one of multiple Universes, endlessly flowing like bubbles in a bottle of coke with a Mentos Mint thrown in.

There is only one problem with it. Well, there are buckets of problems including that it requires many more dimensions to exist that are observable. However, by any measure the largest problem is almost unassailable; that it is almost impossible to prove.

The other day a scientist on Radio 4 claimed that all discovery was over and science would shrink in importance. This is a predication people have been making for generations, and it fails to take into account discoveries that await while we apply science in new and exciting ways. For example, the European Fusion reactor is running at something like 60% efficiency. Once they get it to run at 99% then they predict that the issue will become one of engineering; that is improving the machine to squeeze out the extra juice needed. During such a process a startling discovery may be made that changes everything. it’s happened countless times before in almost every field, especially medicine – take smallpox, it wasn’t until we discovered that milk maids didn’t get it that vaccination was posited, and no one can say that hasn’t changed the world.

Physics may be heading for a period of reengineering, where theory is not being moved forwards, it is the physical application of that theory (the experiments and the products) that is going to have to catch up. What is impossible to prove now, may be discovered to not only be provable, but may prove wrong as well.

This is Hawking’s good news: he thinks M-theory is almost impossible to prove, not totally impossible to prove. Great to hear, after all: if they discover the Higgs all this may become more important than ever.

However, that aside, Hawking tries a number of unconvincing things in this book that ruined it all for me:

1. He tries to suggest that M-theory is the natural successor in the smooth progression from ancient to modern man. He takes history and draws a straight line through it claiming some sort of manifest destiny for M-theory. This is rubbish. Super String is and more importantly was waaaay-out-there as far as mainstream science goes.

2. His grasp of historical thought. The book is peppered with quotes from historical figures all taken light-years out of context.

3. He places Physics on a pedestal. A big pedestal. I understand that he is a physicist, but in the book he tries very hard to make them look special and cool. It is as bad as Sheldon in The Big Bang Theory and as arrogant.

4. He tries to establish Physics as separate from other sciences. As I said at the top, science does struggle with over-specialisations, but the borders between one discipline and another are not as solid as Hawking claims. They are often walls only of our making, and he knows this! Theoretical physicists are not a true breed apart no matter how much they only live through their blackboards. All science is a brotherhood and should be treated as such.

5. He has a few pops at Philosophers.

Taking that last point in detail. On page one he claims “Philosophy is dead”. This is possibly the most ironic statement I have ever heard since Jim Tyler stated to me that if he ran the country:

…all extremists would be taken out and shot.

You literally cannot form the sentence “Philosophy is dead” and have it be true. Such a statement is a philosophical position by default. It’s oxymoronic to claim that “Philosophy is dead” Given any reasonable definition of the terms he is talking nonsense.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop there. Later in the book he refers to Philosophy as though it was all made up. I personally think it is a bit rich for someone who is forwarding a theory that has no shred of evidence to point the finger at Philosophers. After all, Science and Philosophy were once the same subject called “Natural Philosophy”. That they have diverged is not the wish of the Philosophers! Anyway, the only true difference is the usage of Maths. Philosophers are sceptical of maths whereas physicists love it. His claim that Philosophers lack the maths to understand his answers is not telling anyone anything they didn’t already know. Philosophers don’t want to use the maths! That doesn’t stop them coming up with the same answers in their own language.

Many great Philosophers have postulated the multiple universes stated in M-Theory. Not to mention that over 2000 years ago Plato suggested that other dimensions may exist, Indian Yogi suggested alternate realities and Chinese sages wondered if they existed on another plain in a different form. M-Theory?… pah!

Secondly, in the modern world, Philosophy is more important than ever. The Prime Minister of England studied it, as did many MP’s. Books on it are everywhere. It pervades the fabric of humanity at every level, from talking to friends down the pub, to high end intellectual conferences. This is because Philosophy is the human inclination to turn a question on its head. Philosophy is less about having the answer to everything, rather it is about having a better understanding of the question.

Clearly, he is trying to be contentious to make the book sell in the US.

I am not sure who will enjoy this book. There is nothing in it that you cannot read for free on the web, and if you already know the “public understanding of science” version of M-Theory and Quantum then you won’t read anything new at all. In fact I found his description of the famous Double Slit experiment to be one of the worst I have ever encountered and it is one of the most amazing scientific discoveries of all time. I still use it to amaze bright children.

I really like Hawking. I love his TV shows and would count myself as a fan. But this book was too lite to be interesting, too confident to be correct and too ready to jump on the money-train driven by such people as Dawkins to garner respect from me.

I would advise you to skip drinking the “Kool-Aid” on this one:

5/10 & YMMV

It was when I was sitting in the steam room at Virgin Active with 20 sweaty men all dressed in the same set of bright beach shorts, and making jokes about their penises, that something struck me as odd,

“This has to be,” I announced into the cloud of steam, which was being jetted into the room at an alarming rate and temperature, “the most surreal Ground Zero Weekender I have ever been to.”

The member of team Delta Alpha to my right leant in and said,

“Do you feel better now, though?” He asked.

I considered the question.

The Ground Zero Weekender is a large airsoft event in the latter part of the year in the deepest parts of the New Forest. My team, Delta Alpha known as the “DAs”, had been attending it for 5 years or so and we had come to the conclusion that attendance was mandatory for a team member to retain his number and only top excuses were allowed. Such excuses as “my wife is in labour” (the baby kind – not the political affiliation) or “It’s Ramadan, and I can’t come,” are the level of acceptable. “I don’t feel like it” wasn’t good enough for the DA committee (of which I am happy to be a member). The thing is, as much as the event is a “must attend” (and I’ll give you an example: TA Events offered me a free ticket to their event the weekend after and the chance to be the official cameraman and I turned them down) it is not that we take the airsoft too seriously or even seriously at all.

The DAs are an odd bunch of airsofters with wide ranging experience. Some DAs still only play the urban based, Electrowerkz style, of CQB for which the team is justly infamous – although our home is now “The Mall” in Reading. Other DAs only play high end Stirling Airsoft 3 day Mill Sim events where being captured can actually lead to being REALLY water boarded. One thing we have all decided is that, as good a ground as GZ is, the sheer numbers of players means that serious airsoft is almost impossible. That is for us. I am sure that for other teams it is different. Some definitely take it too seriously, as we shall see.

No, for us GZ is all about the camping, hanging out with our friends and the “Posse” of London teams that attend. In fact, it is nice to be anonymous amongst the great crowd of players. We drove down on the Friday morning to find that some DAs had wormed special permission to arrive Thursday night and had setup “The Moonbase Alpha”. A giant collection of popup tents all linked together to create a space bigger than some airsoft grounds. It had rooms, chambers, cavernous corridors. It was complex, you could almost get lost in it.

“Wow!” I exclaimed to Charlie.

He laughed, “Next year we plan to have enough to create a complete loop with a space for the party in the middle.”

I don’t doubt it. All the DAs are working men and GZ is a chance to show off new kit. At GZ people bring out their new guns and those secret projects that they have been working on all year. At GZ, they try out new tactics and silly toys for the first time. Here people swap roles with our normally SAW pumping commanders taking a breather and all “going sniper” for a few days. In fact the command structure we work so hard on the rest of the year is totally dropped at GZ. It affects me too: I have found myself leading a group who want to go out and move about, whereas normally I am known as a bit of a lone wolf on the field.

So, Friday night we had the traditional DA party, and there is very little I can repeat here as my wife is reading this! Suffice to say, this was a “boys weekend” away (our wives are probably glad we can get it all out of our system). There were a few announcements: a new expectant father, someone was getting baptised soon, someone else was changing jobs – that sort of thing. Each was greeted with the normal DA rousing cheer and many a raised pint pot.

Saturday, we woke early and I broke out the coffee grinder and hob boiler to make some real coffee. Then we ate, tooled up and went into game.

Sure enough, the normal field commanders were having none of it on this event and so we wandered around until we got into contact. Not being natural woodland players, the DAs struggle a little to beat local players and after half a dozen lives lost we came back for lunch and then split into two teams, going at different paces, to suit taste.

It was about only 10 minutes into that when it all went horribly wrong.

The way I see it is that anyone who plays woodland must be prepared to take a few hits at once. Woodland is often at range and people are only shooting at what they can see. Bits of arms and legs; whatever is visible between the trees and bushes. When I get hit at GZ, I am almost always hit by multiple rounds and often clipped a few more times as I walk out of play. Shit happens as far as I am concerned. I don’t let it get to me, as I am sure it is not on purpose.

Some people see it differently.

My small unit, of 8 or so, were making their way through the bush when a target presented itself. We were spread out along a ridge, fighting up a steep hill. Vince and I saw the target and both fired a small burst. I heard a “hit”. The player then stood where they were. I could only see the legs of the player, but I quickly realised that it was an “Intel holder”. That is a player who has been given an Intel Card to present when shot as a capture objective. They have to stand where they are and wait capture, rescue or a timeout. Of all the players who are going to get shot too many times, this is that role as, by not moving away, other players will naturally consider you still alive.

One of the team (not Vince or I, but further down the ridge) took another shot.

Then all hell broke loose.

The Intel Holder turned out to be a feisty red headed girl from a well known team based on a British Island. And she was not happy. With a scream is rage she pulled up her gun and on full auto ran into the bush firing at us. My shout of, “Dead players don’t move or shoot!” was drowned out by a 6 gun barrage of returning fire from the DAs down the ridge – all of which had no idea that this was the Intel Holder. After a few seconds of Vince and I shouting to cease fire, they did. The damage had already been done. The Intel Holder was now livid and out of control. She was screaming at us that being shot was wrong and that she was angry about it. At first I wondered why her being angry was anything to do with us, I wondered if something else was going to be in her argument, but no that was it “I’m angry and so I am having a self serving fit” was all she wrote.

On the other hand, my team were of the opinion that, while we were very sorry about the overkill, it happens and could we all just calm down please.

After 3 minutes of this, I suggested that perhaps she should just forget it and return to her dead zone. I was going to continue to say that she could raise this with a marshal if she liked, and we could deal with it through him. The DAs have no issue with authority. Many of us used to marshal atElectrowerkz, a site that REALLY had a problem with overkill, and are quite used to talking it out rationally. I myself was a senior marshal there for 3 years.

I didn’t get to say anything after the words “you’re a dead player”.

With a scream the girl launched herself at me and started attempting to beat me up. I say attempting as I was in full body armour and helmet so I could not feel anything. I turned away and hunched my shoulder and made no attempt to defend myself. Suddenly two arms grabbed me from behind. Soon she was dragged off me and our friends separated us. At the time, I wondered why my team was holding me back as I was absolutely fine. She was still desperately trying to claw her way through her friends towards me. There was one of those large group tussles as all sorts of people on both sides tried to get between us. The volume increased as everyone started shouting at each other. Eventually the girl was restrained enough to be dragged away.

As quick as that it was over. The groups split up and went their own way. The DAs stopped and replayed the situation in our heads.

“What the fuck just happened?” I asked.

The general opinion was that she had gone mental and was a danger to players.

“Are you going to report this Bash?” I was asked.

I thought for a second. “I should. She might hurt someone, she was bloody mental.”

“Or she may start on someone else who might smack her head in next time,” offered a DA.

“We were all worried you would fight back and kick them all in. Especially the guy who shouted at you,” said another.

I get this all the time, once people find out about my black belt in taekwondo and European tournament win.

Sam patted me on the back, “We acted the right way brov’, don’t worry.”

Then suddenly something occurred to me; the head camera!

“I have the entire thing on tape!” I exclaimed.

The general feeling was that this was awesome news. About ten minutes later we all got shot and so walked out. I went up to the nearest marshal and spoke to him. It turned out that the other group had already made a complaint about me. We all agreed to go speak to the organisers regarding it.

Back at the command tent, the site owner “H” took me to one side.

“Tell what you say happened,” he said. I felt that he clearly suspected me in this. I told him, leaving nothing out, but he didn’t look particularly convinced.

“…and,” I said, “I probably have the entire thing recorded on head camera.”

“Right,” he said, “let’s see it.”

Soon we were viewing the footage. It was very high quality.

It showed everything. It showed the DAs calling for calm before the attack, DAs saying we will walk away (this is a team rule), basically: the DAs trying their best to do the right thing and clearly saying they were sorry for the overkill. It also showed that this simply made the girl more mental until she attacked me in a rage.

It was the most convincing piece of footage I had ever recorded; I was totally cleared by it.

“Right, she is in trouble!” H said in anger and stomped out of the room, presumably to deal with her.

I went to rejoin my fellows standing by the entrance to the safe zone. Soon Lex and Trip (the other team leaders) arrived and after we had watched the footage again, we went to talk to H about what he was going to do.

This conversation had four points of view:

1. H wanted me to decide what should happen.

2. Lex offered to arrest her if I said so (many DAs are policemen).

3. Trip wanted to have her ejected as well as the guy with her.

4. However, I thought that it’s not for me, a player, to enforce the rules of a site.

I am not taking responsibility for the appropriate punishment a player should get for assault. When I was a marshal, I took little notice of the victim’s wishes as violence has no place in the game AT ALL. If a victim said to “leave it”, then that was nice, but the marshals decide if someone is to be ejected. It is for the marshals to enforce this at GZ, not I!

Also, my religious beliefs are founded on being compassionate (seriously), so I decided to drop it and go and have a beer.

H offered that perhaps a hand shake would suffice. Frankly, I found that ridiculous. This wasn’t a punch up or half my fault, this was an unprovoked attack. You don’t ask someone who has been mugged to shake hands with the muggers do you? I told H that a handshake wouldn’t work for me and I would not want shake the hand of someone like that ever. Hate filled, self obsessed, stupid, psychotic people are not friends of mine.

So we walked away. As we do.

However, I did agree not to post the footage on the net, I said nothing about stills.

Back at the camp, we were having real troubles letting the event go. The entire DAs were up in arms about it and all sort of rubbish was being offered. Some were saying I should have hit her back, others that I should post the entire thing to the net, others still that I should insist she be ejected and her name blackened all around every site we know. Some just wanted to go and have it out with them now. Some even saw it my way (mainly the ex marshal crowd). After about an hour of discussing it I wanted a break. It was then that Vince had a brain wave:

“You know,” he said to the group, “I am a member of Virgin Active and this weekend all their branches are free to use.”

The team considered this in silence.

“That is bloody brilliant,” I said. “But we will need shorts right?”

“Let stop off at Tesco and buy some,” suggested Trip.

Suddenly we had something fun to do and a mission. Laughing, we jumped in our cars and went. It was great fun running around Tesco trying to find shorts and then zooming to the closest Virgin Active. Sure enough it was free, but the staff was shocked to have us all turn up at once. The place was basically empty and we swam, played volleyball in the pool, sauna and enjoyed the steam room. It was there that Vince said,

“Do you feel better now, though?” He asked.

“Oh yes. Thanks mate.”

And after that we forgot about it and after a very one sided vote we drove off to Nando’s for dinner.

The next day’s airsoft was fun and the chaotic kind we all know and love at GZ. I did see the girl again – so she hadn’t been banned – but we didn’t acknowledge each other.

On the way home I thought of the promise I had made about the footage. Sure, I agreed not to post the footage, it shows a crime after all, but I have kept it just in case I need to make a complaint to the police regarding this event in the future. I did however decide to do something in my film of the Weekender – a subtle revenge – you will have to watch it to find out what.

So, yes, it was a surreal airsofting event. I have never actually seen someone properly attack another at an airsoft event – not in three years of marshalling at EW or in 10 years of playing – and I hope to never see it again, let alone be the victim of that attack. Airsoft is thought to be violent, but it actually isn’t. From the outside, we may look like we are serious people, but in general we are not. Sure, I have had my anger flare up before, but I have always walked away. Any serious complaint I have taken to a marshal. I think that people who can’t walk, who are so up themselves that they must “have a go” or –worse still – actually attack someone, should never get to step foot on an airsoft field again. I would be interested to hear your viewpoint.

However, as usual, it was the brilliant group of team mates – my friends – who made the event for me. The Ground Zero Weekender and airsoft in general is about making new friends and not counting your kills.

Regards,

Basho

The film:

Vimeo HD version:

The DA Team – Ground Zero 2010 from Basho Matsuo on Vimeo.

You Tube version:

It is your brain.

And while we can explore the furthest reaches of light-enabled space, we cannot claim to have begun understanding this small lump of tissue we each possess. Our sciences regarding it are crude at best and mostly replying on mere observation. That sum of knowledge eventually comes down to this: which bits you should not poke. On the other hand, our mental science experts, doctors and scientists try to reduce the functions of the brain down to an increasingly morbid collection of faculties about which they then bicker and argue about endlessly.

And every single one of them has missed the point…

Like the people locked up in Plato’s cave they are looking at shadows on the wall, dancing in firelight, and totally missing the magic trick. I suggest ignoring the slight of hand, diving in and seeing if we can make head or tail of it on our own. So, let’s try this:

Hold up your hands so that your thumbs and forefingers are touching and then hold them out at arm’s length. What do you see? What have you formed?

A triangle.

But, is it actually there? Is it not defined by the gap between your hands? Isn’t it really formed of nothing. There isn’t really a triangle there; it is negative space.

Oh, there is a triangle you claim…

Ok, then pick it up…

You haven’t created a triangle. You have bound a negative space in a shape, which from your point of view is similar to, what they told you at school, is a triangle.

It is your brain saying that it is triangular. It doesn’t exist other than that.

Take your hands away. Where is the triangle now?

And yet, your hands still at the ends of your arms?

The difference between these two things is the mental back flip you will have to come to terms with in this article.

OK, another example for those with furrowed brows…

Imagine (or cut out) three blue squares all the same size. Put them on the table. These three objects conform to what, they told you at school, are squares.

They are square objects:

Now place them in the following order:

What shape is there in the middle?

You can say to me that it is a triangle. Right? You can work out its length, its height and its width. You can do all sorts of things with it. You can even say exactly how much weight it would support if it were in steel or in concrete.

You can also destroy it.

In the end, it was only conceptually real. It wasn’t really real. You can talk about it all you want, but it wasn’t really there.

You are applying form to it with your brain.

You do this to your notion of “self”. Your “self” is not really there. It is the gap in you made by the meeting of all the objects that make up you.

It is negative space.

Now that we have that cat in the chicken coup, let’s start:-

One of the most common mental illusions, one that almost everyone falls into, is the identification of the “self”. Most people identify perceived mental states (collected into what we call consciousness) as somehow comprising and illuminating this self. In other words, they believe that they are in control of the consciousness to such an extent that they identify totally with it.

Many people, if asked and pressed to identify the self and its consciousness, would say that the consciousness is something in the head, perhaps a few inches behind the eyes, or between the ears. They also think that they are in control of it like a captain in a ship or a driver in a car. The body is the car and the conscious mind is the driver who directs the car into action directly through the will. From this comes the idea that the self resides in the body and yet is separate from it in some manner that is unknown. After the body dies, it goes somewhere else.

Where? Who knows, but one thing is for sure: Dead people have no consciousness.

It is clear that all the stories, fables and myths of all the cultures are founded on this unmistakable observation and the formulation of potential answers. Usually very complicated ones involving magical kingdoms in the sky or underground. That makes sense. After all, the dead person’s consciousness, their self, sure isn’t around here anymore.

Science laughs at this. But science is wrong to do so. It all follows logically. In fact science is doing a pretty bad job of coming up with answers regarding the self and consciousness as well. For these people thinking about this problem is simply a matter of reductionist dogma. Entire tomes and uncounted reams of paper go into arguing whether mental states can be literally counted and consciousness explained in simple terms of reference, as if attaching a term to something somehow enables it to be real.

It just appears real. Or at least your “self” appears real. Some people believe that other people are mere ghosts or robots. This is a common form of fantasy entertainment.

All of these arguments start too far “up the tree” and not at the root of the situation. The truth is that consciousness identified as the self is not real. Consciousness is an illusion in exactly the same way that the triangle was.

But before going any further, I want to speak of this in simple terms with an example of oranges.

I like oranges.

Should someone throw me an orange then my hand will always rise to catch it. If I deconstruct the chain of events in this circumstance then I come to a startling observation; my (so called) conscious mind has little to do with my effort at all.

Most descriptions here would start with the orange being airborne, but let us move a little backwards than that.

Firstly, the person throwing the orange will usually warn me that an orange is “incoming”.

“Do you want an orange?” they will ask, often brandishing the orange aloft for me to view in their hand.

They do this to let me see it, and secondly to enable my brain to start calculating how the affirmative response may be achieved. My brain will have already worked out that the person is likely to throw the orange to me. It does this by instantly remembering everything I know about this person. If it is my brother, then oranges’ will soon be aloft. If it is my wife, well, she will always pass me an orange like a gentlewoman should. All of this memory stuff happens in an instant and then my brain really gets to work and all sorts of new things happen at once.

My brain works out if I am hungry and if I like oranges.

Many women would say that the male brain ends its decision processing at this point, but in reality that is a crude explanation for the richness of what my brain is doing.

It actually performs thousands of calculations in that split second. From how healthy does the orange look, to will I have to wash my hands after and where is the nearest sink? It also considers if you have washed your hands recently? As well as perhaps wondering why am I worrying about cleanliness so much these days? or will this orange be a really juicy one or like that last one I had, which had been sitting around for ages?

Where does the brain get all these questions from?

The brain is full of memory connections formed from the linking, copying and combination of concepts into memories. Some concepts are stronger than others and the links between them, forged into large enough conceptions, become what we call opinion. The most important aspect of memory is that it appears to us as history and is the way in which the brain perceives the passage of time.

Time, of course, is also an illusion but that is another article.

Suffice to say that an opinion is a collection of memory connections that has been formed via the perception of history. At a higher level the brain is collecting, mapping and storing memories all the time. Like a stream of information, data, is flowing through the eyes, down the ears and across the skin. This is the endless information of the senses. It flows into the brain in the form of electrical signals, or at least that’s how we can detect its flowing, and the brain sorts it all into different forms.

Out of this massive signal, the brain picks out how I feel about oranges (in particular this orange I see in front of me and in pedantry how I feel about you holding this orange that I see in front of me).

“Yes please!” I say in return.

The orange is hefted aloft and flies through the air towards me.

Now the brain is able to go into another mode. Out of all the data coming into it, it is able to single out the orange in flight. It calculates its trajectory in a microsecond. It then orders signals to be sent to various parts of the body. It does this by finely calculating which nerves to pulse and which to switch off. A fascinating and very complicated ballet unfolds as signals bounce around my muscles in my arm and other parts of my body like my shoulders, legs and hips. All of this is amazingly routed through memory again as I am able to avoid objects around me, recount the hundreds of thousands of things I have ever caught, the known weight ranges of oranges, the past grips that have worked well in orange catching situations and even the danger of catching the orange too tightly and thereby ending up covered in orange juice.

I catch the orange as though it was easy.

From the start of this orange flinging section maybe two seconds have passed and my brain is not even tired. But, something occurs to me:

In all the millions of calculations that the brain performed; in all the pulses, memories, actions, movements and expressions; I did not “will” any of it. I did not “think” any of it. My body acted on its own to catch the orange and indeed this does shock me, but come to think of it, my brain acted on its own as well.

I did not muse through my so called consciousness to make the decision to have the orange; I did not make a logical list and consider the points of orange eating. I certainly did not control my arms directly nor pump blood to my lungs to take a breath.

I, me, my “self”, was not involved at all. I did not even will the motion. Many people think that the body is awaiting the consciousness to say “go”. But, actually, all the options, all the thinking and all the doing was outside the will.

But not the effects.

I was aware of what was happening, but not in control. Not in control? But this is my body! My actions, my mind, my “self”, my will!

Well, was it?

Which part of your consciousness was involved?  None, the brain did it all on its own. And that got me thinking. I started thinking about the other things that this wonder flesh lump between my ears does without my say so.

Driving. Fighting. Shooting and running to name but a few.

When I drive, sure decisions are made, but does my consciousness make them?

No.

My mental perception of the orange event, especially the catching of the orange, was behind that of the brain’s. The sequence of events is difficult to unravel, but when it finally comes out the consciousness only knew after the fact.

The “I” knew last.

Why does my body move without my “self” saying? And I don’t mean in simple crude ways, I mean in all ways. Why does my consciousness get in the way when I am driving or fighting or shooting? Why, if I let the brain get on with it, do I perform better?

These are important questions because they outline the shape we are building with the blocks that the brain gives us. The shape of me. The sides of the “self”.

We know that our consciousness can be affected by many things. Poke us in the brain, punch us in the jaw and fill us full of beer (often this list operates in the opposite direction) and we notice an affect on the consciousness. Take LSD and we notice consciousness expand. Take a class in yoga and we notice it change shape.

Clearly it is controlled by the brain.

One of the highlights to these questions is the actions of memory. Memory is, as I said, the recording of history in the form of various types of neurokinetic links between bits of the brain. Like a mesh, all connected and yet separate. A matrix of the past. Why do we perceive one thing happens after another? Because the brain is recording it somewhere second by second. It happens so fast that we don’t even notice. Second by second the brain records, assimilates, turns back up the right way and presents.

But in which order? If I am not “thinking” of an action makes little difference to whether the brain does it or not. The brain manages to do everything automatically. I perceive that I am still breathing. Still on a train. Still waiting to get home.

Waiting is the answer. The brain is clearly aware of time, but the consciousness drifts. Why is this? The clue is in the nature of what Einstein called Spacetime. You see, time and space are not actually separate. They are one. They are indeed different ways of looking at the same thing. The brain is a real thing; it records the “passage of time” correctly. Can’t fool the brain. It knows when you are hungry, when you are tired. What of the consciousness? That can be fooled very easily. Simply make me bored and time drags on and on. Make me excited and time rushes passed like, well like a train.

Could it be because the brain is in the real world, and therefore effected by space time, whereas the consciousness is not and can therefore become detached from it? Nevertheless, my consciousness is directly affected by the operation of the brain and not able to act separately from it. The question is does it control the brain? As we have deduced it doesn’t. In fact, it happens to be at the end of the chain when it comes to even knowing about things.

But, you say, if I want to pick up a cup, I can do so by my will!

Really? We have shown that the brain operates separately from the consciousness. This we knew, what is new is the causal relation between them. The brain runs the conscious, not the other way around. The brain is paying attention to the world around it. You are the brain, the brain is you. The brain controls the picking up of cups and other objects. It is not too much to understand the brain as having much more influence on the decisions that you think. Your consciousness doesn’t try order the brain to pick up the cup, nothing orders the brain at all. The brain is the thinking organ. It hears, thinks, decides, controls and picks up the cup.

So what the hell is the consciousness?

I am not suggesting that there is nothing in control of your body’s actions, I am just saying that the brain is actually what does it, because you are the brain, you are your body. You are not separate. The consciousness is the memory of the brain’s actions.

The brain needs to be able to mesh together the data coming into it to be able to make decisions. It needs, what is in effect, a focused light of sensation. Now there are so many sensations coming into this part of the memory that the brain meshes only some together. The brain does this. This is like spotlight thrown onto a wall of shapes. The spotlight of the consciousness. The point at which the brain joins together the data-streams, so that it may use this data to function, is the consciousness.

The conscious is just a function of the brain when writing to memory. We have come to identify ourselves so much with these endless perceptions that we mistake it for the “I”, the soul, or the “self”.

There is no “I”.

There are millions of memories being written all the time, to use a metaphor: millions of perceptions being posted into boxes or millions of waves of data crashing together. The conscious is the foam on those waves. The clashing of signals.

And like the output of a TV, it projects a picture. Sure that picture is in full colour, full sound, full experience, but it isn’t in control. The TV does not feed back into the studio and change the program. It is just a projection.

This is what Plato was going on about. This is the truth behind David Hume. It is the point being grasped at by Bishop Berkley. The consciousness is not the real “I”. We draw the data together and believe that the mental mashup, the energy of the brain crashing sensations together, is somehow in control. Well, like in the TV metaphor, the brain is the real viewer. It is using the consciousness to make decisions, not the other way around.

That is why if you “think” too much you get in the way of being able to act. Because the brain is spending too much energy turning up the fidelity of the signal and not enough processing the effects. That is why you can narrow the focus of your mind. In actual fact the is brain narrowing its focus, your consciousness just experiences it. That is why you get drunk and forget. That is why LSD works. That is why you can experience the world as boring. That is why the so called “self” can be in a mood.

The brain is making the sides of the triangle and you are mistaking the sensation of consciousness for the “self”. But, like the triangle, take away the walls; take away the brains signals, and consciousness cannot form. That is why “you” die. That is why how you see yourself is different from how others see you.

That is why you dream. That is why you feel love. That is why you consider yourself alive and that is what we identify as living. Having a consciousness is an illusion of having a separate “self”. In actual fact the brain is the sum total of you. It is in control of your mind, not the other way around.

This is why sometimes answers, “Just come to you”. They are not coming out of thin air, the brain – you – has worked them out, but not shown the consciousness.

Enjoy it. Enjoy the knowledge that “you” are surfing on the shoulders of one of the galaxies’ true wonders. It will look after you, this little fleshy lump is you after all. You are it.

You are wonderful, little brain. I love experiencing your actions; I thank you for being me and for showing me myself. I promise to take care of us both and together we can go out and experience the entire universe.

So, having come to this conclusion, what does that mean for the science of the mind?

It makes no sense to talk about consciousness as separate from the brain. The conscious states are an output signal, the brain makes decisions based on them, but those decisions are all, entirely, what is called sub-conscious. The illusion of decision making by the conscious arises from the passage of time and historical memory. The brain makes all decisions and the consciousness is not involved. The brain does all the thinking, including the thinking about the brain thinking. It is more than capable of being self-referential.

So it makes no sense to talk about consciousness in any way that suggests control. Or of decision making and of it being the “self”, soul or “you”.

That is the worst type of illusion. The brain is in charge. The brain is capable of processing everything we ascribe to the consciousness, which only acts as an output signal matrix of sensations clashing together. Our over-identification with this sensation matrix as the self is holding science back.

Regards,

Basho.

We entered the country from the Laos border on a long bus journey to Siem Reap, home of Angkor Wat.  Looking at a map of the country you would be forgiven for thinking that the journey should be short and direct and therefore that our bus company’s determination to go via the capital of Phnom Penh, way down in the south, was merely a way of increasing their price.  However, this is not the case.  Travelling over the middle of Cambodia is nigh on impossible and all roads go via the capital.  This meant that our, perhaps, 10 hour bus journey was going to change into a bottom numbing 28 hours.

ahhh, Laos – already I miss it.

It all came about when our Laos travelling companions decided to fly out of Siem Reap.  They left the journey as late as possible so that they could make a final rush for the airport (they were flying to Australia) and sleep on the flight.  The last thing they thought we would do is join them.  Our sensible option would have been to enter Cambodia at a slower pace and then take a week or so to work our way around to Siem Reap, but we decided that we wanted to be at Angkor Wat for Christmas day and so the mission was on for us all.

The first challenge was the border crossing.  The southern Laos border has, until recently, been closed.  The latest Lonely Planet edition makes no mention of being able to get through at this point.  However, the enterprising Laotians have realised that opening the border here will exponentially increase the tourists coming down to the 4000 Islands region.  The effect is to turn this quiet backwater section of the Mekong, seen by only the completist, to a bustling Western haven for those crossing into Cambodia.

Bustling is good for money but what damage will it do to the area?

The private bus companies are all for this change and many deals have sprung up for easy transport to Cambodian cities.  We chose to take a bus at $20 a head.  It started with a boat ride out of the water locked islands followed by multiple small 12-seater transports to the border.  The border guards inspected our Laos Visa’s and entry cards and penalised all who had lost them (the vast majority of the Vang Vieng Crowd), then they pointed out down a simple road to Cambodia.  As Cesca and I walked I could not help but imagine snipers watching our every move, and so we danced across the line Morecambe and Wise style, just to show them.

On the other side we were ushered into a more transports and then onto a larger bus.  The usual frauds were in operation about changing currency, which involves a confidence trick in convincing you that any Laotian currency cannot be changed anywhere else on your trip.  This is, of course, rubbish and the rate being offered is very bad.  However, the rate all over Cambodia is bad and the best idea is to change all your Kip to US Dollars before entering Cambodia at all. The real journey then began in earnest.  The north east of Cambodia is perhaps the most un-touristed area, and for us it was passing by in flashes out the window.  Trekking is available here, but like in all of this war ravaged country, stepping off the path can be deadly.

We arrived that night in the darkness of the capital.  There are very few times that I allow a tout to select my hotel for me but this was one of them, as we had no idea where about we were.  The hotel was actually quite good and obviously had a large crowd of tourists staying.  We crashed out and awaited the next day.

The next day came with an unwelcome change of bus.  This new bus was stacked with wood.  That is to say, the entire inside of the bus, under every chair and in every nook and cranny, were large planks of wood that had been stacked and were taking up all the room.  For a tall man this made the journey even more distressing.  Now the bus plied its way up the western side of Cambodia towards our final destination.

All busses make stops, but the stop here was one I will not forget.

Spiderville is very well named.  The bus stopped and we all piled off to stretch our legs.  I was quite sleepy and did not take a clear look at the food items proffered by the lady tout sitting outside.  It was only when my mind grabbed my eyes and fixed them onto the thing crawling on the young lady’s arm that I realised she was selling deep-fried Tarantulas.

She saw my eyes widen, “You want spider?” She said while pulling the arachnid back into place as it tried to scamper up her top. She then pulled it off and offered it to me, legs a-wiggling.

“Err, no.  No thanks very much, I am fine,” I managed to say backing away slightly.

The girl was sitting down on a bucket, which I thought was only her chair.  It was not.  She took my hesitance to mean that I did not want this particular spider and so she stood up from the bucket and showed me her selection inside.  Twenty of the monsters were all tumbling over each other to be my deep fried food choice.

“Bwahhhh,” was an accurate translation of my reply and I quickly moved on.

The next girl was selling deep fried spiders too and had a pile of paprika coloured crawlers on a tray on her head.

After a few further spiders sellers I was able to purchase a Coke and make my way back onto the bus.

A few brave souls bought one to eat and a large offering was passed around the bus.  Lenin, our travelling companion, tried a leg but I passed it on,

“Sorry, I’m trying to cut down…”

The deep-fried spider is offered around.

The rest of the journey was quiet and we rolled into Siem Reap about 3pm.  The sun still beat down on our heads as we organised a tuk-tuk into the centre.  The city of Siem Reap is based around the river running through the middle.  The arc of the river forms a T-junction with the main roads leading off, heading towards the hospital and Angkor or following the flow towards the airport.  The town-planners know that the draw of Angkor is magnetic and so most of the roads into the city are lined with hotels built or being built.

We were planted in the main road and grabbed a cold coffee to cool down.  Our plan was to find a hotel and then organise our trips to the Wats, but this was not easily performed.  All the hotels in the centre of town were full and we had to settle for one 20 minutes walk from the night market.  We did get one piece of luck and organised our Angkor trip with the driver of our tuk-tuk.

The Wats are clustered around the big Angkor Wat, but a few are further out and even one is way off in the mountains.  The traditional 3-day tour is to visit most of these with one sunset and one early start for a sunrise.  We arranged a late start for the first day and an early start for the third.  Some drivers are very experienced and knowledgeable about the Wats and are more like fully-fledged guides.  Our driver was a young guy who could not offer these services, but was very sweet, so we hired him.  The price is entirely negotiable and we did our best, however, I do not think we got any sort of “good deal” and settled on $70 for the three days.

Our driver, just before I made him jump out of his skin.

We ate out that night after the short walk into town.  We ate at a local restaurant on the main road and enjoyed a classic selection of various local delicacies.  Eventually we asked what one strange dish was to be told by the owner that it was a rare type of local potato.  The description extended to a lot of gesticulation.

“How big is it?” asked Lenin.  He soon found out when the owner went and got one.  It was enormous.  Quite how anyone found out that it was edible I couldn’t imagine.

Our meal, very nice local fare.  The monster “potato thing” – “You eat it!?”

We met up with our guy in the morning and he drove us out to the first of the Wats. There are many ways of doing the tour so to hit as many Wats as possible, and our guide and Francesca had a long and heated debate about which order we should do them in.  After agreement, we drove up to the entrance and bought our three day tickets.

The magic of the temples of Angkor are almost beyond imagination.

I have met many people, in my travels, who have claimed to be “templed out” – tired of seeing one similar looking temple after another.  I always ask them if they have been to Angkor, as the quality of temples here truly eclipses anything else I have seen or heard about.  Angkor’s temples have been classically described as:

“…a rival to that of Solomon, and erected by some ancient Michelangelo …grander than anything left to us by Greece or Rome, and presents a sad contrast to the state of barbarism in which the nation is now plunged.”

Henri Mouhot

An Elephant guardian.

The rediscovery of the temples was thanks in most part to western explorers who found many of the number deep within the jungles of the 18th century.  Most had given themselves over to nature and took many years to be returned to glory, a task that is still ongoing.  One temple was left in its original condition and this wondrous structure has multiple trees growing out of the roof!

Overgrown with trees and half fallen down, some of the Wats are all the more wondrous for the damage

The basic Wat is a religious city-state, acting as both state temple and sometimes as capital to the kings who built them.  Thus, they are often of a very large size.  The central motif is usually the “temple mountain” and/or “galleried temple” which rises majestically above the city and represent Mount Meru of the Hindu architecture.  Materials used in construction are the main way of dating the structures and the early Wats are comprised of blocks of laterite, which is a deeply pitted red rock similar to breezeblocks.  Later Wats are sandstone and represent the peak of the kings powers.

The amazing carvings of the victory of Vishnu / a Devata – naked boob angels

At its height the Khmer empire ruled parts of what is now Thailand and Vietnam.  The Thai connection draws a lot of trouble as the Thai’s often claim to be the rightful inheritors of the wats, something that has caused conflict between Cambodia and Thailand’s armies in the past.  A recent Thai actress almost ruined her career by suggesting as such publically and was forced to formally retract the statement lest her comments led to war.

A detail description of all but a few of the wats is impossible here.  The sheer size of the history on display is enough to fill a thousand blog posts and this indeed is one of the wonders of the area.  One thing I can comment on is the history of their use.

Cambodia is a Buddhist country, one of the main Theravada Buddhism countries in the world.  However, the Angkor temples were all at first constructed as Hindu sites (mainly worshiping Vishnu) and later converted to Buddhism when the empire faded.  This means that the experience of walking around them is one of visiting an ancient and lost religion.  All the Hindu art on the walls, and there is much, comes across as dead.  This feeling was later thrown into sharp relief when visiting India, as there it is the other way around.  There the Hindu’s have supplanted the Buddhists and it is Hinduism that is practiced and vibrant.

One of the smaller sites / Nandi the Bull, Shiva’s mount – a sure sign that this is a Hindu temple

Mostly the walls depict religious teachings in the form of the Hindu epics.  Vishnu has come to Earth a number of times in the guise of “Avatars” and the stories of these visits are one of the main forms of Hindu knowledge.  Many walls tell the story of one such incarnation; Krishna, who fought in a large war and was a genius lover.  Others tell the Hindu creation of the world story, which has demons and gods pulling a large snake wrapped around a mountain and churning the “Sea of Milk” to create life.

One discouraging sight at the wats comes at you the minute you step from your tuk-tuk.  The child labour here is rampant.  At some of the wats the level of hassle almost ruined the experience.  At others you find small shrines together will a child minder, who wants a donation “for Buddha”.  Many of the children are selling items rather than simply begging, but still it is most upsetting.  We purchased a book detailing the temples from one kid only to find another selling it far cheaper only a few stops down.  I particularly disagree with begging, and at the price they wanted for their items, this is what they were doing.  There must be a factory churning out copies of books on Angkor and then selling them cheap to families that send out the kids to sell them.  This heart breaking aspect of Cambodia will be discussed in greater depth in another blog entry.

That night we met up with our friends for one last night on the tiles together.  We headed down to the Tourist Street and into the Angkor What? bar around 7pm.  We left it at 3am in the morning.  Our possessions were memories of dancing on tables, playing the “beer mat game” (a real meeting of two masters between Lenin and I) and T-Shirts gifted to those who manage to drink 3 buckets of whisky and coke.  We had four of these T-shirts between us and Lenin (almost) pulled.  As a last night out with our friends it was a great send off and I still today miss them (almost four months later.)

Cesca is the table elf / The crew discuss the next drink

The next night we bid farewell and Lenin and Bobbits headed out to the airport.  It being Christmas Eve, Cesca and I upgraded our room for Christmas and settled in for another day at the mother-wat, Angkor Wat sunrise on Christmas Day.

Up since 4am on Christmas day, Basho fights off the heat to record the “Xmas Message” video

More to come.

• The next entry is a special photo journey through the Wats and Angkor Wat.
• After that comes more about Siem Reap and then our journey to the south coast beaches for New Years!

Regards,

Basho

I have always loved mountains.  Either looking up to their framing of the valleys below or being able to stand on their summits and view the distant vistas they offer.  New Zealand has offered some of the most amazing mountains I have seen outside the ski fields of Europe and I share with you now some of those discoveries here.

North Island – Mount Tongariro

Mount Tongariro is actually an entire volcanic complex and World Heritage site.  It is located 10 miles southwest of Taupo, and comprised of three active volcanoes dominating the landscape of the central North Island.  We first saw the complex from the van on our arrival at lake Taupo.  Its snow caped peeks were visible in the far distance over the lake above the shoreline.  The park itself is roughly split into two parts.  The main mountain town of Whakapapa is half way into the mountains and the base of the ski fields that sit atop its leading road.  It has all levels of accommodation and comfort but we made tracks straight for the DOC campsite that sits between the road and a river.  The average DOC site is a simple affair, but this one was much more.  It had hot water – one of the few! – powered sites, a laundrette and a shop.  All unlikely findings in a DOC camp.  It also had one of the greatest views in the world. 

Or at least it should have…

The fog was in the day we arrived and not a mote let alone a mountain could be seen. 

“There is actually a mountain around here?” Cesca asked the DOC shopping assistant as he took our camp fee’s. 

He laughed, “Yes, usually, its the big one just behind this building.  You’ll see it tomorrow!”

We did see it the next day… through the incessantly strong rain. 

The DOC have a large information centre in the middle of Whakapapa that dispenses advice about the famous Tongariro Crossing.  This crossing is actually part of a much harder 5 day walk around the base of the entire mountain range.  It is famous for two reasons, firstly it is possible – and recommended – to do the crossing in one day, making the walk the most tramped in the country.  The other reason is that because of the numbers of walkers (sometimes 2000 a day) many people drastically underestimate the difficulty.  High alpine walking is always dangerous as the weather is very very changeable.  The DOC info-centre has a sign board keeping the scores; 5 rescues, 2 broken limbs and 1 death already this year.  Given the numbers that undertake the crossing this was not a high percentage, but it was perhaps the reason for the moodiness of the DOC official at the info desk.  I asked her the weather and she almost sighed,

“Have you got mountain gear, ice axes and crampons?” she asked.

“Erm, no”

“Then its not possible today”

“How about guided?” I asked.

“There will be no guides who can take you, the weather is too bad”

She gave me a stern look, but I merely shrugged.

“Never mind then, we will do another walk, perhaps the waterfall.”

I moved off to the side and the very next man in the line  – who had overheard all of this -  said,

“What is the weather like today?”

The lady sighed again… She probably answered this question many many times a day. 

So instead of the crossing, we walked the fantastic waterfall route through the base of the mountains.  This was a 3 hours walk around a loop of very varied landscapes and well worth the effort.  Across the remains of prior volcanic flows we walked, over fast running rivers, past amazing plants and wildlife.  As for the falls themselves; they were lovely.  High in the distance the mountain played hide and seek with us and our cameras.

The crossing remained impossible the next day and so gave up on it and moved on to the other side of the mountain and Ohakune; another small village at the base of a road leading up to a ski field.  There we undertook the 3 hour Waitonga Falls walk.  This was another notable walk that passed many different types of view and terrain.  After a climb it opened over a sunken lava flow, which had a long snaking walkboard placed up on it.  It was a very clear day and we had great view of the mountains to our left as we crossed.

At the end of that section we again entered a forest and walked down for about 30 minutes before the path came to a end at a fast running river.  This river was fed by the large and beautiful Waitonga Falls.  But from our vantage point we couldn’t really see it as it was obscured by trees.  Cesca then had a brainwave and finding some timber (presumably put there to be built into a continuing path) threw it across the waters.  I looked at it balancing on two rocks.  Han Solo’s words came back to me;

“I have a bad feeling about this!” 

Falling in would not mean drowning (probably) but would certainly screw my camera and mean a one and half hour walk back while wet.  I placed a foot on the board, drew a breath and ran across.  The board twisted with my weight and then slipped!

I just made it.  Looking at the boards new position – it had somehow not fallen in – I knew that it would be a big challenge to get back.

But the better view was definitely worth it with the sun in a perfect position to highlight the spray coming off the rocks.  We stayed for lunch whilst we looked at the possibility of getting back over the river.  In the end we just went for it and my left foot only got a little wet, which was very lucky!

South Island.

Mount John. 

South island is almost one giant mountain range.  Or at least that’s how it felt to me driving around it.  We drove up to Tekapo, which lives at the base of the mountain, through the wilderness of Burke Pass.  This leads up to a large beautiful lake surrounded on all sides by mountains and forests.  On one edge is the closest of these; Mount John.  Atop this stands the Earth & Sky Observatory, which is New Zealand’s largest and most impressive.  By this point in our journey we were joined by Francesca’s older sister Arabella and had picked up a small camper to squeeze ourselves into.  Arabella has more get up and go than perhaps her small size belies.  It was the work of a few moments for her to have found a bike hire shop and have hatched the plan of getting to the top of the mountain where there lay a nice cafe in the observatory.  The bike hire guy gave us an appraising look,

“Bike much?” he asked.

“Not many mountains in the UK, but I do bike around Epping forest.  I have a Marin and Cesca has a Specialized Rockhopper” I answered.

He nodded, “Cool, ok you can take these two for the ladies and you yourself can have my bike.”

He wheeled out a very nice bike and I eagerly jumped aboard.  Then he gave us some advice about tackling the mountain,

“Head out along the rivers edge,” he said pointing to my map, “then it gets a little steep.” He looked at me.  “Then it gets bloody steep and you’ll have to walk for a few hundred meters until you meet the main road heading up the mountain.  From there its a ride to the top.”

“Sweet!”

We started the journey as proscribed by zooming down through town and passed the campsite at the mountains base.  Thence we were into the track leading around the lake. 

The colour of the water amazing.  Still waters here all exhibit some levels of volcanic residue and this lends the most beautiful spectrum of colours and hues.  I had often thought that – in this photo shopped world – New Zealand could not be the colours the adverts portray, but I was wrong.  It is.  The greens of trees and fields are brighter than in the UK, the blues of waters and lakes are either crystal clear or a wonderful mixture of blue and cyan.  Mountains are many shades of white and silver.

We made our way up to the road.  This was as windy as hell and made the ride up to the top quite dangerous and almost impossible as the many winding turns all played close to a serious drop off.  However, once to the top we all found the challenge had been worth it.  The top of the mount breaks into a collection of domes that house the telescopes.  These were amongst a low set of buildings and, up a small wooden path, the cafe.  This was a fantastic place to have lunch and we tucked into our scroggin’, which was much deserved after all that exercise. We eventually ran out of scroggin’ and so went inside to have a coffee. Our server turned out to be a university student who was one of the guides for the nightly star gazing tour.  I love star gazing and the chance to gaze through telescopes of that magnitude was not to be missed.  We signed up to the 10pm tour.

Coming down from Mount John was a contrast to riding up and took mere minutes on the tarmac road all the way down. At one point I got up to 55Kph on my odometer – breaking the speed limit!  We then rode around the base via the road and back into town to hand the bikes back.

That night we met up with the bus in town that took us up to the observatory.  Lights are banned at night due to the work of the telescopes, which are looking for new planets around distant stars.  We were driven up the same dangerous road that we had biked that day in total darkness.  We all exchanged worried looks but our Japanese driver had the measure of the feat. Atop we had a fantastic glance through the lens towards such delights as the Tarantula Nebula and Jupiter (I could count the brown rings!).  For me – perhaps more than for the others – this was a magical visit.  After – I swapped news of the possible discovery of Dark Matter (which I had read in New Scientist that morning) with the staff.

Mount Cook

This tale of New Zealand mountains has saved the best till last.  Mount Cook is the highest mountain in the country and a famous sight with its curved peak.  Generations of Kiwis have visited the mountains base, which is all DOC controlled parks, and wondered how you could possibly climb such a large mountain?  One such brave soul was Sir Edmund Hillary who used the Cook as a practice for the big push up Everest.  It is set amongst other large mountains all carved by the many glaciers that have retreated up the valley.

Getting to the park is good looking enough as you have to drive along lake Pukaki.  This lake is stupendously large and leads into one of my favourite parts of New Zealand.  Its amazing colour being a natural part of its glacial beginnings.

As any self respecting fan of the Lord of the Rings movie will tell you; the film’s climatic battle between the forces of Humanity and the Orcs of Mordor happens outside the gates of the city of Gondor.  Here the wizard Gandalf leads the Gondorians to defend their white city against 50 thousand Orcs and worse that are hammering at the gates.  It is here that the people of Rohan ride their 8000 horses down the mountain side to lift the cities’ siege.  It is a great moment in the film and it was filmed in this valley:

The Pelennor Fields themselves!

Once up to the small town of Mount Cook Village we ran into a serious rain storm and so spent the day investigating the Sir Edmund Hillary museum, which is based in the local hotel.  It had a short movie playing tribute to the Everest climb as well as the actual snow vehicles he used to race across the south pole.  Surrounding all this were many books written about the great man and smaller exhibits of his equipment.  Also on site was a small 3D cinema, which showed an interesting film about the stars (that the girls fell asleep in!) and a really cool movie about climbing the mountains (which used 3D glasses).  All in all, the museum was worth the visit – especially on a wet day – and got us all fired up about the possibilities of visiting the mountain.

The DOC information site here was especially large and took bookings for the many backcountry huts one can visit in this area.  It surprises me that DOC are so happy for people to just go wandering off into serious mountain wilds, but I guess this is the Kiwi way of things.  If you get lost and die, well, you were at least warned and given all the information you could have needed.  Arabella loves information sites like this and we spent 30 minutes or so checking that the walk we had planned was the best possible use of our time.

Braving the rain again we hunkered down at the local DOC camp site – at the start of the walk – and awaited the morning with the hope of a clear view.  When I awoke I tore back the curtains to see that our wait had not been in vain:

The walk up to the best view of the mountain is 4 hours easy.  known as the hooker Valley walk it meanders up the side of a river, crossing it once, and passed all sorts of special geological features.  We packed up lots of water, food and scroggin’ and got going.  Amazingly we received a phone reception on the walk and so I was able to call my brother back in London and describe the view.  As if my words would be enough.  I have felt small against the backdrop of nature before, but the extreme wilderness of this walk was intimidating as much as it was heaven.

It was about an hour into the walk before the river turned to face Cook itself, lending us a photo opportunity not to be missed.

The mountain holds sway over all others in this range as if it is lord over them.  Its great height is almost all in the face and so it imposes just as much as Everest would do.  As we regarded it, its peak was constantly being hidden and revealed by fast moving clouds.  Surely at the top it must be intensely windy! 

Our final destination was the iceberg rich lake at the base of the retreating glacier.  This opened up the view and gave us breathtaking vistas of the clouds playing across Cook. It was almost impossible to take a bad photo and even the iPhone’s 2 megapixel camera managed this shot:

We sat there and ate our lunch while gazing at the mountain.  To our right some kids played a game of trying to hit the small floating icebergs with the shore stones.  Eventually we went up to the glacial edge by wading through a scrabble of stones and pebbles, the pile up of which is the slope wall of the lake.  I found there some fantastic flat pebbles and took the opportunity to demonstrate my life-long passion for skimming stones.

This was not my first time at seeing a glacier, after all I have skied on top of three or four in Europe – but it was my first time of seeing the end wall of one.  They are extremely dirty at the ends – the mud and rock being crushed by its slithering splays across its face like chocolate cake on the face of a small child – but you could still sense the strength that bends nature to its will and carves whole ranges in its passing.  After seeing it I was looking forwards to visiting Fox glacier (a coming post).

Finally, having eaten our fill and taken our time – we started back along the path, back towards the starting point of our day.  Many a rearwards glance to Cook and many stops to take reflection photos in the pools lining the river broke the journey. 

However, I arrived back at the van both tired and happy.

The next day was great sunny weather and we headed back along the road we had driven up and thence off into the East of New Zealand.  Leaving the mountain behind us we could see it for miles and miles such was the clarity of the weather. 

I think Cook was my favourite mountain visit and one of my highlights of the entire journey to this wonderfully wild and very big country.

Regards,

Basho.

The journey down took the best part of the day and it was getting dark and raining hard by the time we got to the road leading to the Kohu Kohu ferry.  As we drove down the access road I heard the sound I had been dreading; the sound of a flat tire.  We managed to limp onto the jetty and look at the time table.  A ferry was due in 5 minutes – no way to change the tire by then – and the last of the day was due 20 minutes later. 

The ferry did arrive and the crew offered their apologies but insisted that we must change the tire before boarding. I could hear a slight chuckle in their voices and they whistled and shook their heads.

Thus we had our challenge: could we change it before their return?

Bloody right we could! 

Putting on my rain coat I lay in the wet and loosed the spare tire, while Cesca found the jack and started on the nuts.  I had never changed a large vehicle’s tire before, but luckily for me the enormous 10-ton jack had diagrams explaining where to put everything and a helpful picture showing that dropping the van on my head was not a good idea.  Getting the nuts loosened took every ounce of my strength and pulled skin from my hands.  Then the jack went in.  The winding of the jack was geared so that maximum effort gave a smooth but deadly slow lift.  Cesca could see the ferry in the distance, making its way back.

“Go put a cup of tea on!” I gasped as rain seared down my face.

“What? You want tea now?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes please, and get a towel ready!” I called back.

I wound, and wound, and thought of all the Goju Karate lessons I could.  My heart pounded and my clothes were sodden with rain.  Eventually the flat-tire came off and the new wheel went on.  Damn my hands!  The cold was freezing my fingers making it harder to tighten the nuts that Cesca was passing me.  The ferry was almost back and I could hear the pounding of its engines clearly.  Rushing as fast as I could I rolled the flat tire around to the back and into the brace under the rear and then sped into the cab.  Coat off, face towelled, soaked trousers changed, tea in hand – all in under ten seconds.

The ferry arrived and we smoothly drove down onto the ramp.  The crewman from earlier came up to the window,

“Get it done then hey?” he asked smiling.

As nonchalantly as possible I looked up from my paper and across at him,

“Of course, old boy” I smiled and sipped my tea and then dunked a biscuit.  He smiled back through the rain and nodded – a small sign of respect.  Well, at least the English reputation around here was up a few notches!

The next day we stopped to get the tire repaired and made it to Hokianga.  The harbour itself is very very large and not at all like its name suggests.  This isn’t a Newcastle-like hive of activity.  This area of the the country is amazingly underdeveloped and graceful curve of the coast is nestled by age old Marui villages and few locals. The quiet drive to the mouth of the inlet was very peaceful.  The mouth is where all the action lies and is stunningly beautiful.

We stopped at the head of the harbour and marvelled at the meeting of the waters

It was a bright and clear day and the walk did us good.  Standing on this headland gave us a great impression of the scale of things here.  Many people rush the Northland, or even skip it – deciding instead to head straight down from Ackland.  Truly, these people have missed out.  As is usual at these times, Cesca and I continued our deeper discussions.  This was the beginning of a theme for us: “What sort of place do you want to live?”  This deceptively simple question brings up all sort of others and like all great questions requires a long time to decide. I suggested to Cesca that she try reading some Buddhism texts of mine.  Little did I know how she would take this advice to heart…

We ground away a hour on that subject while watching the sea grind away the sand dunes.  Then we headed into the forest.

This is called the Kauri coast for a very good reason, all along the 110km of exist a superb forest sanctuary.  The last remains of even larger ancient Northern forests and containing the largest of trees you will ever see; the mighty Karui themselves.  These mighty plants have been holding court here for over 2000 years and are increasingly rare.  Unsurprisingly, the remaining ones are very protected.  Tane Mahuta (God of the forest) was marked as a short walk from the road.  We parked up and made our way in, slightly sceptical that we would see it clearly amongst all the other trees in the canopy.  The path lead around and Cesca asked, which one was the God?  I professed a mocking laugh that the tree was hiding and then, as I turned, I saw it,

“Fucking hell!” I exclaimed.

At 51m tall and 13m round, Tane Mahuta is the largest damn tree I have ever seen.  It dwarfs the trees all around and they were not short.  A simply enormous trunk leads up to branches the size of lesser trees, like trees growing out of a mother-tree.  Everyone is awed by it and the conversation is muffled and quiet around its basin.  Majestic indeed. 

Cesca was glad to have a wide angle lens for this one!  We passed on still talking about the trees size. 

It was a few days until our 4th wedding anniversary and we had plans to spend it somewhere romantic.  So we pushed hard passed Auckland and around to the Coromandel.  I felt sorry to leave the Northland because, as a starting taste of New Zealand, it was a great deal of fun and not a little romantic already.

(Now passing you over to Francesca)

New Zealand’s Northland holds many gems for the wide-eyed traveller, but it is The Coromandel Peninsular that is held in particularly high regard by both Kiwis and tourists alike. Evidently this is due to the rugged wilderness and beach life-style, which suits us down-to-the-ground. So as we drove through the night to get here we realised this new place had much to live up to.

We spent five lovely days wandering around the wonderfully curvaceous but narrow coastal roads and inlets in our 2 berth abode. There are plenty of remote locations complete with DOC (Department of Conservation) campsites to explore, which we did despite not being allowed on unsealed roads. Our journey took us from Thames up the West coast to Colville, across the unsealed road to Waikawau Bay and then back down the East coast via Hahei, Hot Water Beach and Waihi to the Bay of Plenty.

Driving our 6.6m campervan over the mountainous pass between Colville and Waikawau Bay was unnerving to say the least due to the amalgamation of road quality, narrowness and steepness. However this was a highlight of our trip due to there feeling of isolation and remoteness. As rain beat down on us over night we lay awake wondering if we would make it out of this soggy DOC 250 pitch camping field. We inched off our pitch in the morning all the while expecting to get stuck and yet we made it.  Our new found happiness vanished around the first corner – as we attempted a manoeuvre around a vehicle on the track our back wheels span creating a fine spray of mud cascaded behind us. We were stuck! Embarrassingly we asked for help from the burly Maori owner who pulled us out in 5, with typical Kiwi ease. Relieved we returned over the mountain pass and gladly joined the sealed roads again! 

We travelled south to Hahei, our destination of choice for a spot of romance, to enjoy our wedding anniversary. It was a luxury to debunked from the campervan and check-in to ‘The Church’ accommodation. The private huts with en-suite bathrooms were delightful and a luxurious in comparison to foam mattresses on top of a campervan table! The huts were thoughtfully appointed although the shower was a little small for two and had no light! We were made very welcome by the delightful staff. Here we indulged ourselves with a candlelit dinner at ‘The Church Restaurant’ in the converted church building. The food was delicious and the local wine equally so.

Walking to Cathedral Cove on our anniversary there was a beautiful view across the blue ocean which buffeted against the surrounding islands with a white foam. My mind began to unwind just that little bit more. Cathedral Cove is fabulous. The clear sunlit water ebbs and flows under the arch with each wave smoothing the sand in its path. I enjoyed paddling my feet in the not so warm water and admiring the sculpture it had created. The small neighbouring beach has lovely clean sand and some amazing rock formations both on and off the beach. At the end there is a high waterfall that must be a delight in summer. Visiting this area is a must.

Close by is the wonder that is Hot Water Beach where really hot water bubbles up under the surface of the sand and you can challenge yourself with digging a pool. As we discovered this is quite a challenge in Spring as the tide keeps washing any semblance of a pool wall away. Amazing fun though.

Hot Water Beach with it’s bubbling sand and J trying to keep the perfect pool from the endless tide

I’m not really in favour of the whole Holiday Park experience myself, but it seems to be a necessary evil when campervaning around New Zealand. However, there is an exception at Waihi Beach Top 10 Holiday Park. there was all the standard facilities in pristine condition but the highlights were all the extras; including spa, pool, gym, waterslide, barbeque, sundeck with parasols and sun-loungers and beautiful gardens. We awoke there to glorious sunshine so I graced myself with a dip in the outdoor spa and enjoyed my usual 50 lengths in the pool. What a truly wonderful way to wake up.

Oh! comments about the new intro welcome!