Written: [Sheikh Zayed Mosque, Abu Dhabi] 5.23pm 4th May

Prayer Room

It is possible to swallowed up in a place like this, the light bounces off the white columns, dances around the room like so many fingers of God. As the tourists wander around, mouths open, looking at the opulence, they seem irrelevant, ants, no identity, no uniqueness. Humbling. A man-made structure can contain God in it if the minds of the men are turned towards Him. He made us in His image or do we make ourselves, our experiences, our work in His image?

Now empty, the hall seems less Heavenly. The sound of a vacuum cleaner reminds me that even Majesty requires hoovering. Was God in the minds of the architects or simply grandeur? Glory? Biggest mosque in the world? Who is flexing their might here? Man or God? I can outbuild you, man says, towers reaching towards the Heavens, sprawling Halls, domes, minarets, colours, volumes, carpets, marble and gold. All to bring me closer to You, closer to knowing You. But what is the achievement? God resides in our hearts, our minds and our souls. A simple prayer rug in Gaza holds more power than 1000 Sheikh Zayed Mosques. Anything over and above that is conflited.

God or Glory? If the minaret is built tall enough can it pierce the clouds and the Heavens themselves? Steadfastly reaching towards God, declaring, we will outbuild you, see Man's might. Man is foolish, Heaven has always been in our heats and we get closer to God on that Gaza prayer rug and more distant with every shiny marble column.

Written: [My Room] 5.40am 24th April

'Some people would never have fallen in love if they had never heard of love,' aphorised La Rochefoucald. Love is never a given, it is constructed and defined by different societies."

Alain de Botton - Essays in Love, Pg. 82

Through popular culture like music and cinema, Arab, Desi and East Asian cultures seem to have a much more intense and passionaet view of relationships than their Western counterparts. East Asian in particular are societies where a couple is expected to engross themselves in each other almost totally with a great focus on care, compassion, self sacrifice and companionship. In this way, it's a very practical bond, even if the couple are not married.

South and West Asian (Arab/Persian) cultures, as expressed through their films and music, tend to have a much more passionate approach where being with a lover or separating from them can mean the difference between life and death. Interestingly I'm not sure how often this translates to their real life relationships, though I'm thinking not very much directly. Undoubtedly it does have some impact on how they view 'love'. There are also religious factors involved here which make things a great deal more complicated.

Western relationships tend to focus more on the need for chemistry, intellectual and emotional connection and physical pleasure. This could be related tot he much more individualistic focus of Western society where if two individuals come together then their respective identities need to match. Thus we are talking a different kind of practical.

Attitudes to marriage are also very different, thus affecting attitudes to love. Ie. in the West it can appear as if there's no such thing as a real commitment. Divorces and break-ups are by now so common that they are easily understood by all as 'irreconcilable differences'.

Written: [Costa Adliya] 1.47am 23rd April

In our more expansive moments, we imagine romantic loev to be akin to Christian love, an uncritical, expansive emotion that declares I will love you for everything that you are, a core that has no conditions, that draws no bounaries, that adores every last shoe, that is the embodiment of acceptance. But the arguments that hound lovers are a reminder that Christian love is not prone to survive a move into the bedroom. Its message seems more suited to the universal than the particular, to the love of all men for all women, to the love of two neighbours who will not hear each other snoring.

pg. 65, Alain de Botton - Essays in Love

But is de Botton focusing on the right thing? Is it the particular detriments we observe in our partner, like snoring, that are the obstacles to "Christian love" or rather our own insecurities? Christian love is easy because its impersonal, it does not involve massive vulnerability or opening yourself up to a particular person to stab you in the heart. It's the power of need, dependance and expectation. If you do not depend on all humans or expect anything particular from them then it's far easier to love them. But the profundity of that love is then also called into question.
If you are not prepared to let go totallyt hen what sort of fulfillment can you expect? Surely, the Hell of your expectations not being met can be equated with the Heaven of them being met and surpassed? Love is a game of extremes.

Written: [My Room] 5.00am 20th April

At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be myserious and unexplorable, that land and sea be infinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because we must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and Titanic features, the seacoast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder cloud, and the rain which lasts three weeks and produces freshets. We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander.

Pg.205 Henry David Thoreau - Walden

Very simple, very obvious, very true and very well written. Adventure tourism lives on, as does our quest for beauty, but beauty can be found everywhere, not just in nature. From the bazaars of old Cairo, to the warrens of Barcelona's Barri Goti. From the metropolish of Tokyo to the serenity of Turkey's Blue Mosque. From the sophisticated Melburnian cofee culture to the relaxed Bahraini way of conversation, hospitality and family. Beauty can be found everywhere.

Direct your eyesight inward, and you'll find
A thousand regions in your mind
yet undiscovered. Travel them, and be
Expert in home-cosmography"

Pg. 207 Henry David Thoreau - Walden

I desire to speak somewhere without bounds; like a man in a waking moment, to men in their waking moments; for I am convinced that I cannot exaggerate enough even to lay the foundations of a true expression. Who that has heard a strain of music feared then lest he should speak extravagantly forever?

Pg. 209 Henry David Thoreau - Walden

However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life poor as it is. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the alms-house as brigthly as from the rich man's abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contendly there, and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace.

Pg. 211 Henry David Thoreau - Walden

Written: [my room] 5.45am 14th April

In our most trivial walks, we are constantly, though unconsciously, steering like pilots by certain well-known beacons and head-lands, and if we go beyond our usual course we still carry in our minds the bearing of some neighbouring cape; and not until we are completely lost, or turned round, - for a man needs only to be turned round once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost, - do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness of Nature. Every man has to learn the points of compass again as often as he awakes, whether from sleep or any abstraction. Not until we are lost, in other words, not until we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realise where we are and the infite extent of our relations.

Thoreau - "Walden" pg. 111

This is probably of one of my favourite parts of Walden so far. The very obvious metaphor of being lost in the woods vs. lost in life/the world brings up so many associations. His comment about 'appreciating the vastness and strangeness of Nature' is spot on and extends not just to nature but the world itself. Why do people like to travel? And even then, why do people like to get lost in a city as a key part of their travel experience?

They call travel 'broadening your horizons' but it does so not just because you are not in the old place. You have lost the familiarity and routine of home and you are forced to learn anew how to navigate in a foreign land. This is why the concepts of 'challening yourself' and going 'outside your comfort zone' are so common - hence why people want to get lost in a city and donig something like going to a small Finnish town for seven months after living in Bombay your whole life is just getting lost but in more than the geographical sense. But in order to learn and fully appreciate your surroundings it is also important not to freak out. Because if you focus on emotions of fear or frustration then you are nto taking in the experience of all your senses. This is why Zen Buddhism concepts of moment-to-moment awareness and living in the present make so much sense.

The metaphor can be bigger still, what if getting lost entails not just the routine related to your geographical location and support network but the entire routine by which you navigate through your life? Thoreau says a man needs only to be turned round once in this world to get lost and that is so very true. One momentous event is enough to shake someone to the point where they lose all direction and must 'relearn the compass'. Thoreau is saying that this can be good once in a while depending again, of course, on how the person responds. A man who loses direction must invariably find his bearings again. His destination - home - may be the same but his perspective on it may well be different.

Wirtten: [Costa Adliya] April 14th

For the main part I escaped wonderfully from these dangers, either by proceeding at once boldly and without deilbration to the goal, as is recommended to those who run the gantlet, like Orpheus, who 'Loudly singing the praises of the gods to his lyre, drowned the voices of the Sirens, and kept out of danger.'

Thoreau - "Walden", pg. 110

Here Thoreau is talking about unplelasant civilities of some type. Having to greet villagers and accept or decline their invitations. The 'gantlet' is indeed a part of life but need not always be viewed as negatively or with such cynicism as the venomous Thoreau with his disdain for the common man. There is something to be said for being pleasant and friendly and civil to people even if it means being bored. Having people like you gives powerful recourse to emotional wellbeing and achievement and is important for being a functioning member of society, which Thoreau also shuns entirely.

I prefer to take the more Machiavellian/utilitarian approach to people. Make them happy, make them like you and it will be better for you. Or the Gandhi/Mother Teresa approach stemming from a fundamental love and respect for mankind.

Either way I think comparing base civilities upon which normal social conversation rests to Orpheus and the Sirens is really very extreme.

Written: [Sevilla] April 4th 2.45am

The Andalusian capital and home of flamenco, bull runs and the best ever Santa Semana. Haven't seen much of those three but certainly loving the freedom and chilledness of the Spanish South. Streets are busy, places are open, people are boisterous well into the night. The food and coffee has been disappointing, like everywhere else we've been in Spain, but the vibe is fantastic and the narrow warrens and cobblestoned streets of the Old Town are some of the best in Spain.

The beauty of the Alcazar is also unrivalled so far, the gardens, tiling, architecture and meticulous attention to detail are sheer beauty. I could spend days exploring and chilling the plazas and jardins. The Catedral rises up like an eerie Dracula's castle at night, a massive Gothic monument to Christianity. It still incorporates the 90m minaret of the old mosque which it replaced and some reinassance period elements from the reconstruction. The inside of the main prayer hall is far from spectacular, however, and rather like any other big church.

This area with the Alcazar and the Catedral is really beautiful. At night when there is no one around and just the dim street lighting and the moonlight, to walk through this area is like a dream. During the day, the area is crowded with tourists but still the few small plazas and street bars around serve as good platforms for people watching and monument gazing. The incessant ringing of the bells is at first atmospheric but subsequently rather annoying. As are the hoardes of schoolkid tour groups. The beautiful weather, however, makes everything ok.

I love my red havaianas but am lusting for more shoes.
I also love tiles. Am buying too many souvenirs, far too many.
This Hotel Abanico is beautiful.

pg. 74 Walden
When Thoreau describes his surroundings in the woods it is very engaging and beautiful. In his section 'sounds' he does this, and discusses the old Eastern concept of being constantly aware of the moment, employing all senses to observe, etc. It's a powerfully appealing concept and coupled with his descriptive writing (which he does very well) is a strong impetus for personal change in this direction - but that requires much discipline, that which I'm bad at. Could use writing as a means to achieve this better...

Written: [Barcelona] 8.45pm 28th March

Starbucks in the Barri Goti with Sinatra painfully but melodiously churning through love songs. After a day of random meandering which started off with a trip to the hospital in search of medical help for my conjunctivitis (my conversational ability in Spanish surprised myself) and a bunch of Gaudis (the double take at La Sagrada Familia was particularly memorable), my mood worsened as we headed back to La Rambla and selected a rather unfortunate restaurant - Gaudi's Tapas or something equally tourist enticing. It felt like a quasi-English pub with bad service and overpriced food. No tip. The warrens of la Ciutat Vella continue to toss up gems but unfortunately, in the very Murphy's Law sense, never the ones we seem to need at the time. So after a half bottle of Rioja, we were too sleepy to search and settled on the comfort of Starbucks. After milky coffee, cake and a cigarette, the sofa seems a good place to sleep, or to at least read Walden.

It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.

Page 59, Henry David Thoreau - "Walden"

To a philosopher all news, as it is called, is gossip, and they who edit and read it are old women over their tea!

Page 61, Henry David Thoreau - "Walden"

While the former quote is inspiring, I'm not sure if I agree with the latter. This attitude to current affairs has been exhibited by a number of philosophers as they believe their ideas transcend that of the normal populace. However, I find this arrogant. Alain de Botton has it right when he makes philosophy for the common man. What is the good of philosophy if it cannot enrich people's lives? And what is the good of being of an enormous intellect if you cannot use it to affect the people around you positively? And how could you do this without understanding what goes on in the day-to-day goings on of the world? On the other hand, the reality of popular media these days is indeed embarassing and far from awe-inspiring. There are very few newspapers and even fewer television news programs which are impartial enough to be reliable. The rest are controlled by corporations and the people's fickle demand for sensational information.

Written: [Barcelona] 11.50pm 27th March

At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as a possible site of a house. Wherever I sat, there I might live, and the landscape radiated from me accordingly.'

Pg. 53 Henry David Thoreau - "Walden"

An interesting meditation to read now when I'm travelling. I've often imagined living in the places I travel to, comparing Rome to Barcelona, Melbourne to Bahrain.

Barcelona does grip me as a city and even moreso as a possible place to live than Rome, in all its historical splendour. The people here seem more youthful and free, without so much societal constraint. It's almost as if the Romans are weighed down by their history, politics, statuses and expectations. Walking through the, some narrow, some wide, streets of Barcelona that appear to be teeming with life, I am drawn to every colourful shopfront and every noisy tapas bar. I am drawn to its diverse inhabitants all chattering away in their beautiful language.

I am drawn to a balcony in an old gothic building, one I can make my own with pot plants and vines, that I can smoke, read and voyeurise on with a loved one or alone as Barcelonian ants crawl around below. I have a strong urge to discover every nook and cranny of this city, the best cafes, edgiest bars, most delectable delicacies and those shops that stock the one thing you want at a particular time. I romanticise about the idea of being one of those Spaniards with their funky glasses and fashionable haircuts, joking with their friends and kissing their novias.

The Romans were a stylish, poised and attractive bunch but the Barcelonians, them I could fall in love with.

Jordan Post 4 - Aqaba العقبة and Wadi Rum وادي رم

During my last weekend in Jordan, Saba, Momo, Oks and I went on a road trip to the south. Unfortunately, I didn't take many photos during this time but it was a really cool trip so I thought I'd put up my thoughts on the places we visited and the time we had.

First stop was Aqaba, we drove there at night and arrived at something like 3am. Aqaba is a port and resort city in the southern most part of Jordan, on the Saudi border. It allows Jordan strategic access to the Gulf of Aqaba and the many trade and tourism opportunities that come with it. The place is pretty much full of Egyptians (thanks to its proximity to the Sinai) and also has quite a lot of holiday makers from Saudi, other parts of Jordan and other parts of the Middle East.



After we arrived we headed straight for Burger King to use their bathroom facilities, despite the fact that they were actually closed, they were friendly enough to let us in and use their facilities. Unlike the neighbouring "Chicken and Buscuits" restaurant which obviously employed a group of assholes who refused to let us in, what the hell kind of a combination is "Chicken and Biscuits" anyway. Well we got them back by sitting around looking menacing in their outdoor seating area afterwards.

After that we went to downtown Aqaba and enjoyed some much needed nourishment in the form of fuul and ta'miyah. We headed for the beach straight after, even though it was still dark and around 4-5am, and the plan was to either chill all night and not sleep or sleep on the beach (either on matrasses or in the car). This plan was foiled by the fact that we were all very tried, grumpy and the sun brought out the heat and the flies. After an unsuccessful attempt at sleepin gon my part (it was more successful for Saba who managed not only to sleep but also to sleeptalk amusing inanities), we resolved to actually check in to a hotel room to get a few hours of proper sleep. The above picture is actually a view from said hotel room. Momo negotiated the price and the hotel guy seemed a little peeved that it actually ended up being for a group of foreigners who he had to charge local rates, ha.

After the badly needed sleep intermission, followed by a frustrating disagreement with the hotel shower (a key reason for our decision to check in there in the first palce) which was only trickling water, we went to Momo's family's house for "lunch". Lunch was as fantastic, as I have now come to expect from Arabic home cooking, and major props go to Momo's mum and dad who were really very cool.

Following this we headed back to the beach, had a bit of a splash around, I made an unsuccessful attempt at snorkeling which I had never done before, and couldnt really do because water kept seeping into my face gear (damn).

After all this we headed for Wadi Rum. Wadi Rum is a valley cut into the desert, sandstone and granite rock in the southwest of Jordan. It is a popular tourist destination and many camps have sprung up on the outskirts of the valley, along with Bedouins who ferry tourists directly into the middle of it to allow for cool experiences camping out in the desert. This latter experience is what we were in fact going for.

Unfortunately, this plan was foiled by our late departure from Aqaba and an absolutely horrific bus accident that waylayed us along the highway for a good half hour or more. This accident, I have never seen something like it. There were people covered in blood, screaming and crying, there were dead bodies lying on the road. We arrived probably around 5 minute after the accident actually occurred so the ambulances had not gotten there yet. Momo and I spent some time going around passing people water and trying to be useful, although there wasn't much that we could really do. After the ambulances arrived, we helped some people inside and the dead bodies were covered in body bags and taken away. After it was obvious that the emergency services more or less had control of the situation, given that we were pretty much more in the way than helping, and the fact that the remnants of the bus could explode at any time, we decided to try to go around the accident via a dirt road and head for Wadi Rum.

I think one thing I learned from the experience is the ever-present realisation that human life is so unbelievably fragile. To think that people can be on a bus heading to see loved ones, for business, for a holiday, one minute and then be dead the next, lying on the road amidst twisted metal and body parts. It really makes you think about how much a human life is worth in this world, and why people don't take more precautons that could really save so many lives.

We did this successfully but we were too late to catch the Bedouins going out into the desert, and ended up having to settle for one of the aforementioned camps. After viewing a few camps and arguing a little bit about which camp to settle for, we decided to settle on one.


The Egyptian-run camp was quite nice actually, despite the heavy presence of European tourists, and the Egyptian guys there were nice enough to fix us a meal (the obligatory fuul, ta'miyah and labneh) and some shisha despite the fact that we were certainly late for both.

It was completely dark by then, as they had switched off all the lights and most of the inhabitants went to sleep, so it was nice to just be alone with the food, shisha and starry starry sky. The next morning, we hung out at the camp for a bit, had breakfast and headed back to Amman in time to drop the rental car off at the appropriate time.

Big thanks go out to my travelling companions who had to bear with me during a time when my mood was not the best. All in all, it was certainly an eventful and fun trip.

The most interesting parts were:

- The many stops for bleary-eyed roadside coffee and amusing desert urination
- The singalongs in the car to our favourite Arabic tunes and bickering over which song to play, and not to play
- The opportunities to drive through the desert, the scenic King's Highway and the Jordanian villages we came across
- The splash around at the extremely rocky Aqaba beach, the sand (dirt?) of which I was silly enough to walk on bare foot, no thanks to Momo, an dodge many cigarrette butts, rocks and bits of glass.
- The camping at Wadi Rum with the good food, good shisha and solitude.
- The unscheduled stop at Petra to enquire about conference facilities
- The harrowing accident, I realise its bad taste to describe it as 'interesting' but it really was a shell-shocking experience. Up until this point, I don't think I'd ever seen a dead body, and certainly not one lying like a rag doll on the road covered in blood with bits of skull showing. My heart and thoughts go out to the families of those that died and to those that survived the crash. It was in the paper the next day, 7 dead, such a shame.

I will probably do a brief wrap up post about Jordan after this, I'm so slow. It's been 3 weeks since I finished my trip and I'm still going on it!

Albert Camus - The Fall

'Haven't you noticed that our society is organised for this kind of liquidation? You have heard, of course, of those tiny fish in the rivers of Brazil that attack the unwary swimmer by thousands and with swift little nibbles clean him up in a few minutes, leaving only an immaculate skeleton? Well, that's what their organisation is. "Do you want a good clean life? Like anybody else?" You say yes, of course. How can one say no? "O.K. You'll be cleaned up. Here's a job, a family, an dorganised leisure activities." And the little teeth attack the flish, right down to the bone. But I am unjust. I shouldn't say their organisation. It is ours, after all.'

The thing I love about reading Camus is that he absolutely justifies my cynicism in the absurdity of every day life. Comparing middle-class society with a swarm of piranha fish, now that's something.


'I knew a man who gave twenty years of his life to a scatterbrained woman, sacrificing everything to her, his friendships, his work, the very respectability of his life, and who one evening recognised that he had never loved her. He had been bored, that's all, bored like most people. Hence he had made himself out of whole cloth a life full of complications and drama. Something must happen - and that explains most human commitments. Something must happen, even loveless slavery, even war or death.'

The problem with reading Camus is that he lulls you into a false sense of security with his easy-going style and characters who muse away about life's eccentricities and absurdities. But what he exposes in his characters, particularly the protagonist of this novel, is a cold cynical skeleton of a man bored of life and its folly with seemingly very little to live for. So many of his examples can be related to that one can't help but be a little depressed at how right he appears to be.


'I am well aware that one can't get along without domineering or being served. Every man needs slaves as he needs fresh air. Commanding is breathing - you agree with me? And even the most destitute manage to breathe. The lowest man in the social scale still has his wife or his child. If he's unmarried, a dog. The essential thing, after all, is being able to get angry with someone who has no right to talk back. "One doesn't talk back to one's father" - you know the expression? In one way it is very odd. To whom should one talk back in this world if not to what one loves? In another way, it is convincing. Somebody has to have the last word. Otherwise, every reason can be answered with another one and there would never be an end to it. Power, on the other hand, settles everything.'

While I struggle to identify personally with this last excerpt because, maybe I am not self aware enough but, i have not realised in myself this inherent lust for power and domination over my fellow man. But it certainly does explain some people's attitudes to responsibility and human relationships. And the comment about power solving disputes does make sense, especially in those situations where the dispute seems endless and the reason from both sides seems logical.

More Camus-ness and possibly a post about Amman soon...

John Steinbeck - The Grapes of Wrath

Reading Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" at the moment and it it's very interesting to read form the perspective of farmer families having lived on farmland in Oklahoma all their lives, trying to eke out a living from arid country blighted with dust-storms that destroy the crops year after year until the companies that own the land and are leasing it finally decide that they need to turn a profit off it so they evict the families, destroy the land with mechanised cotton farming and the families have to move further west to California...

'Peters', Jacobs', Rance's, Joad's; an' the houses all dark, standin' like miser'ble ratty boxes, but they was good partines an' dancing'. An' there was meetin's and shoutin' glory. They was weddin's all in them houses. An' then I'd want to go in town an' kill folks. 'Cause what'd they take when they tractored the folks off the lan' What'd they get so their "margin a profit" was safe? They got Pa dyin' on the groun', an' Joe yellin' his first breath, an' me jerkin' like a billygoat under a bush in the night. What'd they get? God knows the lan' aint no good. Nobody been able to make a crop for years. But them sons-a-bitches at their desks, they jus' chopped folks in two for their margin of profit. They jus' cut 'em in two. Place where folks live is them folks. They ain't whole, out lonely on the road in a piled-up car. THey ain't alive no more. Them sons-a-bitches killed 'em.'

It really makes you think, what is the value of a society that destroys people's dreams for the sake of profit which is meant to be creating those very dreams. How does an economic system deal with the value of lives, experiences, memories when it treats a piece of land as nothing but a resource for the generation of profit? What sort of value can the concept of "family" find within this kind of society when that value cannot be expressed in terms of finance?

And another interesting piece on the concept of incarceration as a means of punishment/rehabilitiation. From the perspective of Tom Joad, the protagonist, who was incarcertaed for four years for killing a man in self-defence.

'The thing that give me the mos' trouble was, it didn't make no sense. You don't look for no sense when lightnin' kills a cow, or it comes up a flood. That's jus' the way things is. But when a bunch of men take an' lock you up for four years, it ought to have some meaning. Men is supposed to think things out. Here they put me in, an' keep me an' feed me four years. That ought to either make me so I won't do her again or else punish me so I'll be afraid to do her again' - he paused - 'but if Herb or anybody else come for me, I'd do her again. Do her before I could figure her out. Specially if I was drunk. That sort of senselessness kind a worries a man.'

'They's a guy in McAlester - lifer. He studies all the time. He's sec'etary of the warden - writes the warden's letters an' stuff like that. Well, he's one hell of a bright guy an' reads law an' all stuff like that. Well, I talked to him one time about her, 'cause he reads so much stuff. An' he says it don't do no good to read books. Says he's read ever'thing prisons now, an in the old times; an' he says she makes less sense to him than she did before he starts readin'. He says it's a thing that started way to hell an' gone back, an' nobody seems to be able to stop her, an' nobody got sense enough to change her. He says for God's sake don't read about her because he says for one thing you'll jus' get messed up worse, an' for another you won't have no respect for the guys that owrk the gover'ments.'


Makes you question what exactly the prison system achieves and what it's goals are. It's a huge drain on taxpayer's funding but it does it actually rehabilitate? Is it just a punitive measure? Is it just an expensive way to keep criminals off the streets? What is the significance in taking a man and locking him up with other men and then managing that society? And what is the alternative to this system?

Suhoor and the First Call to Prayer

One of my favourite parts of Ramadan is the first call to prayer. The morning call is when you are meant to stop eating, drinking and smoking and start fasting. At the moment it happens at around 4am or a little bit later. It will be getting later and later as the month wears on...

My apartment has two balconies facing the street and they are generally good places to chill. One of my favourite parts of the night is to eat something light for suhoor (the last meal) and to go out onto the balcony right before the first call. At this time, the street is pretty quiet, only the occasional car, definitely no traffic so when it's time for the first call, I can hear 3 different calls to prayer from 3 different mosques simultaneously.

The result is really amazing as the calls to prayer emanate from seemingly everywhere around my little balcony. To call it 'atmospheric' doesn't even begin to describe it. For those of us that aren't muslims, that aren't used to something so innately spiritual being around us every day of our lives, it really feels like something different. It puts my mind in a different state, a relaxed but contemplative state. There's something about it that makes me feel at peace with the world, and I love it.

Just one of the things that I love so much about this part of the world.

OK I am decidedly sick of update blogging. It sucks and it's boring and because I can't be bothered any more that is partly the reason why I've been so lazy lately. So. I'm gonna go back to random thought blogging, that was way more fun.

I'll start with some excerpts from a book I'm reading atm, "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad that got me thinking. Conrad is a fantastic writer, despite this book being heavily criticised by Chinua Achebe for what's perceived as a racist slant (which it certainly does have but not necessarily because Conrad himself was a racist, either way he's a great writer) and the biased picture it paints of Africa.

"... No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence, - that which makes its truth, its meaning - its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, we dream - alone..."

Here the book's narrator, Marlow, who is attempting to tell a story, is lamenting at the fact that it's impossible to express one's own experience in words. This is because of the limitations of language and verbal expression. The frustratinly limited scope of language has always been something I've struggled with and disliked about communicating. How is it possible to communicate a feeling? An emotion? When it's all inside your head (and heart?) and language is so one-dimensional, how can you possibly find "the right words" to express it?

The bit I find most interesting in the above excerpt though is "We live, we dream - alone..." Such a depressing thought but it does make sense. If we are unable to properly express our experiences, feelings and thoughts then how can we properly share them with other people? How can we properly let other people play an active role in our lives? It's like human interaction is a fumbling mess, or some uncontrollable current pulling us all along... Interesting.

"The point was in his being a gifted creature, and that of all his gifts the one that stood out pre-eminently, that carried with it a sense of real presence, was his ability to talk, his words - the gift of expression, the bewildering, the illuminating, the most exalted and the most contemptible, the pulsating stream of light, or the deceitful flow from the heart of an impenetrable darkness"

Here Marlow is describing his impending meeting with the mercurial Kurz, a foreigner who has gained unprecedented power and control over the local population. How interesting, considering the previous excerpt, to see Marlow now exalting someone for their gift of expression. I also find interesting "the deceitful flow from the heart of an impenetrable darkness", Kurz is evidently a man who uses expression to disguise his dark and selfish motives. I wonder how many other people in the world there are like Kurz. And I wonder how easy it is to fall into the trap of using the ability to influence people for evil, rather than good.

To cap off this musing, here is a pic of a chilled out moment. Layali Zaman is a coffee shop here in Bahrain that is right by the water. Smoking shisha and sipping coffee/juice by the water on a nice night, staring out at the full moon and the lights in the distance, is really one of those moments to savour.

Sun Tzu - The Art of War

Another night another loss in poker, dammit. What happened to my winning streak? I lost $20 last nite in two separate games. In the first game, the Top 2 split the pot and I came 3rd... in the second game, the winner took all and I came 2nd! So I was just outside the money both times, dammit! Ah well, thanks to the usual bunch of jokers: Ippei, Daryl, Pete and Kev, for a good night, ya bastards!

Anyway, main topic of this post is the book I recently read, Sun Tzu's, The Art of War. This book is widely regarded as an ancient masterpiece, way ahead of its time and a useful + comprehensive manual to warfare and life in general. To those that have seen the film Wall Street, this book was a favourite of the greedy protagonist, corporate raider Gordon Gecko (who pronounced the name like "Son Zoo"), and underpinned his "greed is good" motto. In addition to Mr. Gecko, a whole host of (questionable?) characters have read this book, the picture below should give an insight into its ubiquity.

I found the book to be interesting in parts. Much of its philosophy seemed to be related to Taoism, plus the particular version I was reading included a bunch of commentaries from Chinese scholars across the ages and a couple of Westerners to boot, that put much of its wisdom into the context of many military endeavours across history. Master Sun's words still cut like a knife through butter though in many parts of the text.

The problem with the text overall though was that it is, after all, like 2500 years old or something. So much of Master Sun's wisdom was relatively basic and now, one might say, serves to be common knowledge. The ideas presented were obviously very sophisticated for their time but now, in parts did come off sounding primitive. This is in parts only, however, because in other parts Master Sun came off sounding wise as his words served to remind us of the poignant importance of basic philosophies in life.

If anything, Master Sun's work is a tacit reminder of the value and differences of Eastern Philosophies. His ideas focus a great deal on inner, inherent strength allowing one to overcome many obstacles, and the concepts of balance, inner energy and correct thought were overriding themes in the text.

One thing I like about The Art of War is the almost poetic simplicity of the words themselves, not sure if this is because of the translation or simply the simple writing style of Chinese scholars at the time, but it is surely the reason why so many use Master Sun's work as a kind of personal mantra, or include it in quotable quotes (the same can be said of Lao Tzu, the great Taoist scholar).

Because of this, I've decided to include an excerpt from the text:

Master Sun said:

He who advances
Without seeking
Fame,
Who retreats
Without escaping
Blame,
He whose one aim is
To protect the people
And serve his Lord,
This man is
A Jewel of the Realm.

I shall post more quotes in future if I feel them to be fitting.

Albert Camus - The Outsider

Camus' classic novel is called "L'estranger" in French and, depending on the translation which you pick up, is either translated into "The Outsider" or "The Stranger" in English. The one I picked up, translated by Joseph Laredo, was the Penguin Books version called "The Outsider".

Although generally regarded as an existentialist piece of work, Camus never liked to subscribe to any particular "ism" and regarded this work as closer to absurdism than existentialism, however the two are closely linked and there is no denying the existentialist undertones.

The book is about a peculiar man, Meursault, who leads a relatively ordinary bachelor life in Algeirs until he commits an act of violence. His response to the incident during his subsequent trial puts his peculiarities on display and makes the reader question whether it is the man who is peculiar... or whether it is the society within which he is living that is, in fact, absurd.

Meursault does not believe that there is a God, nor does he believe that our lives have any purpose or meaning beyond the daily goings on and their related sensory experiences. He does not believe in fabricating emotion or remorse just because it is expected by society and refuses to be dishonest about how he truly feels in relation to anything.

The opening line of the novel, quite possibly the most commonly dissected opening line in literature: "Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don't know" says it all. Meursault no longer lived with his Mother, he put her in a home because he couldnt afford to look after her and because "they'd run out of things to say to each other". Meursault was unsure when she died because, after all, does it really matter which particular day a person dies on? Meursault did not cry at Mother's funeral, nor did he show any emotion really. Does this make him a bad person?

Camus stated that the book sprung from the idea he had, the notion that a man can be condemned to death for not crying at his mother's funeral, the absurd reality of how much pressure society puts on us to behave, react, think and feel in a certain way, and the ostracision and destruction of "outsiders", people that act differently... This notion turns Meursault into a hero of sorts. A man that is courageously defending a cause, in the face of a justice system that is not particularly just...

This book is an inspiration to anyone of us who has ever felt like an "outsider".