Keeping cool

Pancho woke with a start. It was hot and his head felt as if it was wrapped in cotton wool. His leg had twitched and the sudden jerk had brought him back to the present sweltering heat. His brain clicked into action and with unrivalled speed of thought Pancho proceeded to act as if he was stretching. Of course he had not twitched in his sleep, he was just stretching particularly vigorously, something only well trained practitioners of vigorous stretching were able to do. Twitching in his sleep was not something Pancho did!

Opening his eyes a crack, he surveyed his surroundings. Good! Apart from a few chickens and a few roaming pigs there was nobody around that could have misinterpreted the movement. His gaze returned to the pigs with suspicion though. He had heard that they were intelligent animals. Maybe their snuffling the ground was just an act. Maybe they thought he had twitched in his sleep instead of the most apparent truth?! He maintained his focus on the pigs as they continued their act of innocence, but Pancho knew better, he was certain. It was the subtleties that gave secrets away and his most discerning eye meant that they couldn’t elude him. The way the pigs consequently ignored him was a sure sign of their embarrassment!  Ha! He had found them out. Pancho’s sense of triumph was only diminished by the fact that he now knew that the pigs believed he had twitched… He directed his considerable mental faculties towards finding a way of convincing the pigs that he had in fact just been stretching but then a more important thought entered his mind. A thick thirst had settled in his throat. Disappointed at not being able to commit fully to the pig problem Pancho diverted his attention. He squinted at the brilliantly lit dusty world beyond the shade of his mango tree and sighed. The time had come. He would have to brave the blistering heat and battle the elements to ensure further survival in this inhumanely hostile environment.

He mustered his strength and stood up to his imposing height before stepping into the glare. The sun’s rays bore down on him from directly above without mercy. He nodded to himself as his expectations were confirmed. It was indeed hotter in the full glare of the midday sun, but naturally this was nothing that Pancho’s steeled physique couldn’t handle. A few measured steps further and he found himself inside his baked mud hut, pouring a plastic cup of water. Despite the warm temperature of the liquid, bordering on hot, he drank it greedily and followed up with several more cups.  In the meantime the radiating heat off the mud hut walls meant that Pancho was turning into a true fountain of sweat. He had to hurry up unless he wanted to sweat out the amount of water he was just drinking.

When he hurriedly stepped out of the baking oven a renewed blast of hot harmattan wind hit him and evaporated the drops that had started beading and trickling down his bare chest. He had quickly learned that it was wiser not to wear a shirt during his midday breaks. It was “cooler” this way and meant less washing as well.

Ahhhh, a brief moment of respite as the evaporating sweat cooled him.

Moments later he collapsed into his chair again with a sigh. When would this blasted heat end?! The wind was still blowing from the wrong direction for the rainy season. The shade of the mango tree was nice and the frequent wind made it all the more bearable as despite its heat and dryness it cooled well by evaporating sweat almost immediately. But even in light of his superb resilience Pancho thought some cooler temperatures may just make the stay ever so slightly more bearable.

He blinked and his mind turned in circles and searcheing for something to occupy itself with. Finally his sight came to rest on the pigs again suspiciously. A smile of triumph curled across his features. The pigs were settling down in the shade for a nap of their own. Pancho would watch closely to see if they twitched in their sleep. If he were able to witness such an event it would surely even the playing field!

But before long, Pancho’s own eyelids became heavy once more as if tied down by lead weights and he dozed off. This time of course he made sure that no movements would be involved that could possibly be construed as involuntary twitching.

…Ouagadougou was not what Pancho had expected. As the capital of a country striving upwards in the world he had envisioned streets paved with finest concrete, lined with spectacular (in one way or another) tropical palaces displaying cultural artefacts of an alien culture. But what he found, as Edward III chauffered him through the streets, was a familiarity that reminded him of destinations such as Thailand or India. Ramshackle buildings, rubbish strewn streets and the glorious whiff of burning plastic in the night air. It was almost as if he was back in Bangkok again, except that the buildings here seemed a lot smaller and flatter ( they rarely seemed to stand taller than the ground level floor).

Edward III’s domicile, which they reached soon after, was not quite up to Pancho’s regal standards but with his impeccable manners he accepted what was on offer. A simple mattress on the floor was enough until he could make it to his own quarters on the following day. Edward III had already set a strict schedule for the coming days that would ensure that Pancho would acclimatise in no time. Pancho nodded appreciatively at this, he was most confident that he could manage anything this fellow could throw his way. In fact Pancho was most famous for his words that discipline and hard work were the backbone of any worthy endeavour. He said the sentence alloud and made sure to repeat it several times until he was certain that Edward III would for ever remember who had coined them.

The night brought more memories of Thailand. The sound of roosters crowing in the morning and waking him at unpleasant hours was the fondest of them all. In reality the roosters never crowed in the morning, for some reason they seemed to crow in the middle of the night, or well before the sun decided to rise, which was 5:30am in Ouagadougou.

Despite these pesky and wholly unwarranted interruptions by the rude local fauna Pancho managed to find some well deserved rest.

The following morning, more or less refreshed, Pancho was quickly ready to establish himself in the country and delve in to the plentiful work he had set himself.

He was greeted by fresh baguette with avocado and spiced and dried crickets for breakfast. This was certainly a pleasant if somewhat unexpected surprise for Pancho. Having eaten such delicacies before it was no issue to overcome his initial scepticism and truly indulge in the great taste the meal had to offer. As fond as Pancho was of dutiful industriousness, much to his liking Edward then whisked Pancho off to the research institute’s office shortly after breakfast. The office would serve as the base of operations from whence Pancho would set out on his heroic endeavours in the following three months.

Once on the roard Pancho found himself drenched in sweat very quickly. As his body began the process of adapting to the local clime Pancho’s mind was already vigorously taking in its surroundings.  Ouagadougou was a very different place in broad daylight it seemed.

It was dusty; very dusty and brownish in colour with dusty roads and dusty side roads and various things covered in dust here and there in between dusty patches of dust. Interesting, Pancho thought. Just as the dustiness of the dust was somewhat of a surprise the state of the roads was as well. Due to his expert research skills being applied before embarking on this grand voyage, Pancho had been aware that Ouaga’s side streets were not paved, but he had not been entirely prepared for the real live sight of them. They made the city look more like a slum than a capital he found. But, then again Pancho had to remind himself, as he held a most critically appreciative inner dialogue with himself, that behind the metal gate of Edward’s house, the inside had been quite comfortable and nice and considerably less dusty.

So as Edward III expertly weaved the motor cycle through somewhat unreliable local traffic Pancho felt that old and familiar tingle of excitement and delight rise insider him at being thrown into a new adventure. It was the new experience he had sought and the challenge that he looked for. Conquering this challenge would most assuredly provide Pancho with new international allies for his grand scheme of…. Ah, he was letting his excitement get the better of him. He snapped out of it and instead enjoyed the Burkinabean air(presumaby dusty as well) ripple over his face and through his hair as they rode along.

Arriving at the head office further lifted his spirits. Despite the drab and disorganised inside of the office room, it offered the height and crowning achievement and decadence of technological civilisation. The glory of air conditioning! And to top all of this off, if there was a power outage, which was a frequent occurrence in Ouaga as the municipal diesel generators that powered the city would sometimes overheat, the institute had its own backup generator that would ensure a cool and measured environment in which to maintain his most diligent work practice.

Pancho nodded in approval. This would do for his research. The deep mysteries of the Mossi plateau termites and their impact on the local agriculture would not elude Pancho for long (or longer than the allotted 3 months in any case).

The Heat - Adventures in Africa

What on earth was going on?! It felt almost as if he was sitting inside an oven, while this oven was turned on to full blast. His body was being baked into a pulpy shapeless blob as his brain strained to keep his glazed over eyes open. And every renewed blast of hot air greedily drew a few more drops of moisture from his already heavy and torturously dry limbs.

Pancho was one hardy fellow but right now he had to admit to himself that he may quite possibly just about be in over his head. And the worst was yet to come! Shortly after midday, when the blazing ball of flames in the sky licked the scorched land with its fiery tongue, not even the emerald sea of dense mango tree leaves above would be of much use. Well, Pancho swatted away an annoying fly, it would still be better than roasting in the full blaze. The bone dry dusty soil stretching out around him was God's witness.

Ah! He longed for a trickle of water down his parched throat, but that would mean braving the torturous rays, even if it was for a mere few meters. Instead, his body decided to not move an inch and simply accept the delicate position it was in and had been since Pancho's arrival in the splendid and most glorious Republic of Burkina Faso!

Suddenly he twitched. Frowning he stared around. Had he been drifting off to sleep?! A fresh bout of energy seemed to flow through him and Pancho sat up straight as a ruler baring his most contemptuous expression at the blasted heat around him. He had not come to this irrefutably hot part of the world to be subdued into a brain- and spineless stupor. Oh no sir! Not him! Not Pancho Wodehouse, the great explorer and adventurer of his day and age. He stared ahead at the baking soil resolutely and with purpose. What purpose he wasn't quite sure of but it did not matter, his staring was so impeccably resolute that the stare in itself had to hold some kind of natural purpose, surely...

A mango dropped from the tree above and thudded into the soil drily. The resulting sudden bout of frenzy among the drift of pigs nearby, racing to conquer that covetted prize seemed to underline Pancho's purposeful stare. It was in fact such an emphatic confirmation of his mastery of the elements that Pancho could not stop himself from puffing out his chest. The ´hams to be' squealed and returned to snuffling the dry soil as the largest of them made off with the juicy treat. Then something highly unexpected happened. A question popped into Pancho's mind without having been invited. He couldn't help but frown slightly as he tried to solve the riddle of this unexpected intruder into his thoughts. 

Why was he here?

- silence -

Naturally, as you may have quite correctly suspected oh reader, the question wasn't posed in the philosophical sense. Pancho shook his head with amusement. Of course not, sitting in above 40°C heat under a mango tree among pigs, chicken and other sorts of companions was not the right kind of place for such high minded thoughts. The question was in fact far simpler than that. Why was Pancho Wodehouse in Burkina Faso? 

More accurately, why was Pancho Wodehouse sitting beneath a Burkinabean mango tree engulfed in this terrible heat?

Aha! Pancho nodded knowingly, he was getting somewhere here. 

But his positive demeanor seemed to melt away as his mind, usually the sharpest tool there was, failed to conclusively pierce the veil of heavy heat that seemed to smother his higher faculties. He struggled a bit harder; how had this all come about?!

A hazy recollection entered his mind from somewhere beyond somewhere else. Pancho tried to concentrate his great intellect with more force, reaching out frantically, grasping at that faint waft of a memory.

Ahhhh yes! He had caught a flight to Burkina Faso! That was how it had all begun. His mind's eye turned to the memory of arriving at the airport of this country's great capital city:

Ouagadougou! A splendid name for a capital city Pancho had thought when he first heard it. The people of Burkina Faso had to be truly brilliant to name it so. The creativity and ability to come up with such a unique name was truly admirable. 

Pancho's smile diminished somewhat; he was drifting off again. Where had he been? Ah yes, at the airport!

His arrival had very naturally for this time of year and this region of the planet, blasted by dry winds, been greeted by heat and a strange little customs process. After having been transported from the plane to the terminal building by bus, despite the distance surely being no more than 30 meters, Pancho had been welcomed by a control for Ebola, including mandatory hand washing and a very disorganised seeming process of registering his arrival. Nevertheless it all had gone quite smoothly for him until he had picked up his checked luggage and was purposefully heading towards the exit. Purposefully because it was of course important to look as if one always knew what one was doing, so as to not invite unwelcome attention. But alas, as he attempted to exit the arrivals hall a local officer, evidently taken by sudden bout of unexplicable folly, approached Pancho and dared to ask whether he had in fact the baggage ticket belonging to the bag that he was intending to carry off. For a moment Pancho had to battle to keep his expression free from aghast shock. Did she deem him capable of mistaking somebody else's luggage for his own?! 

He looked down at his bag. It was admittedly a most excellent specimen of a bag but then again, it suited him so perfectly that under normal circumstances there could be no question. Nevertheless Pancho, with his usual impeccable manners, gave the officer a friendly smile and placed the bag on the ground in order to retrieve the desired baggage ticket (which was stuck on the flight ticket of the first stretch of the flight). 

He patted his various pockets, certain that he had placed the ticket there a few hours earlier in wise premonition at the need of it. The ticket did not seem to emerge on the first round of patting however so in good spirits Pancho eagerly set about on a second round of patting. But alas, all the patting in the world did not seem to be able to bring that ticket with the baggage token into existence. Pancho soldiered on bravely, patting away here and there, making sure not to leave any pocket out but starting to feel somewhat confounded at the impossibility of the situation. 

Meanwhile the office surveyed Pancho's brave attempts with an increasingly pitiful gaze it seemed. That look spurned Pancho on to ever more ambitious patting to the point where the officer's pity must have become unbearable to her so she decided to change her mode of attack. 

She asked for the flight ticket instead. Somewhat relieved that Pancho could now stop patting his various pockets he began rummaging in one specific pocket that the second ticket would most assuredly be in. And after a very brief and faint bout of terrific terror, that the second document was also missing and that he would have to spend the night rummaging through his bags, the most desired piece of paper finally emerged. A slight sigh of relief could be heared by the more discerning ears in the baggage claim area.

Several minutes after the officer had confirmed the ownership of the bag Pancho was finally allowed to step into the hot night air of Ouagadougou. He was ready to make a big impression on his first arrival, especially after the first somewhat unnecessary excitement.

As he stepped out his gaze rolled over the scenery unfolding before him expecting to recognise at any moment the glorious welcoming comittee that would honour him with a tad of unnecessary fanfare. But instead, what greeted him were strange faces staring blankly. After the briefest moment of reflection Pancho decided not to let the locals prey on his lack of local knowledge and street smarts and accordingly proceeded to strut forth in the most exuberant fashion. As the stares deepened and their blankness increased Pancho could tell that the locals were mightily impressed. 

As if to confirm his suspicion a first supplicant eventually approached his imposing form. The man however evidently was unsure of how to express himself correctly. Pancho thought he had heard something along the lines of needing a taxi or some such matter but he knew that he must have misheard. The local was evidently offering his most prestigious services as a butler. Pancho honoured the bold proposal with a fond smile but waved the man away. There was absolutely no need for this fine fellow to waste his most assuredly ample talent on such a humble fellow as Pancho was. After all, Burkina Faso was considered one of the most basic countries in the world and Pancho did not deem it right to ostentatiously display his wealth openly. He would lead a simple life, adapting to local customs. As such he would dress and bathe himself!

The man eventually shuffled off unable to completely hide his disappointment at not being able to serve such a fine gentleman. But Pancho was certain that the man would do well for himself despite the slight miscommunication.

A full 60 minutes later slight doubts seemed to creep up on Pancho however. He was still standing as exuberantly as one could possibly stand in the parking lot of the airport, waiting for his promised arrival committee, but he had no local currency, no means of contacting his host nor any address to call upon. In fact a friendly missionary from the North American continent had offered him the use of her portable telephone to contact his host, but it had brought no discernible results. His contact's telecommunications device seemed to be switched off or some such thing.

Now that his contact was nowhere to be reached and that that splendid butler prospect had been rebuffed, Pancho needed to find another solution. With a sudden burst of brilliance Pancho found the solution to his dilemma. 

A plan B was necessary! With renewed zeal Pancho set about immediately devising it. His exuberant stance renewadly exuberant, Pancho thought hard and fast. Thinking hard and fast was a skill he had acquired after many years of discerning and honest work! 

But as he had been thinking hard and fast for several minutes, suddenly his controlled expression of concentrated sublimity crumbled and turned into something more along the lines of naive hope. Had he just seen his host fly by in the distance on a scooter of sorts?!

Pancho set himself in motion to get to the bottom of this mystery. And as if he had known all along, shortly after Pancho realised that his eyes, excellent as they were even at night time, had not deceived him. His host, by now a notorious man in Pancho's mind had truly arrived. He had arrived indisputably late but as was the case with men of true greatness, Pancho was quick to forgive such a slight if it was the result of an earnest mistake. And as it of course turned out, his host, Edward III, had been the impotent victim of most unfortunate circumstances and an inescapably terrible fate. 

He had fallen asleep unexpectedly and with great surprise. 

But now that this Edward fellow had arrived in fine and infectious spirit all was good and forgiven and Pancho Wodehouse, that most daring of worldly gentlemen, could after a short wait finally continue on this great adventure that Burkina Faso would have to offer. 

Spring Cleaning

The family estate had changed over the last few weeks. The weather had become warmer, in fact alot warmer, scorching even. So a few plants here and there hung limply thirsting for a few drops of fresh rain or even just dew. Pancho himself hadn't moved. 30 days and 30 nights it had been. He had waited for fate to finally arrive and plant that idea in his head. The fact that this idea wouldn't come by sitting around slowly dawned on the poor fellow. Despite his frightening intelligence, his wisdom still seemed to be lacking at times. With a sigh he stood up and brushed off the dust and pollen that had settled on him during his stupendous daze. The gearshafts of his brain slowly started grinding again, smashing cogs against another and reigniting the spark of genius. 

Previously he had not imagined it, but this year in Thailand had taken its toll on him, mentally as well as physically. It had taken a whole while for everything to sink in, so really it had been no wonder that no fresh and blindingly preposterous ideas came into his mind over that period of time. Now the matter was settled. And Pancho found himself at quite an interesting point in his life. Virtually all doors stood open to him. Good looks, intelligence, wisdom ripened by those 30 days, fitness and a completed education... The world was his for the taking. If he could just decide how it would best be done... But with a twinkle in his eye Pancho wandered through the expansive family estate. Through the small pockets of deep forest filled with game, over sun drenched meadows and by pleasantly cooling lakes and ponds. A few days of relaxation and mental stimulation and things would start rolling just as it was meant to be.

And later that day Pancho knew he had made a start. After checking his endless fan emails (they had amassed considerably over the last month) he encountered a curious website. A blog in fact which he found quite interesting. So interesting that he decided to contact the fellow who published, wrote and presumably thought it up. He waited for this kindred souls reply with bated breath...is still waiting, but presumably for not too much longer.

For the readers who may have in interest in these matters, this is the blog

http://principlesofbeing.blogspot.com/

Time flies

Pancho sat in silence. In deep contemplative silence. Some people would probably even guess he had passed on or fallen into a coma. That’s how good Pancho was at being contemplative. A true master of contemplation at work in fact. The silence was only apparent on the outside however. Inside his exaggeratingly well disposed cranium there was an incessant humdrum of voices and chitchat. Well, not really. His head was simply filled with emptiness. It was a void but also a realm in which every possible idea could exist simultaneously. It was just a matter of letting an idea burst like a bubble and manifest itself in his mind. To some this may sound like insanity. Others would claim that Pancho actually had the answer to the universe in his head. And lo and behold, so it was. But there is and always has been a subtle difference between infinite potential and the actual outcome.
For example, when cooking. You may have the complete ingredients to a perfect dish of pasta, but put the pasta onto a boil, walk away and get distracted by that hilarious video on youtube and WHAM, there you have it. Even the most talented master chef can not save those drenched and soggy noodles. By the way, Pancho was quite a talented a cook, but that’s a different matter.
Anyway, this is how a master mind worked. At least, knowing that he was a master mind Pancho took it for the way every master mind worked. Sitting there waiting for an idea to mysteriously pop out of the crackle of unworthy ideas. And Pancho was not just waiting for any odd idea. No my dear reader, not at all. He was in fact waiting for an idea that would revolutionise the world. An idea so unthinkably new that it would take the world by storm and open people’s eyes with a blinding clarity. In a good way that is. Meaning that there would be no way that some religious fundamentalist would take that idea as proof that Pancho was dangerous. He didn’t particularly feel like being burned on the haystack for being radical.
But alas, Pancho had been sitting for a while and this fantastic idea was evidently running late. So slowly his mind started drifting off into memory. You see, he was not any longer in the Kingdom of Thailand, he had left that place of eternal sunshine and friendly smiles a while back when his stint there ended.
As expected he had been paraded around a few last times and taken farewell from so many of his new found fans, that he already had a faint longing to return. Especially now, that the spring weather in Europe was rainy and cold.
But then, there were other aspects that he did not miss. Such as the constant nagging feeling that he should write down his memories of the time, for the multitude of his fans of course. But to be honest he failed to find the time to do that the closer he came to the end of his stay. There were so many stories to tell. Too many in fact. Too many wonderful stories of teaching little devils, eating disgusting looking food that was actually fantastically delicious, being kidnapped by lady boys and having encounters with a variety other fascinating people. Too many such stories because even Pancho’s amazingly productive and long life was finite and he did prefer to live it compared to sitting around remembering it (he knew he could do that when he became an old whiny grandpa: “Ah the old days, you know grandson, when I was your age…”). So Pancho decided to move on and divert the deep well of his talents to other things.
This was actually the reason why he was sitting here in silence in the expanses of his endless family estate, waiting for his encounter with fate (Not that he thought fate was particularly good at keeping an appointment). He needed to find a new project into which he could hurl his dazzling greatness. And, well, as much as he refused to acknowledge it, this was proving quite a challenge. But where would Pancho Wodehouse be now if he did not accept a good challenge!

Of Broken Down Cars and Elephants

Pancho had now made his first acquaintance with breaking down cars in Thailand. To anybody with even an inkling of an intellect (such as good old Pancho himself) this did not come as a surprise. The cars that one found traveling the moonscape roads tended to be as beaten up as the roads themselves. Some of the cars or trucks were even as old as the seventies, so there was no surprise in frequent break downs. What was actually surprising was the fact that a lot of them still functioned quite well. People would repair the vehicles (also motorcycles) almost indefinitely. Few people could afford to buy a brand new car. But Pancho saw this as an upside in Thailand. As with clothes and other things, objects were used up until the moment that they were well and truly useless. The new objects would start with the richer people who would use them until they felt they could discard them, either by selling or donating and so objects would be handed down through the social strata ensuring that nothing was really wasted (except for fuel through constant unnecessary use of air conditioning and using a car or a motorcycle to drive even less than 100 meters). This meant that second hand cars, even in comparatively appalling condition were a lot more expensive than in Europe for instance. What Pancho found however was that those old cars that were built in the simplest ways without fancy electronics and so forth were the ones that functioned best.
On Pancho’s trip to Surin, with his host father, mother and advisor they unfortunately traveled in a car that had a relatively complicated set up and was aging. Even before their departure Pancho’s host father was trying to get the cooling fan of the engine to work. Eventually, after about an hour long struggle things worked out and they set out on the road to the province bordering on Cambodia. Pancho’s host father came from a little village in Surin that was famous for being the home of hundreds of elephants. The elephant village. The purpose of this trip was to attend the annual Elephant show when all the village elephants, rented out throughout Thailand for labour and touristic work were expected back to perform in a huge spectacle.
But naturally, before they got close to Surin, the fan stopped working once again and the car overheated. They barely managed to find a mechanic’s garage before things would have gotten out of hand.
And so, the mechanics took the whole fan apart and started fixing what they could. Pancho and his advisor crossed the road and sat down in front of a convenience shop waiting for matters to improve. His host mother was asleep in the car and his host father was busy watching the mechanics work. Sitting around aimlessly went on for about two hours before a family friend appeared with his wife and daughter. They graciously came in two cars and offered them the big comfortable one to travel on to Surin and return it on their way back when their own car was fixed. Pancho thought this an excellent idea as by now he was quite sick of sitting around and waiting. In fact he was quite tired also.
The trip did not take too much longer but Pancho after having had a beer with his host dad (drinking and driving is an acceptable way to spend your time) could not keep his eyes open.
They reached the family house in the city of Surin quite late. Everybody (even including his Excellency Pancho Wodehouse) would only have a short night’s sleep as they would have to leave the house before dawn.
Pancho’s host father’s family being from the village none of them had to pay entry. Additionally they all had an early breakfast with some of the performers (including one especially huge elephant) as befits a guest of honour such as Pancho of course. The breakfast was very welcome as that morning was actually quite cold. It was the first time and last time that Pancho shivered in Thailand, though naturally he had to tell the Thais that this temperature was not cold at all! In fact it was just below 10 degrees. On a European scale this was not cold yet he would never have expected such a temperature in tropical Thailand. Having been surprised he of course was not dressed accordingly and had to warm himself by the fireside (that was used for cooking) and with hot coffee.
The show started around 9 o’clock and went on for 3 hours. The rising sun quickly heated up everything to the usual sweltering temperature and Pancho was happy that they had found seats that were in the shade and that had a fantastic view of the spectacle. That was of course until hundreds of Thais assembled in front of them to have a better view which meant that Pancho and theothers had to stand up in order to see.
The show itself was fantastic. Pancho had seen elephants before but never 280 at once. This fact together with a well choreographed show and the epic scale made it very enjoyable. Pancho was fortunate to have the opportunity to see this as it was held only on one weekend of the year. Part of the show was a tug of war event where 60 humans were to fight one elephant. I’ll leave it to the imagination of the reader to determine who won. However if you knew the true winner you could be surprised by the fact that Pancho himself with his Herculean strength took part in this contest.
The group returned to Phunee that same day and picked up the not yet quite fixed car on the way. They had to wait several more hours before it was road worthy again. And as usual after a trip in Thailand on returning home Pancho was in dire need of a bed and sleep.

Harvest

Free time and no pressure. Oh those were the joys of an easy life! These were things one could only really appreciate after directly experiencing the opposite. And this was the case for Pancho. After those two tremendous weeks of endless training and fatigue culminating in an epic crescendo Pancho was overjoyed to be able to savour normal life once again. That sweet bliss of not constantly operating at breaking point. An occasional challenge was quite welcome, but Pancho had realised that too much was just a constant drain on energy.
Despite having been additionally strained by having to work the normal 8 to 9 hour day at school, Pancho secretly admired the zeal that some professional athletes upheld. Training that hard took much of the joy out of the sport. As it is with all things, clever Pancho knew that moderation and relatively frequent variation of lifestyles was what maintained joy and pleasure in any activity. Pancho was no fool after all. But he realised this more than ever now that he did not have to wake up at 5:30am any longer. He was not tired throughout the day nor saw teaching as a burden (he actually started enjoying it again). And he could spend his evenings in a more relaxed manor than training hard for several hours and then going straight to sleep. Pancho literally felt as free as a kite.
Part of this freedom however also included having to attend to other duties once again from which he was excused before. One of these duties, which was in fact quite interesting and provided this variety necessary for an interesting life, was taking part in activities that constituted the everyday Thai country lifestyle. Pancho was invited to help in the rice harvest for a day (or more if he wished. Somehow he was not convinced this would be the case though).
So early on a Monday morning (it was holiday time, or rice harvest time for all those who had a farm to attend to) one of the family workers, who had 2 weeks off to harvest rice at his own parents’ farm, came to pick Pancho up. His parents’ place was in the proper country side, where if the roads were ever paved, they looked like the surface of the moon, with hundreds and thousands of potholes. Dirt roads passed through acres and acres of yellow rice fields waiting to be harvested. The worker’s (Jack’s) farm was situated on one of these dirt roads. It was surrounded completely by rice fields and several palm trees that provided shade from the blistering sun. The farm consisted of the animal pens under traditional straw roves and an additional structure with the usual corrugated iron roof found in Thailand. It was perfectly quiet here except for the incessant crow of the cocks in the yard (Pancho found this quite annoying at times, especially when they would start crowing in the middle of the night). After having had a small second breakfast or brunch Pancho and Jack started out. One wore long sleeved tops and trousers in order to be protected from the sun. Additionally a wide rimmed hat was good. Pancho was given an umbrella hat, which literally looked like he was wearing an umbrella on his head. It suited him fantastically. Initially Pancho needed some time to get accustomed to handling the sickle and grabbing the bundles of rice but soon he was just about as proficient as Jack or his parents. A master of the universe would obviously not find any trouble in such a measly little exercise. Despite being convinced of the ease of the task while they had started in the shade of a tree, after a while it was inevitable to be working in the sun. Within minutes Pancho’s shirt was soaked through with sweat. A bucket of ice water stood ready to provide the necessary refreshment, for drinking.
Pancho was a type of person who liked to get on with work and get things done. He had so many splendid plans for life and the world that he could not help working extremely efficiently. Rice harvesting and the general farmer’s life, as he found out were not compatible with such a mindset. The work of harvesting, then threshing and whatever else was needed was never ending. The only difference was that things worked in the rhythm of the seasons. There was no use in rushing to finish something if in the end one would just have to wait around. So work went on but at a pleasant pace. There was no use in getting tired out. There was no use in finishing faster as tomorrow would be just the same as today or yesterday. Pancho felt that he needed some kind of goal to work towards which made him realize how life must have changed dramatically for people in so called civilized countries. Going from the agricultural society, where all things got done in their proper time to a high pressured working environment where nothing could be completed quickly enough. Why was this? Why couldn’t the completion of a project take as long as it took? Why did the profit motive have to drive everything to more efficiency when really there was not really that much difference between having a 21 inch or 50 inch TV. Is it not the way you spend your time more important than the way you spend your money? It was just an interesting observation for Pancho to make while bending over, cutting rice till his left hand was full, placing the bundle on the floor until 5 bundles were heaped up and then starting the next little accumulation.
After lunch Pancho felt incredibly sleepy. The heat was stifling and no breeze came to refresh the workers so one after another they drifted off to sleep in hammocks.
When the sun had lowered slightly and lost some of its intensity, and Pancho had slept enough, work resumed for a bit before Jack decided to drive Pancho back home. He probably had had enough of cutting rice himself for the day. Despite a relatively relaxed speed they did get about half a field done. With a bout 15 more fields to go the whole procedure would most likely take a month. A month of work sounded long, but not if there wasn’t any stress involved. In the end Pancho was actually not that tired at the end of the day. Despite not wanting to be a farmer in his future, how could one if one was destined for greatness...he saw the benefits of such a lifestyle.
But Pancho did not have this lifestyle, even if he had wanted to. This week should have actually been a holiday. But as Pancho had already learned, in rural Thailand one takes it easy during work and when holidays come around one isn’t too shy to dedicate a little time towards said work. So Pancho was booked out, especially to go to other schools and teach there or support them in their teaching of English. He wasn’t all too happy about these circumstances. Who would be about having to give up official holiday time, which Pancho would have of course used extremely efficiently and wisely without the slightest procrastination. But there was nothing to be done. With his incredible intellect he managed to realize that despite being THE superstar he was he couldn’t exactly go prancing around demanding things. He had come to Thailand to offer the people some of his goodness, some of the abundance of his greatness and in a good cause holidays did not exist. As one of his favourite artists once said (He had been shot before a concert and still went on with the performance) "The people, who were trying to make this world worse... are not taking a day off. How can I? Light up the darkness."
So Pancho submitted to these proposals with a smile.
On one of these trips he was in his coordinator’s car just passing through Ubon Ratchatani. The school they were visiting was not exactly close. Just as they were passing through the center of town the engine tied. Immediately Pancho’s hope lit up brightly. Did this mean they would maybe not make it? He would not have to teach some unresponsive class? His coordinator mentioned something about the battery having died. Pancho suppressed his smile (he was very good at looking serious when he wasn’t. In fact he found few things in life worth being serious about). But suddenly as they were all crowding around the bonnet a stranger appeared out of nowhere and asked what was wrong. After Pancho’s coordinator had answered he rushed off through the thick traffic pouring around the car blocking half the road. Before he had really noticed what was going the man was back and with dismay Pancho realized that he had returned with a new battery. The old one was replaced within seconds and everybody climbed back into the car. His coordinator pointed across the road to a car battery shop. This time Pancho cracked a smile of humour. What a situation. They break down and just happen to do it in front of the one shop that can fix the problem. Outwardly he was smiling as if being overjoyed that things had worked out, but inwardly he couldn’t help but curse such ironic luck.
In the end the teaching went well, the children loved Pancho as was to be expected and all was butter and cakes.
In fact Pancho had many more guest visits at other schools after and although he never liked them (Teaching classes for the first time was always difficult as one could never judge their level or commitment properly) he always felt rewarded afterwards for having offered the children something they would not get at any other time.
There were many foreign teachers in Thailand in fact but most of them taught at rich schools that did not need them quite as dearly as the poor country schools. When one had Thai English teachers that hardly understood any of the language it was evident that a foreigner could have a great impact. And if it was only for the students to hear what the language is really supposed to sounds like (Some Thai English teachers were impossible to understand). In the end, Pancho was fulfilling his duty and the fact that students nearly begged him to teach their classes was ample reward (though he did like receiving some kind of payment and liked his free time, and regretted the few classes that were so lazy that they did not bother to show up.)

Stories...

The morning after was not half as bad as Pancho had been told. Superboy had only kicked him in the left thigh. As some of the more intelligent readers might conclude from this the left thigh was the only part of his body that felt more or less uncomfortable. But Pancho had been given ample remedies for it and did not find the pain all too crippling. What ate at his mind much more when he woke up was the fact that he had officially lost the fight when he himself as well as (as he was told) most of the others were under the impression that he had won.
From this day on, every time he thought back to this event and thought of his sloppy performance or saw the less than perfect event as video footage his heart rate accelerated and his mind was gripped by a strong urge to rectify what had gone wrong. He knew that he could perform far better but the fact that he had failed to show it weighed on his lofty mind. And yet while in Thailand there was nothing to be done. He could not combine is teaching job and all his social engagements with the necessary time needed for training. Additionally the training here was evidently not suited to his individual style. As good as his coach had been for Thai fighters he needed an approach that was balanced between traditional Muay Thai and boxing. So Pancho wounded in his very humble pride resorted to trying not to remember this episode until he was actually able to rectify the mishap.
But occasionally talk about it would resurface and Pancho heard two vastly different stories as to why he had lost when he should have won (Not that it put Pancho’s mind at ease for his still not quite stellar performance).
The first story he heard through his host mother and who had been told by one of the family workers. The local head of the mafia had bet a lot of money on Superboy winning. Not wanting to lose his money the judges naturally had to make the fat Thai kid win. This explanation seemed quite plausible and really did not differ from any other place in the world where bets are accepted on fights or sporting competitions.
The second story came out several months later. Pancho did not believe this one but thought it quite funny as it represented one of his host father’s tendencies to talk a lot of nonsense when he was drunk.
The story went that his host father being a local man of great influence behind the scenes had decided that Superboy should be the winner despite having unofficially lost the fight. The reasoning was that Superboy losing was bad for his career prospects in Thai boxing while it did not matter to a foreigner. Pancho smiled at this and did not reply what he thought. The typically narrow minded way of thinking displayed by people only familiar with one culture. Granted, Pancho did not intend to try and make a career in the sport (There were more important things to be achieved in the world), however judging by the amount of alcohol and the little training Superboy did, Pancho could not really see it making any difference to the fat slob. But he kept this little insight to himself.
And so the matter was semi forgotten and set aside for a more opportune time to do anything about it.