TRIGGER HAPPY HOLIDAY

The guns on offer to me in Thailand

Sergeant Chumpon Tapwong of the Thai army looks me in the eye and asks in broken English if I’d prefer a shotgun, rifle or pistol. He’s happy to hand it me loaded although he hasn’t asked my name yet.  Beside us sits an open, glass top case jammed full of weapons, big and small, dull and shiny, semi and fully automatic. We’re just outside the grounds of the 7thArtillery Battalion headquarters in Chiang Mai, northern Thailand, the first stop on my hunt for machine gun tourists.

The definition lies squarely in the name. A traveler or holiday maker, young or old, male or female, who picks up a deadly weapon whilst on holiday – to fire live rounds at rubber tires, disused cars, wooden targets, live animals, or occasionally to simply spray them into the middle distance Rambo style, carefree and unshackled by the worried looks or health and safety rules that might accompany such an activity back in their own more developed nations, should it be allowed at all.  Few machine gun tourists have any previous experience with powerful guns, they’re of many nationalities, often seemingly opportunistic shooters who like the weapons themselves come in all shapes and sizes - from pot bellied, peak capped American forty-something’s to excitable Japanese teenagers – surprisingly, not all are male.  Some competent gun handlers argue there’s no problem letting these people have a squeeze of the trigger whilst others are appalled that rich westerners might pick up a gun for entertainment, often while visiting a country scarred by recent conflict.

South East Asia is still a hugely popular region for young British travelers and a hotspot for the budding machine gun tourist. The ranges across Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam may be officially sanctioned but there’s no background checks and few age restrictions - in fact very few pieces of paper at all to fill out before you’re pulling on oversized ear protectors, holding a weapon bigger and more powerful than those given to licensed shooters back home and eagerly swapping hard earned holiday cash for deadly bullets.

As I settle into my Tuk Tuk on the way to the Thai shooting range the driver sizes me up a little in his mirror,  then quizzes me briefly about our destination. “You in the army?” he asks “no” I reply “Do many tourists come here?” I ask back, “Many people … many people” he replies … “Are they in the army?”  He laughs shaking his head.  

Sergeant Tapwong tells me they only deal with around ten customers per day at this particular range, a small personalized service that’s advertised on the pin boards of sleepy guesthouses down the road, alongside adventure sports and cooking classes.  But it’s proving popular enough for a new range to be opening less than a mile away.   It’s a smart money spinner for the Thai Armed Forces – collecting plenty of cash from their old weapons and spare ammo. Their guests come from Britain, France, The US and Japan as well as some from New Zealand.  He plucks his favorite weapon from a stand on the wall and shows me some of the rigors they’re put through, I get the impression few hit the target as often as he does, I wonder about where they take their skills when they leave Asia, but most of all the speed of his movements convinces me he could disarm an unruly customer fairly swiftly.                        

Friendly Thai soldier shows me his moves.

Many of the ranges in Thailand are still building their business among western travelers and holidaymakers; but in fact the phenomenon of the machine gun tourist grew up properly over the border in Cambodia. The well trodden route around this part of the continent is often known as the banana pancake trail, supposedly because the sweet snacks can now be found everywhere – driven by demand from hungry young westerners with shades and suntans. Follow the trail south east down to the Cambodian capital Phnom Penh and you’ll reach the veritable capital of machine gun tourism.  The country is still dealing with its tragic past but tuk tuk drivers here will readily offer you a trip to the shooting range as a bundle with a visit to the notorious Killing Fields where the violent Khmer Rouge regime once dispatched their victims en masse. Visitors – if they so wish - can study the Pol Pot genocide in the morning then fire a machine gun that afternoon. At one well known shooting range you can not only loose off fully automatic assault rifles but also handle grenades too.  For many years – and for a few dollars more - you could shoot live animals – a practice that outraged international animal rights activists and was eventually banned by the king. However most visitors inevitably learn that laws can be shifted with hard currency here and stories still abound of travelers being able to knock off chickens with an M16 – and more famously, dispatch a cow with a grenade launcher.

As in Thailand the firing is done under the supervision of the country’s armed forces.   Graham Williams – a former British Army Officer, turned travel writer who has visited the ranges, says the system is safe, but concedes the supervising soldiers often have to step in:  “They looked relieved when my girlfriend (also ex British Army) and I picked up the weapons and checked and cleared them; I’m sure that they had to deal with people who may have an idea of where the bullets come out but have no idea where the rounds go in.”  However Williams claims there’s little harm in the activity – and says he understands how young travelers become attracted to the ranges. “In the UK unless you are connected to the armed forces or the police it is practically impossible to ever use a full bore firearm, and for many people who fire on ranges in Asia, it is probably the only time in their lives that they will get the chance to do so. There is no time for safety training but as long as there is tight supervision by instructors, I don’t see why people firing these weapons is a problem.” The travelers bible the Lonely Planet, disagrees with him urging travelers not to visit the site.  And the antithesis to his argument may lie in the case of Cody Mark Patrick, a 33 year old American tourist who visited one of the Cambodian ranges in 2008.  Having fired seven shots from a 10 shot round he turned the gun on himself and ploughed the eighth into his own jaw.  Amazingly he survived but another American tourist on the same range succeeded in his suicide attempt four years earlier – shooting himself in the head.  Further to the suicide risks the Lonely Planet’s own web forum offers up at least one worrying example of a machine gun tourist who might be considered undesirable.  Posting under the name  ‘Drovers Dog’ he asks about shooting ranges in Vietnam and Cambodia “My mate's just come back and reckons you can blaze away with a Kalashnikov or an M16 for a dollar a round till your shoulder turns blue.” Other forum members react badly and suggest he try Iraq or Afghanistan instead. Drovers Dog replies:  “Joining the armed forces and going to Iraq and/ or Afghanistan's is out of the question … I've got a criminal record and they won't take me.”

The Vietnamese range Drovers Dog had his eye on is located at the Cuu Chi tunnels in Southern Vietnam.   I follow the Banana Pancake trail even further East down the Mekong Delta and find the nature of the machine gun tourist changing slightly, but as with Cambodia, there’s a heavy sense of historical irony as the bullets fly.
          

 

A dollar a shot. The guns available in Vietnam

The Cu Chi district of Ho Chi Minh City – Saigon to give it its more famous name - holds a lot of history beneath its dusty jungle floor.  It’s not really city at all but fledgling forest - the trees are smaller and more sparse than they should be, just thirty years old; their predecessors were wiped out by waves of American B52 bombers trying to destroy the network of secret tunnels built by the villagers to help the Viet Cong during the dying stages of the Vietnam War.  The huge craters are still there. During the struggle for South Vietnam everything was smuggled along these narrow subterranean stone passages – weapons, food, supplies, refugees, – the ingenious guerrilla rabbit warren, laden with booby traps to maim US troops -stretched all the way back to the Cambodian border. Now they form a major tourist destination dealing with thousands of visitors each day - a piece of living history preserved for visitors to pick over and scramble through.

The shooting range lies across the far side of the complex and the ear splitting sound of live rounds being fired echoes eerily through the whole experience. Under the casual eye of a few green clad Vietnamese army vets – holidaymakers of varying ages, some sporting visors and backpacks are again swapping fistfuls of dollars for the chance to shoot a variety of deadly weapons.  Sweating in the heat, smiling and giving each other the thumbs up. They carry the same enthusiasm as those in Cambodia but there are more families and middle aged tourists, holidaymakers rather than travelers, fewer flip-flops and Ray Bans; more bum bags and lunch boxes.

'Watch those ears' Tourists blast away in Vietnam.

                                                  
The promise of being given guns to play with was made much earlier in the day.  As we left the suburbs of the city our tour guide explained the various stages of the visit through a microphone, leaving the shooting range until last in his list: “Over there you get the chance to fire machine gun if you want to but you pay extra for ammunition.”  A ripple of excitement spread through the small bus, ‘how much? … how much?’ came the question from the rows behind us - but they had to wait a moment, the guide was already being quizzed by a Philippine tourist about the armed forces complex visible through the right hand window, there are huge weapons parked outside – he gestures at them – “do we get to fire cannon too” he asks in English, grinning but only half joking.  The look on the guide’s face suggests he may have misunderstood the question and instead he runs through the things we do get to fire if we can find the cash –M30 and M60 machine guns – M16 rifles – the standard US weapon of choice during the Vietnam war - and of course the AK47.

One Dutch member of our tour group sports a t-shirt celebrating the famous Russian made assault weapon, he dashes ahead to be first in line when we approach the range and disappears into one of the narrow gulleys leading to the gun positions. A blaze of shots follows. I catch up with him as he emerges … “It was pretty cool,” he says laughing “you have to do it at least once in your life.”  ‘Can you do it at home in your country too?” I ask … but he shakes his head – before encouraging me to pick up a weapon and have a go too.  I decline.  Sadly his shot wasn’t quite good enough to win him one of the special gifts the army has on offer for the most accurate shooters.  You’re awarded a Cu Chi tunnels badge, a book, a scarf or a lighter if you hit the target a certain number of times.  The gallery itself is intended for shooters only but it’s easy enough to walk in unchallenged.
 
My armed tour of the banana pancake trail comes to an end with the Philippine tourist from the bus holding up his young son to stare down the gun sights of an M16.  There’s compelling arguments that he’s doing no real harm – dad won’t let him squeeze the trigger – not at a dollar per bullet anyway – and nobody has been hurt here either. But the child evokes images of others his age – back over the border in Cambodia and around the world – still under ten, yet already expert in handling guns.  A report for Campaign Against the Arms Trade cited “desperate poverty, a lack of development and huge numbers of weapons” combining to have a hugely negative effect in that country. It’s perhaps when viewed through that prism that the burgeoning trade in machine gun tourism appears to be doing the most damage.

DONUT SHOP STABBING AND PORN IN A CUP ... MY EVENING WITH THE VANCOUVER SUN.

An old friend rang me for a catch up and began telling me of her new life in Vancouver. ‘I heard it’s one of the most desirable cities in the world to live in?’ I ventured rather jealously. 

‘It is’ she replied somewhat witheringly, ‘and I can’t exactly understand it. People want to move here and buy a very small dog then jog along the waterfront with it. – It pushes the price of everything sky high.’

This seemed an odd thing to say. Admittedly I paraphrase her slightly and when she said it, it made more sense I promise. But basically it seems this place regularly fights its way into lists of the most liveable cities on the planet – number four according to Mercer, the people who measure quality of living for business exec types - yet its regular residents – the 'non dog joggers' if we may christen them such- can’t fully understand why.

Thirsty for more information (and thinking particularly of my own time in West London) I headed for their local paper, The Vancouver Sun, to get a flavour.  Which is where I have to admit I became hopelessly distracted by the masthead feature: “10 Espresso Shots: Porn in a cup?” Wow.  Was this why everyone wanted to move to Vancouver? I scanned the page but alas the story was syndicated from New York City instead. So I dragged myself back to the news pages in a continuing effort to determine the world-beating draw of this particular locale.

“D’oh. Vancouver man stabs himself while allegedly robbing Duffins Donuts” … Again, there’s a legally safe headline I just couldn’t bear to ignore. Click click. (You too can read about this mishap here should you wish) but for me, ten more minutes of Thursday night gone and still no closer as to the lure of the ‘City of Glass.’

Finally  I turned to the art and lifestyle sections where at last things started to make more sense.  …  It’s Craft Season apparently:

“I have to say, I’m so stressed right now,” says Nicole Tirona, the designer and maker of It’s Your Life jewelry and bags. “I’m doing so much sewing that I can’t think about anything else.”

I read on and find out about the Vancouver Craft Mafia (this is a real (and non violent) outfit) and things really start to fall into place. A cursory glance through Wikipedia and a look at some google images confirmed that a vibrant tradition of arts and culture as well as some fantastic scenery (and no doubt a bit of fresh air) helps to push this place higher on the liveable lists.  – It’s now also firmly part of my own stack of places to visit.

But to reclaim the point – the point lost in the first paragraph of this blog – these lists might make fascinating reading and are probably very well calculated, but you have to wonder whether they become skewed to prioritise the tastes and fancies of a cities’ wealthiest residents.   For those resigned to social housing in places like Zurich or struggling with minimum wage in London the resulting price of a pint, coffee, meal or house becomes an overwhelming negative rather than a positive. And many don’t have the opportunity to move elsewhere. When it comes to ranking cities, do the ‘non dog joggers’ really get a fair crack of the whip? 

THE LYING THE WITCH AND THE WORD WAR... OR WHAT HAPPENED NEXT TO THE TEA PARTY?

Clever compile: Copyright Steve Paulo via Flikr.

I’ve had a bit of a break from blogging. Partly because of some big projects at work – one of them our coverage of the U.S. midterms.  Which was brilliant.  To scamper down the rabbit hole into the mad, bad … perfectly profane world of U.S. politics - can be bliss itself for me – but not everyone loves it so much. Still I feel there’s some journalistic mileage left in the Tea Party yet – those candidates who made it and those who didn’t – the media spotlight shifted from these intriguingly nutty men and women far too soon in my humble opinion.

John McCain (remember him) let his daughter Meghan lose on Jay Leno this week where she was asked about the Delaware Tea Party candidate Christine ‘I’m not a witch’ O’ Donnell - who lost her bid for the Senate seat in that state. Refreshingly Meg McCain finally uttered the words all right minded people (and some Republicans too) had been thinking about this woman: She’s “out of her frickin mind.” – it got the biggest applause of the night.  Meggy Poos went on to talk about Karl Rove and masturbation, which, frankly makes this TV worth watching – the clip is below.

Next to Kentucky where Rand Paul – the Tea Party candidate who won – is preparing to take his ‘we hate all taxes and most government’ message to, erm Washington, where he gets to work from now on.  It turns out most people this side of the Pond don’t read the Louisville Courier Journal with as greater regularity as myself and so you may not have heard of the delightful story of ‘Aqua Bhudda’ doing the rounds shortly before his victory.  The allegations were fairly simple – essentially that Paul and his college buddies once kidnapped a female student, took her to a creek and forced her to bow down and worship a fake God called Aqua Buddha – (well that’s the kind of man I’d want to represent me!) The allegations appeared in an advert created by his opponent, Paul slowly and kind of half heartedly denied it, and  - get this – the guy’s ratings went UP and he won. Apparently most Kentucky voters thought this election advert was a pretty nasty move (!?)

Finally out West to California where they needed a replacement for Arnold Schwarzenegger. The race pitted Democratic veteran Jerry Brown against another Tea Party supported candidate Meg Whitman.  California bloggers have been concentrating on where she goes next, but from here – and despite her being backed by this band of nutters - it’s quite difficult to dislike Whitman, for two reasons – 1: She founded Ebay   2: She used her millions to produce one of the best election adverts I’ve ever seen – and I’ve watched a lot of these things. Give it a watch – give all of these things a watch and understand … it’s probably a good thing our elections aren’t as long or as expensive as those of our American cousins …  But God if they were as interesting.

POPE OPERA - WILL THE PRESS MESS THIS UP?

                                                    Photo: Jari Kurittu via Flikr

Tabloid editors have no doubt been brainstorming their papal exclusives over the past few days. The recent destruction of Ricky Hatton, Wayne Rooney and the Pakistani cricket team  must have seemed like mere child’s play compared to an opportunity to be let lose with the Holy See on home turf. He might have been concerned about that Dan Brown bloke but he hasn't met the News of the World's investigations team yet. So am I the only one who shudders to think of the results when our rabid newspapers cover this visit?

There's a chance of course it could be treated like any normal big news event - with page 3’s Gemma from Essex proffering her opinion on contraception while wearing Rosary beads, a big white hat and not much else. Of course a senior politician could be overheard calling him a bigoted old man. Perhaps someone will try to hack his mobile. Either way - an un-christian like hatred already seemed to seep into the coverage with this offering from The Sun. Now I'm particularly looking forward to seeing how the Daily Star and Press TV handle the week's events. It's probably not the Vatican's travelling journalists - collectively known as 'The Vat Pack' by the way - that British Catholics should be worried about.

I kind of hope it's possible to have a debate about the shotcomings of the catholic church, hold it's figurehead to account over the horrific cases of child abuse, show respect to the UK's millions of catholics, hear all sides of the debate fairly and balance the story well. But I don't think every British journalist has it in them.

A colleague once told me the story of an ‘incident’ at his TV station. A foul mouthed producer was lining up a very senior religious figure for a live studio interview. Thinking her talkback could only be heard by the floor manager she struggled to get him in the correct position and eventually bellowed "tell the c*** in the dress to move left a bit." The holy man leaned forward slightly and whispered gently into the microphone: "I’m sorry does she mean me?"

If the story is true then God only knows what might happen.

GROUND ZERO TOLERANCE

Picture: Asterix611 - via Flikr

I knew pretty quickly where I stood on this issue. The somewhat spiteful debate surrounding the so-called ‘Ground Zero Mosque.’ First clincher? It’s not actually a Mosque. It involves plans for a community centre with a place of worship inside. Second point? It’s not at Ground Zero, but two blocks away. Here’s a handy map showing the distance, remember this is downtown Manhattan, you can fit a lot in.

But if a third strand were needed to suggest just who’s wrong here, I’d skim through the quotes gathered from anti-Mosque protesters this past Sunday. I feel their wise words may not have been picked over finely enough and want to re-print a few, collected from Reuters:

“America needs to man up right about now. We’re bowing to Muslims that want to kill us, that hate us.”

“I don’t believe that every Muslim is a terrorist, but I do know that every Muslim was on the planes that killed my brother was a Muslim.”

“When they the terrorists they come over here and they tear down the World Trade Center, 3,000 people they get killed by the Muslim people, don’t forget them.”

Couple together the fact they quite literally can’t string a sentence together, with the fact television pictures showed them waving a model cruise missile… with a US flag sticking out of it – and we know just about where on the scale we might find many of these people. Please don’t think patriot or concerned citizen, not even ‘tea party maverick.’ To those of us living in the UK, think BNP activist, hijacking pictures of Churchill and screaming about ‘our jobs’.

They insist two blocks is too close to this ‘hallowed ground’ – and want the building pushed back further. I’d like to beg the question, how far would be far enough. To the tip of Manhattan? Into the sea maybe? How about 2.9 miles and a short ferry ride south to Liberty Island? Here’s another quote to cast your eye over, printed on the base of the statue that stands there:

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free”

One small but significant part of America’s fascinating history as a nation of immigrants, a nation committed to freedom of speech and freedom to worship too. I visited Ground Zero a couple of years ago. They requested that you don’t take photos and selling stuff was banned. But the New York Fire Department were teaching visiting school kids about the history of the place and at that time you could still stick tributes and messages to the fences around the building site.

One last quote comes from something I saw scribbled down there:

“The planes came and took my uncle away. We love you.”

That seems to me like a much stronger way to respect and preserve the memory of the people who lost their lives on 9/11. Better than borderline racism anyway.

WHY I LOVE THE SIGHT OF ST PANCRAS... FROM ONE DIRECTION

'Grumpy.... 'That's Betjeman .... not me.

Is it possible to love the look of a train station, airport or bus terminal from only one direction? I mean to enter at its southern end - and be awestruck by beauty and brilliance, yet remain disappointed and numb when passing through the same lofty building from the north …. Because I feel this way about London St Pancras.

This station is brilliant. I wax lyrical about it. Forget your Crosses both King’s and Charing – square and boring. Giant Waterloo may share its name with an epic battle but that’s also what you’ll face at its ticket machines and tube station. Tiny Marylebone can compete in the silly name stakes but I stand firm in my belief that shiny St Pancras is the daddy of them all. Look at the evidence. It has a champagne bar, a sushi bar and a burger bar… a giant statue of a couple kissing, a smaller statue of a grumpy poet, a toyshop, a bookshop, trains that go under the sea, fourteen thousand window panes in its roof and almost as many lost Frenchmen milling around beneath.

Still none of these things actually clinch it for me. Instead it’s the station’s solid structural connections to places I call home. I have a huge affinity with two cities, Glasgow and Derby. I lived, worked and set down roots in both and travel back to both regularly, passing through St Pancras every time. On every occasion – and with beautiful synergy – I see the Victorian façade, designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott who also created Glasgow University - and then walk beneath the giant structural arch – supported by iron girders, forged in Derby. This place is built with ideas and materials mined from places I associate with strength. When it was bombed during the second world war, engineers from Central Scotland and the Midlands got it running again. Inevitably a mixture of pride, warmth and familiarity sees me onto the train with a smile on my face wherever I happen to be heading.

So why does the same building remain singularly unimpressive each time I return. The huge gilded clock bears down reminding you how late you are. 'This was once the largest indoor space in the world' but so what. For the traveller heading north to south it’s now merely a portal, you dash through focussing on what lies beyond, a hurried tube ride, London night out, tourist trip, reunion or just a warm flat at the end of a long journey.

It seems to me our perception of grand travel places alters depending on which stage of our journey we encounter them. I don’t know if this is something particular to London, Glasgow, Derby and me, or a real, widespread observable phenomenon. Can a similar effect be measured with New York’s Grand Central Station or Gare Du Nord in Paris? Answers on the back of an international train ticket please.

IN HAITI, A LACK OF LOOTING. BUT PLENTY IN THE PAPERS

In the sad story that is Haiti the past twenty four hours have manifested themselves in the media as 'looting day.'

Like 'miracle victim day' before it and 'water borne disease day' after, they had a predefined place in our carefully constructed western commentary of this awful event, despite the hard facts from the ground suggesting we were slightly wide of the mark.

Consider again the appalling security situation created by the earthquake.

A country awash with gangs and guns had its state apparatus annihilated in minutes, food, fuel and water suddenly very hard to find amid the wreckage of what was already a troubled island nation. Entire shanty towns slid down hills as alongside most of it's other structures the capital's prisons collapsed. The five thousand dangerous criminals inside walked free and they did so past thousands of corpses left cooking in the Caribbean sun.

In the six days since there have been incidents of looting and violence...of course. A looter was burned by a mob in Port-Au-Prince, another shot by police, sad stories both. But the apocalyptic orgy of violence predicted and chronicled by editors everywhere hasn't actually reared its head in real life.

Solid, positive, uplifting facts from the disaster zone include aid workers heading into the worst hit areas without protection, the first US soldiers patrolling with soft hats and no guns. The TV bulletins at the weekend led with pictures of angry people simply throwing empty cardboard boxes at each other in frustration...even Fox news struggled to find footage of knife wielding youths...Haitians are desperate and hungry but not savages.

Despite this a Google News search for "looting" and "Haiti" returns more than fifteen thousand results, breathlessly written by an army of journalists sometimes searching for facts to fit the story. The words 'Brutal' 'Lynch Mob' and 'Hell On Earth' (Daily Express contribution) all headline fodder dumped unceremoniously on page one to help keep us informed.

The truth is most of these people have have shown remarkable restraint, staying peaceful even in their hunger as aid sat behind barbed wire fences a few hundred feet away. Millions around the world have been touched by their plight and we should demand a little more from our media as well as digging deeper into our pockets.

The focus should be on counting the water and biscuits not the guns and machetes. The people of Haiti need compassion not cliches.