Nomads, Zen and Now 

It's all Uncle Mac's fault. And it started on the 1st of February 1951. "Well, that's it. I'm off," he said to my father in a casual, laid-back way that suggested he was just popping out for a pint of milk.
He then climbed into his land Rover, checked that he had his sandwiches and a thermos of tea, and set off for India. He reached Heart, Afghanistan, where he traded the vehicle for a horse, and headed east. And he was never heard of again.
A rumoured sighting of him on the Great Wall of China in the early seventies by old RAF chum, gave a ray of hope but then again, he thought he saw him accompanied by Richard Nixon, Shirley Maclaine, and Keith Richards. Well, it's that
kind of wall.
My father lost a brother, and I lost a hero - and I wasn't even born yet. His journey continued to fascinate me as I grew up. Just getting to India alone, exposed and overland in 1951 would have been an achievement. No video bars or guesthouses. His reasons for going were even more intriguing.
There weren't any. He just went. Now that is travel.
I was born within shouting distance of Hadrian's Wall-that last bit of serious landscaping on the edge of the Roman Empire. What the Roman scouts thought when they saw the Scots was similar to going to a Black Sabbath concert. They threw up and ran like hell. Hairy, tough, covered in woad, carrying serious weapons, wearing skirts, and muttering, "I’ll av yoo Jimmy," was quite enough.
"Seal the borders," was the order from Rome. And they did.
To us, Scotland was cold, misty, and, well, weird. To them, England was frippery, poncey lords, and warm beer. But it didn't stop them from slipping over the wall, nicking all our women, and smoking all our dope. If you argued, you got a face full of axe and a head-butt. Whether the wall was to keep us out or to keep them in is debatable - and irrelevant. They escaped anway.
Scots are to be found from Archangel to Antarctica, and do you know why the British Empire got so big? It was a nation desperately looking for a decent meal. By the way, have you tried? Haggis?
Don't.
My uncle escaped, and twenty years later, I picked myself up off a Greek island and followed his trail. A rickety ship from Istanbul to Trabzon; public bus from Erzerum to Iraq; and train, bus, and camel across Iran. The first white person I spoke to after four months was in Isfahan. He was a Scot, who said over a plate of sheep's eye-balls, "We used to eat Englishmen."
I got shot on a bus in Heart, I got lost in Pakistan, and when I finally made it to Macleod Gunj (which is not a Scottish garage band from seattle) in Northern India, I asked to see the Dalai Lama.
"He's in Dublin," I was informed by a beaming monk.
Damn. I thought I deserved instant enlightenment for just reaching the place.
Doesn't anyone stay in one place anymore? The answer then and now, is no. Where the hell is everyone? Escaping. Nomading.
The two young lads I met on the train from Penang to Bangkok last week are the new nomads. One of them was wearing baggy shorts and purple wrap-around Raybans, and was eating some disgusting local insects out of a bag.
"Greet mon!" he said, crunching away. His mate had spiky, multi-coloured hair which looked as though a bird of paradise had landed on his head and someone had smashed it with a mallet. They were from from Glasgow.
Their tale was of comparing Hard Rock Cafes and Pizza Huts, and bungy jumps and video bars in the different countries they'd traveled to. They longed to visit places where they weren't expected, and mourned the fact that the whole planet appeared to be one vast, soulless shopping mall. They thought I was a "lucky boy" for having been able to visit places before American culture did.
I resent being called lucky.
They assumed their children would vacation in the land of virtual reality rather than cross the Gobi desert single-handed, or wrestle with pygmies and win.
But opportunities still exist. After all, it's Wall without getting out of her car. You could be greeted with, "We used to de-bone Chinamen, Jimmy!" THWACK!
I mean, who'd want to miss that?

By Roger Beaumont
  Available at Bookazine

The Bluebeard of the Bath

George Smith was a serial bigamist - and a killer
By David Cocksedge

HIS NEIGHBOURS all supposed George Joseph Smith to be a deeply devout man. On the night of 18 December 1914, he was loudly playing the hymn, "Nearer my god to thee' on his harmonium in his rented flat in Highgate, North London. Directly above Smith's head was the bathroom and in the tub lay the glistening white corpse of his bride of just one day - Margaret Lofty, aged 38, the daughter of a vicar. Smith had drowned her minutes before beginning his stint at the organ.
Smith's musical performance was part of an elaborate alibi to convince his landlady in the nearby kitchen that he was downstairs at the time of his wife's death. It was typical of the man's cunning and cool. A serial bigamist and ruthless seducer, he wooed, married and murdered three wives in as many years, purely for financial gain, besides swindling countless others who were fortunate enough to escape with their lives. For many years Smith's effigy in wax stood in Madame Tussaud's Chamber of Horrors in London. Now, almost 100 years later, his gruesome story is to be told in a major ITV drama series. The Edwardian killer will be played by Martin Kemp, (formerly of 'Spandau Ballet') and now an actor who has portrayed many villains, including 'Steve Owen' in the TV soap 'EastEnders' and East London gangland boss Reggie Kray in a movie.
Smith had always mesmerised the opposite sex. "His power lay in his eyes", said one besotted woman, who had lost her life savings to him. "When he looked at you for a minute, you had the feeling that you were being magnetised." Smith used those eyes to great effect throughout his criminal career, beguiling women from genteel homes whose lives were far removed from his own dubious background.
He was born in London's East End in 1872, and soon became a petty criminal who was sent to reformatory school for theft at the age of nine in 1881. The school was more a university of crime than an organisation of 'reform', and Smith soon learned from his fellow inmates just how to exploit women and make money.
His first and only legal marriage in 1898 broke up when his wife was imprisoned for stealing at Smith's behest. He then embarked on a string of bigamous marriages to women whom he robbed and left penniless, without any trace of conscience.
Smith frequented seafronts and pleasure gardens in his search for lonely females, and he could unerringly spot the perfect combination of wealth and vulnerability in a victim.
Widow Florence Wilson was typical. He met her on Brighton's famous seafront in May 1908, and after a whirlwind courtship, married her in London. Smith demanded that she withdraw her life savings from the Post Office - and then calmly returned to their lodgings whilst she sat on a park bench. He stole all her money and valuables and fled the scene. Florence never saw him again until his photo appeared in London's newspapers connected with charges of multiple murder in 1915.
Many other women were duped and robbed by Smith. But they lost only cash and perhaps their faith in men. Those he met later lost their lives as well.
Smith's first murder victim was Bessie Mundy (33), the daughter of a bank manager who had died leaving her a tidy inheritance of 2,500 pounds sterling - about 150,000 pounds in today's prices. She met Smith in 1910 whilst out walking in Clifton, Bristol. He introduced himself as Henry Williams, a picture restorer.
Within a few days, they were married in Weymouth. Much of Bessie's wealth was held in trust by her uncle, who was determined to protect it from Smith whom he decided was a "slimy character". But Smith circumvented the uncle by persuading Bessie to make a will in his favour. By signing it, Bessie effectively signed her own death warrant. The next day, Smith purchased a bath, and showing characteristic meanness, even when selecting his wife murder weapon, he haggled to get a discount of two shillings on the copper tub.
He then convinced Bessie that she had been having fits of which she remembered nothing. He called out the local doctor several times, carefully acting the part of the concerned husband. If all went to plan, these 'fits' would be assumed to be the cause of Bessie's drowning in the bath.
The doctor duly prescribed a mild sedative. He was then hastily called out to Smith's lodgings on 13 July to find Smith apparently in great distress and Bessie lying lifeless in the bath, her face blue and partially submerged in the water. As he broke down, Smith said that he had been out shopping while Bessie was taking a bath. He had arrived home to find her drowned. He was also careful not to let Bessie's relatives known about her death until the inquest had been held and it was too late for them to ask awkward questions. Just as he had planned, the coroner's jury concluded that Bessie had suffered a fit in the bath and returned a verdict of 'death by misadventure'.
Smith showed no gratitude to the woman whose death had netted him a small fortune. He refused to pay for the dignity of a private grave and Bessie was buried in a common plot. With colossal effrontery, Smith then took the bath back to the local ironmonger and secured a refund on it!
But Bessie eventually had her silent revenge. Unknown to Smith, she had been holding a square piece of soap in her right hand when he killed her. Her fingers clamped tightly around it and this would later prove to be a key piece of evidence at Smith's murder trial. But for now he was free to go on killing for profit.
His next victim was Alice Burnham, a pretty nurse aged 25 whom he met in Southsea in October 1913. Within a few days she had agreed to marry him and insure her life for 500 pounds sterling and also make her will out to him. Alice was delighted when Smith suggested a honeymoon in Blackpool. His motive, of course, was to be as far away as possible from the scene of his last murder to avoid suspicion.
On Friday 12 December 1913, just a week after their marriage, their landlady noticed water dripping through the kitchen ceiling whilst Alice was having a bath. Shortly afterwards, Smith appeared and chatted to her to give himself an alibi. Then he went upstairs, and, to horrified screams, 'discovered' his wife dead in the tub.
A doctor arrived to find Smith holding his dead wife's head clear of the water. It was a caring gesture, except that, as the doctor later recalled, Smith had taken the time to roll up his shirt sleeve first - hardly the act of a worried husband.
This was a careless mistake but at the time there was little reason to suspect foul play. The coroner duly recorded another death by misadventure. And Smith had got away with it again, which may have made him over-confident. He had perfected a very effective modus operandi (MO); the signature of a killer. After banking the money from his kills, and soon looking around for another victim. He did not have long to wait.
Little more than a year after disposing of Alice Burnham, he met Margaret Lofty in the city of Bath. Using the name John Lloyd and posing as a wealthy land agent, he set about wooing her. They took a train to London together for a clandestine wedding. And guess what? Smith had persuaded Margaret to take out a life insurance policy for 700 pounds sterling. They married quietly and took lodgings in Highgate, North London, which is where we came into this tragic tale.
At around 7.30pm on 18 December 1914, the landlady, Miss Louisa Blatch, heard splashing coming from the bathroom, followed by the sound of wet hands rubbing on the side of the bath and then a strange sigh. She assumed that the newly-wed Mrs Lloyd was taking a leisurely bath in her rented apartment.
Shortly afterwards, she heard the harmonium for several minutes. Then Smith knocked on her door, and said that he was going out shopping, and had forgotten his keys. Then he went upstairs, cried out aloud for help, and tried to resuscitate the woman he had killed some minutes earlier.
Margaret's fate was recorded as death by misadventure, and Smith set about collecting the insurance money once again. He had made around 3,500 pounds sterling from the death of three 'wives', and was in a happy mood. But as he left the insurance office, he was stopped by two police officers. The game was up for Britain's 'Bluebeard of the Bath'.
Margaret's death had been widely reported and both Alice Burnham's father and the landlady of the Blackpool guesthouse where she was killed had read newspaper stories about it. They alerted the police and an investigation began in London.
The operation to prove that Smith alias Williams alias Lloyd were all just one man involved unprecedented co-operation between police forces across the country. The bodies of all three women were exhumed and 264 exhibits were shown to the court as no less than 112 witnesses were called. Even the bathtubs used in the murders were brought to the Old Bailey, where hundreds of people gathered to witness the trial of the decade.
One key piece of evidence was the piece of soap that Bessie held tightly after her death. It discounted the theory that she had fainted or had a fit - in that case, her hand would have relaxed and dropped the soap. But how had Smith drowned the women without any signs of a struggle?
One possibility was that their legs had been pulled sharply out of the bathtubs. This would have submerged their heads, causing the rapid inhalation of water and sudden drowning. They would have died in seconds.
Inspector Arthur Neil of the Met Police tested this theory with an obliging female who lay in a filled bathtub in her swimming costume. Neil suddenly pulled her legs sharply towards him, and her head slipped underwater without any protest. When he held up her arms, they were limp and Neil realised to his horror that he had nearly drowned her. He and his detectives spent the next hour bringing her around. She had no memory of the incident afterwards. This was surely Smith's MO. And a very effective one, too.
The accused made noisy protests throughout his trial, calling one witness a 'lunatic', and insisting that "I am no murderer!" The jury thought otherwise and took only 23 minutes to find Smith guilty of murder in all three cases. In pronouncing sentence, Mr Justice Scrutton told Smith that any exhortation to repentance would be wasted on him. Smith was to be executed by hanging at Maidstone Prison on 25 August 1915.
Back then, hangings were held in public and a huge crowd gathered to witness the execution of Britain's now famous lady-killer. Overcome with fear in his final minutes of life, Smith lost motor control of his limbs. He was carried across the prison yard in a state of near collapse, and two men had to hold him up on the scaffold. The suave lady-killer was now a pathetic figure, but there was little sympathy for him as the noose was fitted around his neck. At a signal, the hangman pulled a lever, and Smith fell through a trapdoor that opened under his feet. He kicked and jerked violently as he died, and his execution was greeted with loud cheering from many women watching.
The Great War of 1914-18 was robbing Britain of many of her young men, so that most of the spectators to this macabre scene were female. After he had hung for the prescribed 60 minutes, Smith's body was taken down and formally identified. It was then unceremoniously tossed into a pit of quicklime.
At the end, one of Britain's most famous killers was as naked and cruelly exposed as the three brides that he had sent to their deaths. George Joseph Smith, Britain's 'Bluebeard of the Bath' had committed premeditated murder for financial gain. And now he had paid the ultimate price. All through his trial, he had never expressed any hint of remorse for what he had done to his unfortunate victims.
(Research, 'Murdered in the bath' by David Leafe, Daily Mail, 26 July 2003)

Leopards, monkeys and poachers in Kaeng Kachran National Park
by Soren Hammer

Forget everything about boring and much-advertised national parks with just too many visitors and wildlife not even worth mentioning. The national park Kaeng Kachran with an area of nearly 3000 square kilometers is the largest national park in Thailand; with wildlife in abundance, a fantastic location next to the Myanmar boarder bisected by the Tenasserim Range and covering nearly half of the Thai province Phetchaburi, it is really worth a visit.
We had made some research of the National Parks in Thailand and had decided to visit Kaeng Kachran, which we chose due the huge size and the apparent lack of visitors as we believed that huge size and few visitors maybe would amount to a park pretty much untouched and the possibility of wildlife in abundance for us to see. Animals' living in Kaeng Kachran includes macaque monkeys, dusky leaf langurs, wild elephants, gibbons, boars and leopards.
In spite of the immense size of Kaeng Kachran and its proximity to the capital Bangkok (ca. 220 km) as well as the lovely Thai seaside town Hua Hin (ca. 110 km) you really do not see many visitors in the park. For no apparent reason there seems to be only an insignificant number of visitors in the park, it could be that the immense size of Kaeng Kachran simply swallows them up or maybe it is simply due that the location of the park lies a bit of the normal beaten path.
We decided to do our own 2-day trip and camp overnight in the park near one of the Ranger Camps. Our starting point for our small 'expedition' was the lovely Thai seaside town Hua Hin where we could hire a 4W-drive car for a comparatively low price and easy, without the hassle of too much traffic as if we had used Bangkok as the starting point, could to get to the park fast and more safely.
We could have chosen to sign up for an organized trip in Hua Hin but we decided to do it on our own because the arranged trips from Hua Hin, although cheaper than a private trip, would not provide us with the flexibility we wanted and probably reduce our chances of spotting wildlife when forced to traveling with more people.
In our opinion life is simply too short to waste on 'so so' excursions, when in this case it is so easy and reasonable inexpensive to do it on your own and a few hassles and the extra cost of arranging it on your own simply outweighs the potential loss of spotting wildlife and the inflexibility by an arranged trip.
We rented our 4W-drive Suzuki Caribean on the evening before departure and our 'expedition' left Hua Hin early next morning at five o'clock. We drove north towards the city of Phetchaburi while the sun rose and a few monks in orange walked the roads and it was indeed a great feeling being on the way. A few kilometers before Phetchaburi we turned left towards Kaeng Kachran National Park and the first thing we saw when we got close to the park was the huge and grand Kaeng Kachran reservoir that serves as a major watershed for the upper southern Thailand.
We continued a bit further and arrived at the Kaeng Kachran Park headquarters where it is possible to buy tickets, access information in Thai (which we do not read) as well as a bit of this valuable information in English too but also found that it is really unfortunate that no English is spoken at the headquarters, luckily they did have a small self-made book with a list of frequent asked questions and answers in English and it really helped us a lot.
We left the park headquarters and continued to drive for thirty minutes before we reached the checkpoint and real entrance to the park where they checked our tickets (so if you did not buy tickets at the headquarters you would be turned back at this point!) and let us into the park. We then continued the next ten kilometers on gravel road to reach the next Ranger Camp and where really lucky when driving through the park, to spot a huge lizard, a black scorpion and a huge snake more than four meters long before reaching the Ranger Camp. We both mutually agreed that Kaeng Kachran National Park was already a great choice!
Upon our arrival to the Ranger Camp we where met by some very nice local rangers that arranged for tents to be put up fast and efficiently and then supplied us with sleeping bags and camper pillows. We paid THB 350 for renting a good camouflaged tent with plastic bottom, sleeping bags and camper pillows. We then discussed the different trek options with the rangers and decided spending the rest of the day on our own and agreed to use one of them the following morning at six o'clock to guide us through parts of the jungle on the natural treks made by the wildlife (a Ranger as guide costs ca. THB 300 for a whole day).
We had a cup of complimentary coffee with the rangers and then left the camp and drove our 4W drive deeper into the park and towards the next ranger camp where it is possible to see the famous sea fogs at the Panoenthung viewpoint with the Tenasserim Range and Myanmar in the background. We passed three streams crossing the road and really had a lot of fun driving the 4W drive through the streams and watch the water splashing everywhere. The trip through the jungle was very beautiful although, except for lots of birds and butterflies, we really did not see much of the wildlife but did indeed enjoy the many loud exotic sounds and wonderful smells from the jungle surrounding us. The view at Panoenthung was really great and we stayed up there for a while enjoying the solitude and the fantastic views of the sea fogs and the surrounding park.
On the way home to the camp from Panoenthung viewpoint we discussed how few big cats there is actually left in Thailand and how difficult or nearly impossible it is to spot a tiger or a leopard in their natural habitat, but when we reached the next corner we felt like we where experiencing a miracle. On the middle of the road we spotted a large, beautiful and not the least, wild leopard and this was surely the real thing and not the tame and boring one you would be able to see on a visit to a zoo. A real live leopard in its natural surroundings with shining confident eyes looked straight at us and it had taken us by total surprise so instead of getting our cameras ready to 'shoot' we instead rolled up our open windows as fast as we could, after all there was a real live wild leopard just outside. At the time when we finally had turned on our digital cameras and it was possible to "shoot" the leopard it looked at us a final moment and then jumped back into the dense jungle.
Early the same evening when we reached our camp and told the rangers about the leopard they mentioned that we had been extremely lucky, as only a handful of the rangers themselves had ever seen a leopard.
We ate our dinner together with the rangers and enjoyed the dark jungle surrounding all of us with all its wonderful and loud sounds and truly understood that it is indeed 'a jungle out there'.
Soren’s adventure continues next month.

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