Regular features from December 2005 120th Issue

My FBI profiler friend

This is the time of year when most people in the West start thinking about spending and how much liquid cash they will have, both for presents for their families, and for celebrations with their friends.

One of the great things about living in Hua Hin is that you can celebrate life every week and not need to depend on too much money for a good time with your friends or family.

Religious people celebrate Christmas for the birth of Christ and celebrate and spend on their families and friends.

It is generally not a time when people think about saving and investing but Hua Hin contains such a diverse mix of people that I am sure right now someone is considering how best to invest the capital from a property sale in their home country, how best to live here and leave their money secure in a first world currency or simply how to get a better return on their investments.

This year has been a great year for offshore equity investors who have had the correct advice.

For instance from January 1st up until mid November, Merrill Lynch Eastern European fund has returned +59.4%. Your money in a bank would take at least twelve years to grow to this amount.

If you are that no risk investor and leave everything in an offshore bank rather than a balanced portfolio then you can see over the last 11 months you have lost out badly to the more astute investor.

I would love to have had the training of an F.B.I. profiler. I would really like to know the profile of a person who leaves his savings to some bank (let's face it, not many people I know have had a great relationship with their banks during their working lives).

But now they are happy to let their bank feast on their lifetime earnings while they live on the interest pittance the bank gives them annually.

If you fit this profile, has it taken you a year or longer to finally purchase a house in Hua Hin at one-tenth the price of a house in your home country?

Have you studied the brochures on every car on the Thai market for a year and then bought a Honda Wish motorcycle?

Please don't get me wrong. I admire thrift in people but when people let the investment tail wag the lifestyle dog then I sometimes think that these people would be happier with a simple monthly pension and their life mapped out for them.

I have stated here before that this investor type should look at products that have the potential for high returns but is underwritten with a bank guarantee.

Then there is the person who takes advice, puts some money in speculative funds, the majority in balanced funds and a little in guaranteed funds.

They usually understand the concept that a well-balanced portfolio over time looks after itself. It will return a lifestyle appropriate to the individual needs of its owner. If he wants to go to the USA, Europe or Japan for a vacation or an emergency then there is no problem.

I think my FBI profiler would say this individual looked for a few weeks at different houses then bought the best he could afford (interesting that a year later while his bank friend is still thinking the property bought a year ago has increased in price by 60%}.

Then he decided to rent a car for 6 months before deciding that it was possible to drive in Hua Hin every day without damage to life and limb.

It has often been said that fear is a dominant emotion in many peoples life. My profiler tells me that people who let the banks control their lifestyle have a huge fear of loss.

If the banks fulfilled and put them in emotional balance then they go and do it. The problem is that they also have a fear of losing the gains their portfolio friends make. Then the hideous four horsemen-Terror, Bewilderment, Frustration and Despair come and haunt their lives with fear again.

Perhaps after all under the mattress is the best place for your wealth.

To be serious though, tailor your investments and savings to what best suits your mental makeup. If you are content to let the banks profit from your wealth then let them.

If on the other hand you want to take advantage of recovering equity markets then contact your broker. He may not be an FBI profiler but make sure he is a good Financial Profiler.

If you would like further information or clarification on any matter discussed, please contact jerry@swissinvestcenter.net

Mag's Page

Some years ago a good friend began referring to 25th December as ‘Thingymas'. The poor woman just couldn't bring herself to say the C word anymore, and now, faced with my first U.K. Thingymas in 7 years I can understand why.

Even those of us blessed with minimal shopping needs cannot escape the trauma and hype.

A few days before Halloween I spotted a large box of Thingymas Crackers in the staff room at work, and being in need of a tree small enough to share the top of the fridge with kettle, mugs, coffee and cookie tin, realised that immediate action was required. Wilkinsons seemed as good a place as any to start.

A while back this national chain tried to emulate its' big W brother by shortening its' name, but somehow Wilkos didn't have quite the same clout as Woolies. Nevertheless it still does pretty well, as I soon found out during the last half term school holiday before Thingymas.

Half term holidays should carry a Government Health Warning at the best of times, but especially the last one of the year. Every Mum in the land suddenly decides that it would be a jolly good idea to drag their unwilling offspring into town for a wild rampage through the High Street stores.

Once upon a time children were left in the care of Grandmas or Aunties while Mum went to do the Thingymas shopping, which was then smuggled home and hidden carefully away until The Day. The gifts then appeared magically overnight in stockings - or in pillowcases if your parents were rich enough to fill them.

Now of course Mums don't have a clue which edition of Gameboy to buy, or which mobile phone is the seasons' ‘must have' so technical guidance from the young recipients is clearly essential.

There is also the problem of Grandmas. Mine always seemed to be about 75 and was always conveniently at home baking or shelling peas. She dressed in an assortment of voluminous aprons, and sported the same complicated hair-do of plaits seemingly anchored to her head forever.

Grandmas rarely ventured further than the corner shop, or to the Co-op once a year to draw their ‘Divi' (a customer profit share scheme). Rare shopping trips into town required the best frock, a sensible hat and fox fur wrap, complete with its' head and beady glass eyes.

By contrast the modern Grandma is aged around 50 and far too busy juggling career with visits to Toni and Guy to get to grips with daytime childcare.

Earlier this year I told the tale of preparations for the annual summer holiday at our Care Home, and the eager anticipation and excitement of the residents. Thingymas is their other big event of the year, although they don't have much shopping to do, and the highlight is probably the roast turkey and sprouts.

The meaning of The Day may not always be too clear to them either, as I discovered on November 5th.

Only the Brits among you will instantly recognise the date as being Guy Fawkes, or Bonfire Night, when for some reason which has never really made sense, we celebrate the failure of Mr Fawkes to cremate the Government of the day way back in 1605.

Again it was something of a shock to discover that, while my back was turned, a new piece of legislation had crept in preventing the building of bonfires without the proper authority. Nevertheless 5/11 still rivals Chinese New Year, and shut safely indoors at work, with supplies of valium at the ready, I asked resident ‘S' why she thought we celebrated Bonfire Night.

After a few moments thought she said ‘Is it something to do with Jesus?'

As Trink would say, ‘Any comment would be superfluous'

May your turkey be hot, your Singha cold, your stockings full, and may you find nutcrackers in the Shopping Mall this year. Enjoy!

Praying for a cure

By Antonio Graceffo

When word got out that there was a monk blessed with the ability to heal, desperate patients came from all over Cambodia. We were still more than a kilometre away from Wat Serey Soupein, but already, we found ourselves driving through a crowded village, which hadn't existed just a few weeks earlier. The rainy season and the unaccustomed press of crowds had churned the dirty streets into mud, as hundreds of people busied themselves with the activities of daily life, buying and preparing food, caring for loved ones, and praying for a cure.

Around a bend, the road opened up onto a huge field where hundreds more milled about, talking, waiting, hoping. At the end of the field, beside the small temple, was a large, bamboo hut, with no walls. Here, the most gravely ill patients, lie waiting for the monk to cure them, knowing it was a race against time. Stepping into the hut, I saw rows of bodies laid out before me, like in a military field hospital. One man had an enlarged head, swollen to alarming proportions. He had some type of medical tube tapped to the top of his skull, inserted into his nose. With great effort, an old man, who looked barely alive, raised his head ever so slightly to see who I was. On another bed, a young woman, completely reduced to skin and bones, lay suffering at death's door.

The relentless Cambodian sun beat down on the temple grounds, making the heat intolerable. Of course, there was no air-conditioning for the patients.

One of the ambulatory patients, 23 year-old Samat, told me that he had come from Takeo Province, seeking treatment for stomach complaints. He had been in pain for two years, but the provincial doctor told him nothing could be done. He had heard about this place from people in his village who had been already been treated here.

“Some of them recovered.” said Samat, enthusiastically. Samat told me that he had met the monk already, and was a bit better than before. But now he was waiting for a second session with the monk. He had already been waiting two weeks. “Do you really believe the monk can help you?” I asked. “Yes, I believe.” He answered with gravity.

While my heart went out to the patients suffering, and most likely dying, on these simple bamboo beds, this whole situation raised a number of deeper social issues, namely the widespread poverty and a lack of education that was killing people in Cambodia.

“Wouldn't you be better off going to a big private hospital in Phnom Penh?” I asked Samat. “I would like to go there, but I have no money.”

Health related NGOs working in the provinces have said that rural Khmers will generally try to treat all of their illnesses through traditional means, reserving the modern hospital as a last resort. Medical Doctors have complained that by the time the patients arrive at the modern hospital, it is generally too late to save them.

One of my guides gave me an example of how the local people used the modern hospitals. He told me about a recent incident, where lightning had struck a herd of livestock. Several water buffalo were killed, and the shepherd boy was knocked unconscious. “The villagers believed he was dead, although it was probably some kind of coma or shock.” Explained my guide. “They killed a cat, and smeared the blood all over the injured boy. And this revived him. But, he still couldn't talk, so they took him to the hospital.”

Most of these people had never been to a modern hospital. The provincial “doctors” who told these people they were untreatable may not have been doctors at all. They may have been Kru Khmer, traditional folk healers, who rely on potions and the placebo effect of belief to cure their patients. Or, they may have been medical technicians, sent out to the province, trained only in vaccination, but who wind up serving as general practitioners in remote villages. They may have been “pharmacists” people who sell prescription drugs, over the counter, often with little or no knowledge of medicine. I have actually interviewed more than one drug seller who was illiterate, and had just learned to recognize various drugs by the shape and colour of the bottle.

In the provinces, many women rely on traditional midwives for all of their medical problems. Khmers often refer to these women as “lady-doctors” or “woman-doctors” when in actuality most have no medical training at all. A friend, whose sister is a “lady doctor” told me that among services she offered to her patients was “Make the virgin again.”

According to a recent report by a foreign, health related NGO, many of the fatal complications in childbirth stem from a lack of basic hygiene. The midwives don't know that it is important to wash their hands and keep the mother and birth area clean. According to the same report, the umbilical cord is often cut with bamboo.

When I asked Samat what the exact diagnosis was, he said “pain in my intestines.” This didn't sound particularly scientific, so I pressed again, for the name of the disease or aliment. He didn't know, and claimed that the doctor only told him that he had pain in his intestines.

A forty year-old woman, named Ruhuan, also complained about non-descript internal problems. She said that unlike most of the others, “I have even been to the doctor in Vietnam.” But they told her she was untreatable.

Khmers with money will often go to the big hospital in Ho Chi Min City when they need specialized medical advice. Once again, however, this woman didn't know what was wrong with her. The illness had no name, just “pain in here.” She said, pointing at her abdomen. When I pressed her further, it turned out that she hadn't been to Ho Chi Min. Instead, she had visited the same quality, provincial medical practitioner as all of the others, except that hers had been on the other side of the border. She claimed that after her first treatment by the monk, her troubles had decreased. And she was now waiting for the monk to see her again.

“Do you really believe this monk can cure you?” I asked her. “Oh, yes!” She assured me. “One lady was brought here by family. The doctor in her village had already said that she was dead. But the monk brought her back to life.”

Mum, 60 years old, told us that she was suffering from infection in her intestines, which had spread to her heart. She had seen the monk once, and was also waiting for her second session. She had already been in the makeshift camp for one month.

Most of the people had no idea what was wrong with them. And clearly, they hadn't been properly diagnosed or treated. I wondered how many could have been saved by a single western doctor and a truckload of drugs.

Although some of them seemed to believe in the monk's powers, without any question, one man may have spoken for many when he told me, sadly. “I can't afford to go to the hospital. So, I have no choice but to believe.”

I was very curious to meet the monk, and see what he had to say about all of this. Unfortunately, we were told that he had gone home for Pchum Benh. We did, however, meet an Ajan, a teacher of monks, named Chem Jan. He was 65 years old, and although still a layperson, was serving as chief of the religious community in the pagoda, as well as, working as an assistant to the monk. Chem Jan told us that the monk, whose name was Luke Mao, was only 31 years old. He had been born near the temple. Luke Mao had been identified as a healer before formally taking his vows, and becoming a monk. He only became an actual monk a few months ago, and because of Pchum Benh the Buddhist festival, the religious authorities had asked him to move into the pagoda. Normally, monks are expected to remain inside of the pagoda for the remainder of the festival.

His patients had followed him from his previous location, near the sacred caves at Pnom Kompong Trach. “More and more cars are coming.” Said Jan Chem, “So many people come for help.” According to Jan Chem 30-40 new people arrive each day.

I asked if Luke Mao was charging money for his services, but both Jan Chem and a number of sick people I interviewed assured me that Luke Mao was giving away traditional medicines for free. The people did have to buy their own food, however. According to Jan Chem, the number of patients now exceeded one thousand, and with most of them accompanied by their family, this makeshift village now had a population of two or three times that number. A large market had sprung up beside the pagoda to service them all. But waiting could be a costly business, particularly for the patients who said they had already been there for one month.

Basically, the pagoda itself had become a biohazard, waiting to erupt in epidemic. You had a high concentration of frightfully ill people, living on top of each other. To make matters worse, there seemed to be only two toilets at the pagoda. “We just go in the bushes.” One boy told me. There was no running water. Patients said they were drinking and washing with the ground water.

Jan Chem told me that they were trying to build more toilets. “Local authorities came to help.” He said.

Thinking like the former investment banker that I am, I tend to quantify things, dealing only with numbers and cold fact. Fact: you can't treat an illness if you don't know what that illness is. Fact: lots of sick people living together is a really bad idea. Fact: there was no proof that this monk had cured anyone. Fact: if basic education and medicine were available to these people, they wouldn't need faith healers. Being a New Yorker, I am also extremely judgmental. “These people must be desperate to believe in this fairytale.”

While we were interviewing Jan Chem, a crowd of patients had gathered around us. Suddenly, my translator, Thavrin, went white, and pointed behind me, as if he wanted me to see something.

I turned around, and saw a woman, holding an extremely underweight baby. He was all skin and bones, and malformed. He was crying, clearly disturbed, and in great pain. She told us that he was five years old, but he looked as if he were less than one year. His mother and grandmother stood sadly by, as they helplessly watched this tiny, innocent child who was irrevocably sentenced to death.

And here was the human element thrown up in my face. These weren't numbers, facts, or figures. These were people. This was a mother who loved her infant son. And this was a grandmother who wanted nothing more than to shower love and affection on a healthy young boy who could run and play with other children.

It wasn't the child's fault that he had been born in Cambodia, to parents who couldn't read and who couldn't afford to take him to a proper hospital in PhnomPenh or Ho Chi Min City. My experience with provincial people was that the family's entire savings, however small, had probably already been cleaned out by charlatans and witchdoctors who prey on the poor and the ignorant.

To the extent of their economic means and their limited knowledge, the parent had done everything they could to save the life of their son, the same as parents would have done in New York, Paris, or Toronto. Their resources were limited, but the depth of their emotion wasn't. When this little boy died, and he would surely die, they would feel the same pain and anguish as parents anywhere.

They say the hardest thing for a parent is burying a child. How much harder must it be then for a grandparent?

And what if you blamed yourself? What if you knew that there were modern medicines and doctors who could save your child, but you couldn't afford them? This mother and child were a portrait of the fourth world, the poverty afflicted residents of undeveloped countries, struggling to cope with a modern world, beyond their perception, beyond their ability to adapt. They would eventually be ground into dust, which would be used to make the foundations of a modern world.

But this mother didn't think that far ahead. She had no use for moralistic philosophy. She just wanted her baby to live.

Movie Review

Nostalgic fans of the original Star Wars may have been disappointed by prequel Episodes I and II, but most agreed that Revenge Of Sith was a crowning achievement in this new-fangled trilogy. After years of hype it took a blockbusting $380m in ticket sales, notching up around three-quarters of that in the first weekend. Without a doubt, that makes creator George Lucas a force to be reckoned with.

The final episode of the prequels completes the cycle begun in 1977. Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen) is reborn with the familiar face furniture and bondage leathers of Darth Vader, the Emperor (a splendid Ian McDiarmid) reveals his nefarious plot, and we discover the true origins of Leia, Luke, Yoda and a certain walking carpet.

Revenge Of The Sith strings a complex plot onto a framework of practically non-stop action. The first 20 minutes - a breathtaking rollercoaster of space battles, lightsabre duels, explosions and acrobatics - rivals anything we've seen in the series. There's an impressive new villain, the Dickensian cyborg General Grievous, a galactic holiday brochure of new locations and, as Anakin succumbs to the dark side, a bleak, bloody atmosphere that's shocking and occasionally even moving.

Even those perennial failures of the series, dialogue and performances, have improved. Christensen, who pouted through Clones as Kevin the Teenage Sith Lord, has matured into a convincing lead, and Ewan McGregor as Anakin's mentor Obi-Wan Kenobi finally seems to be enjoying himself. The script has its share of moronic howlers, and the gloss of CGI in every shot becomes wearying after a while. But, lapses aside, Revenge Of The Sith is what we wanted all along: a chunky, funky space opera spectacular.

Unlike Episodes I and II this release features the original theatrical cut of the film spread across two discs to preserve the full glory of sound and visuals, which also allows space for six deleted scenes. These are mostly weaved together from a combination of finished and raw CG footage and find Jimmy Smits as Senator Bail Organa leading the early stages of rebellion. Elsewhere Shaak Ti (Orli Shoshan) falls foul of General Grievous (Matthew Wood) and Ewan McGregor (as Obi-Wan) and Samuel L Jackson (as Mace) put on their best serious faces for a conference with Yoda. Disciples of the little green guru will also be thrilled to know that this section includes his exile to Dagobah.

McGregor talks about shedding the “Jedi mullet” in one of 15 behind-the-scenes featurettes, which together provide adetailed insight into production. Delving deeper into the Star Wars mythology, George Lucas explains the thinking behind the various kinds of weaponry. For example, the light sabre signifies romantic ideals about honour and virtue. Naturally there's also word from the props department and elsewhere in this section are featurettes on C-3PO, the wookiees, the film's soundtrack and a look at re-shoots.

Lucas and Christensen go into depth about the motivations for Anakin's ominous transformation into Darth Vader in the featurette The Chosen One. Lucas boils it down, saying, “Here's a guy who has lost everything,” which serves to make Anakin a character that elicits sympathy more than loathing. There's less talk and more action in It's All For Real, which investigates the huge array of stunts in Episode III, in particular those breathtaking lightsabre duels.

Within A Minute actually runs at a whopping 78 minutes to convey the truly epic undertaking of producing just 49-seconds of screen time. The scene under examination is the Mustafar lightsabre duel, which apparently employed 910 artists working 70441 hours. In terms of the bigger picture, this documentary brings home the meticulous attention to detail that goes into every single frame. Obviously not all of those 910 people get equal screen time (after all we've only got two discs to cram this in), but this is still a rare chance for film buffs to learn what all those people in the end credits actually do.

Despite their demanding schedule, the effects bods at ILM seem to have had a lot of time on their hands. An Easter egg on the main menu of disc one features a break-dancing Yoda that'll have you rolling on the floor as well. Effects honchos John Knoll and Roger Guyett are on slightly more businesslike form for the audio commentary along with George Lucas, producer Rick McCallum and animation director Rob Coleman. With more bonus material than you can shake a lightsabre at, this DVD reveals the true scope of producing a bid-budget effects movie and fully encapsulates the passion of the filmmakers. For Star Wars devotees, it is simply unmissable.

Game Review

Battlefield 2 Modern Combat

Platform:

PS2, Xbox

Release Date:

18 November 2005

Publisher:

Electronic Arts

Genre: Action

Battlefield 2: Modern Combat. A US-lead peacekeeping force has been sent to bring stability to troubled republic of Kazakhstan. Peace and stability? Sir, No Sir! It's the 21st century and this is all out war!...

Rather atypically for a first-person, objective-based war game, Battlefield 2 involves players alternately joining the forces of all sides involved in the conflict. Propaganda newscasts from all parties are broadcast in between rounds too, as if to demonstrate that the first casualty of war is the truth. Whatever the case, it brings an unusually thoughtful balance to the otherwise gung-ho proceedings.

Another unusual and rather arcade-like feature of this game is the ability to ‘Hot-Swap' between other friendly units. In practice this means players can warp between controlling foot soldiers of many classes and, with a deft button press, take control of helicopters, tanks, amphibious craft or any other of the game's 30 vehicles that might be involved in the fray. Thus players can get a better overview of the battlefield and ensure that they're in the heat of the action at all times.

Unsurprisingly, the excellent multiplayer modes bring much to this war party. The game supports an impressive 24 players online and offers 13 maps and two (official) ways to kill each other – Capture the Flag and Conquest. Players get to choose sides, but with such potential for friendly fire, it'll be a disciplined bunch that doesn't let the proceedings diminish into a bloody free-for-all. On the downside, multiplayer games do not allow hot-swapping and any efforts to remain unseen are often undone by the red-dot that reveals your location to rival players within range. Grrr!

Book Review

SAVING FISH FROM DROWNING

By Amy Tan

Putnam Fiction

ISBN: 0399153012

“It was not my fault.” Socialite Bibi Chen begins her story of how her friends became lost in Burma with that disclaimer. Bibi, with her multicoloured braid and strong opinions, is speaking from beyond the grave. She has been murdered, but that doesn't stop her from voicing her take on her funeral, her friends' situations, and everything else in the world.

The trip Bibi arranged to take with her friends to Burma will still happen. When her circle wishes for Bibi to join them “in spirit,” she can't resist the invitation. One great side effect of being dead, she discovers, is that her emotions, so flat in life, are now lush and full-bodied --- all the better to paint a vivid picture as the story develops.

We know from the outset that Bibi's travelling companions will vanish in Burma. Part of the fun is guessing at and then discovering the chain of events that leads to their disappearance. We develop one strong suspicion after another. For example, Wendy Brookhyser, an activist, is one of the people along on the trip. Is she to blame for the problems her group runs into? Wendy plans to speak with the people under cover of being a fun-seeking tourist. She may take the information she's gathered and publish it, although she's aware that journalists are forbidden to visit Burma. If discovered gathering anti-government information, she could well be imprisoned forever.

A love story threads through this book. Harry, the star of a television show featuring dog training, yearns for the elegant Marlena. Fate intervenes between the two repeatedly and sometimes humorously: there's an incident involving candles and flammable mosquito netting, illness, Marlena's daughter's puppy, and kidnapping. And then there's Harry's well-known attraction to a revolving cast of much younger women.

Since Bibi is dead and has access to all characters' innermost thoughts, she gives an unusual all-knowing interpretation of events. For example, in one scene a man translates his love interest's reaction to him as “castrating,” when in fact she actually is concentrating on the cramping dysentery she's beginning to experience deep within her bowels.

Saving Fish from Drowning is by turns a romance, an adventure story, a comedy, and a bit of educational documentary. Amy Tan weaves a fascinating tale of this band of fish-out-of-water Americans and their perceptions of life in other countries, which is so often ridiculously askew. The plot twists never fail to be surprising, and touches of the surreal (a primitive tribe watching television in the middle of a jungle and a jungle-based reality show called “Darwin's Fittest”) are weirdly laugh-out-loud funny. Bibi's narration tends to wander off-course at times, which is mostly entertaining but occasionally frustrating, and made the pace of the story uneven. I also felt that some of the large cast of characters, such as Harry's buddy Moff, was not fleshed out as well as Harry and others.

Despite these minor quibbles, Saving Fish from Drowning is an excellent read, managing to keep the reader mesmerized through the nearly 500 pages.

Useful Telephone Numbers for Hua Hin

Railway station
032-512 770, 032-511 073

Bus station of Hua Hin
032-511 654, 032-512 543

Bus station of Prachuabkirikhan
032-601 901

Bus station of Pranburi
032-621 443

Hua Hin Hospital
032-520 401

Dog Rescue Center
0-1981 4406

Wild life Rescue Center (Tayang)
032-458 135

Department of Land Cha-am office:
032- 430 846-7

Department of Land Hua Hin office:
032-536 164, 032-512 407

Department of Land Prachuabkirikhan:
032-611 211

Department of Land Pranburi
032-622 199

Local Government (Hua Hin)
032-521 340, 532 471

Local water supply
032-511 677

The Power Board of Hua Hin
032-512 215, 032 513 165

Observer office:
032-531 078

Red Cross.
032-512 567

San Paolo Hospital
032-532 576-85

Polyclinic International
032-516 424, 032-516 425

Shell Cooking Gas
032-511 144, 032- 515 620

The Communication Authority of Thailand
(Hua Hin)
032-511 351

Rotary Club of Hua Hin
0-1916 6637
Meeting every Thursday 8.pm
at Hua Hin Grand Hotel & Plaza

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