All Terrain Thinking

A Compendium of things I think are Important

Wonderful strange stories from around the world

Crusties, who are they

As it's November, perhaps the talk should be of revolt. Why? Because I went to the same school-St. Peter's York-as Guy Fawkes. He and his gang were unfortunately sprung as they fiddled with fuses, gunpowder, and damp wicks underneath the Houses of Parliament in London on a perfectly fogged evening nearly four centuries ago.

The plot was fine, it was the matches and the script that were so inept.

I was sprung as I was jumping over the boarding school wall at midnight, and was sent home forever. The bastards even took away my lighter. Just in case.

We share not only an educational bond of failure, but also the occasional desire to blow things apart-even if it's only someone's ego or lifestyle. For me, a prime target would be the New Agers. I have a built in skepticism about this movement, partly because I was a New Age person before the term was even invented-and long ago became a 'Real Age' person without even knowing it.

The frustration of talking to alien abductees and immoral being was that the conversation was usually off the planet. And why do all these self-appointed gurus of rebirthing all claim that they and their clients were romantic figures in their past? They were either Cleopatra's handmaiden, or a Japanese samurai, or Chief Eagle. Why wasn't anyone a bus conductor in Dhaka, or a toilet cleaner in Omsk?

The other hassle I have with New Age disciples is that although they proclaim tolerance and compassion, few have been in a situation where either has been tested.

It's all very well to sit cross-legged behind closed eyes in a cloistered ashram halfway up the Himalayas. I know because I've done it. They should try coming out from under their spiritual umbrellas and hit Calcutta during the monsoon-surrounded by the dead, the desperate, and the stench-and see how they do. If they say isn't reality, then they should keep taking the tofu. Reality or not, it happens. I know because I've seen it.

I met two "crusties" Last week in Bangkok. A crustie is a New Age traveler who does the rock festival and save the whale circuit. Some live in caravans, other live in hedges; all of them live on welfare. They took over from where the hippies left off, which was a big mistake, because we hippies weren't going anywhere anyway. Like grunge music, crusties are a weird blend of apathy and aggression.

They wear Doc Martin boots, which are such a hassle to lace up, that once they get them on, they never take them off.

"Yepp, 1989," said one, proudly patting his pair as if it was the day he graduated.

He was called " Mike Who Works," and was traveling with a friend called " Radiator" who obviously didn't. They had been up in Chiang Saen, and my intuition told me it wasn't for the view.

"I'm a professional beggar," said Radiator-who had a definite odor, but it wasn't of sanity.

"Can't you find work in the UK?"

He looked at me as though I was the alien-while they looked like part of a tramp convention.

"Nah. Can't leave me dog tied up to a hedge all day, can I?"

"So how did you get the money to come to Thailand?" I asked. They both shifted uncomfortably.

"While I begged, Mike lifted the wallets."

"It's the dog that created the diversion," insisted Mike, as though it was the dog's fault.

"Oh, is he friendly?"

"No, just incredibly smelly."

Like all the cars I have owned, these two guys were in various stages of illegality, immobility, and disintegration. Permanently damaged by the dole and heavy metal, they intended to beg here so as to get back to England to beg there.

Makes you wonder that the interesting thing about Stonehenge is not how it was built, but how it was financed.

"Got any money?" they said, almost in unison.

"No, "I said honestly, looking nervously around for a dog.

"Got a light then?"

"Ah, I may be able to help you out there…"

The boots alone would have blown the soi up. Just like bonfire night. And I was burning with the temptation.

By Roger Beaumont

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