Tahir Shah Interview 2
Several authors have proclaimed that travel writing is a dead genre,
that the world has become one giant uniform suburb and there is
nothing new to be discovered. What is or should be, in your view, the
role of a travel writer today?
ANSWER:
No I would not say that Travel Writing is dead. It may have changed, and thank god for that. In recent years people are passing anything off as travel writing. There’s been some tremendously weak work, and I condemn the publishers for buying it in. It shows you that the public have got sick and tired of themes like ‘going round Ireland carrying a fridge’, or ‘walking around Africa’. I had a great friend, the explorer Wilfred Thesiger, who died 3 years ago. Thesiger used to say that sort of writing were ‘stunts’ and he was right. There was no point.
What excites me is writing where the writer reveals something that the normal visitor might not see. I urge people to travel slow, to walk if they can, and to watch… or sit in a café for 10 hours. Really observe. That’s all that matters. I’ve been to India a thousand times and still haven’t been to the Taj Mahal. I’m sure one day I’ll get there, but not yet. I’m much more interested in sitting in a small café watching micro life go by.
The role of the travel writer is to make people think, to hone their senses. It’s not to impress them with name dropping and with great journeys without any purpose at all.
You always travel with a purpose, in search of something, and these
missions serve as organizing themes for your books. You have written
that, in a journey, there is a fine line between success and failure.
Do you travel like this only when you have a book in mind?
ANSWER:
I am a massive believer in travelling with a purpose, that’s true. I think you get a lot more out of it. I can tell you all sorts of journeys I made as a student when I never pushed myself solely because I didn’t have a reason. It was a shame, and I’m so glad I saw the light. I’ll give you an example. A couple of years ago I was in Peru, searching for the greatest lost city on earth, Paititi: the ‘House of the Tiger King’. I searched for 17 weeks in deep jungle, until my team and I were on the point on dying of exposure. That felt good. That felt real – as if we had pushed ourselves against all odds. Can you tell me that a backpacker or a tourist who are just ‘passing through’ get that thrill? No of course they don’t.
Yes it’s so true to say that the line between failure and success is as thin as a hair’s breadth. That’s the glorious thing. If you keep going for a moment longer, you may succeed. Push yourself and your team and you get a sensation that’s indescribable. It’s reality.
And oh gosh, how terrible publishing is these days… writers only go on a trip when they have a book in mind. I can get commissions now, thank god, but often I’ll work on something for a year or two before I knock on a publisher’s door. Wilfred Thesiger had lived in Arabia for years and crossed the empty quarter several times before he allowed Longmans to talk him into writing ARABIAN SANDS. That is the greatest thing to me… the fact that Wilfred was there in the desert because he wanted to be, and not because he wanted to make a wad of cash. Thesiger is my yardstick. He had his head screwed on the right way.
In your journeys you tend to avoid tourist destinations and other
clichés. Do you deliberately seek the odd, the extraordinary, the
surreal, or does it just happen to cross your path?
ANSWER:
I hate tourism. If you could find anyone who hates modern tourism as much as me I think I’d reward you. Tourism is a vile, acidic disease that’s destroying much of the world. I sound like a complete bastard of course, as if that I think I’m better than tourists. Of course I am no better than them – but I wish people would travel with a reason, even if it’s to try to understand a specific element of a society.
Sometimes I am looking for strange stuff, mainly because I love strange stuff. Shrunken heads in Peru for example give me SUCH a thrill. I love, everything about them. More than the heads themselves, I love the reasons they were created. As for general strange stuff and strange people, I can say this: I think you have to open your mind when you’re travelling, and you have to observe. Most people are clammed shut. They don’t have any idea how to decipher a place, how to watch people. It may sound mad, but most people are blind to the incredible stuff that’s staring them in the face. It angers me sometimes when people rant on how I see wild stuff and meet wild people – the answer to that is that I see the stuff and the people that everyone else is crossing paths with, but I am tuned in to the right frequency.
One recurring theme in your books is the contrast between remote
destinations and the dullness of safe, sensible, conventional Western
lives, the "cycle of zombie commuting and pseudo-friends". Is life in
the "West" more constrained or predictable than in other parts of the
world? Can confronting other cultures illuminate hidden aspects of our
own?
ANSWER:
I don’t know if this answers you question, but what gets me is the safety net hanging beneath Western society. It’s always there, ready to catch you if you fall. Sure, society has worked hard to get that net there and many people appreciate it. But I see it as a damn shame, as something that strips away extraordinary possibility. I love the idea that you could be many things in a single life, that one could live a full spectrum life – rich, poor, happy, sad – everything. Now the zombie commuters are living lives stripped of risk, lives where they struggle day in day out to pay their bit for that damn safety net.
You have written about the KKK, Indian gurus surrounded by servile
followers, Elvis worshippers, the pernicious influence of missionaries
in the Upper Amazon, Islamic fundamentalism… Is fanaticism a subject
you are particularly sensitive to? If so, why?
ANSWER:
I’ve never really thought of it, but I am interested in fanatics. I see fanatics are the weakest link in society. They are followers and I have very little time for followers. I am MUCH keener to find people who think of themselves, who can shape their own futures. How much brainpower does it take to pull on a KKK headdress, or to pull the chain on a suicide bomber’s belt? The answer is not much brainpower at all. I teach my children one thing, and that’s to think for themselves.
In The Caliph's House, one encounters over and over hilarious
instances of what can be described by the Spanish word "desencuentro":
experiences that frustrate expectations. In the book you state that
Morocco keeps you on edge, that the absence of a safety net prevents
you from "sliding from day to day". Is this related to the endurance
of hardships during your journeys?
ANSWER:
Yes, hardship is a great thing. It’s a fantastic thing. I wish there was more of it in everyone’s lives. Our Western society has been trying to create a very unnatural world without severe hardship… of course it has meant that the so-called ‘developing world’ has been dealt a lot more hardship. Hardship and struggle make us appreciate success. They are there for a reason. If the oyster didn’t have to endure the irritation of the grit, then it wouldn’t create the pearl. It’s a cliché, but you know what I mean.
A friend of mine teaches young British soldiers how to parade. I think it’s known in the British army as ‘square bashing’. I asked him recently how his young cadets were fairing up. He said they were going lame all the time. When I asked why, he told me that it was because they are not used to wearing leather shoes; they grow up in sneakers, he said, and as a result their feet are mush. The point of this is that our society is becoming pathetically weak because of the pampered lives we are living. Do you think I like getting dengue fever in the jungle, or having worms crawl out of my thighs? Of course I don’t, it’s horrendous, but it gives me a sense of value to the life I usually live.
The Caliph's House ends after your first year in Casablanca with the
successful completion of both renovation work in your house and an
exorcism. What has happened since then?
I am writing this in my wonderful cedar wood library at The Caliph’s House. I can hear the muezzin, the Islamic call to prayer ringing out over the shantytown beyond. I am happy here. There’s an innocence about our lives in Morocco, and a sense that we got away from a place where we did not belong. People keep telling me that it was a brave move to up sticks and to leave London. To me it was the most obvious thing to do. I am so glad I left. The main reason is that here in Casablanca I feel that I am part of the real world.
Where will you venture next?
I am writing a book entitled IN ARABIAN NIGHTS, about the role and place of storytelling in Morocco society. It’s something that educates, entertains and passes on rigid core values… something that so often we have lost in the West.
I am also making a documentary film about Afghanistan. Just got back from Kabul. It’s been magical.
(Interview given to The Planet)
(C) Tahir Shah, 2006
Ends
that the world has become one giant uniform suburb and there is
nothing new to be discovered. What is or should be, in your view, the
role of a travel writer today?
ANSWER:
No I would not say that Travel Writing is dead. It may have changed, and thank god for that. In recent years people are passing anything off as travel writing. There’s been some tremendously weak work, and I condemn the publishers for buying it in. It shows you that the public have got sick and tired of themes like ‘going round Ireland carrying a fridge’, or ‘walking around Africa’. I had a great friend, the explorer Wilfred Thesiger, who died 3 years ago. Thesiger used to say that sort of writing were ‘stunts’ and he was right. There was no point.
What excites me is writing where the writer reveals something that the normal visitor might not see. I urge people to travel slow, to walk if they can, and to watch… or sit in a café for 10 hours. Really observe. That’s all that matters. I’ve been to India a thousand times and still haven’t been to the Taj Mahal. I’m sure one day I’ll get there, but not yet. I’m much more interested in sitting in a small café watching micro life go by.
The role of the travel writer is to make people think, to hone their senses. It’s not to impress them with name dropping and with great journeys without any purpose at all.
You always travel with a purpose, in search of something, and these
missions serve as organizing themes for your books. You have written
that, in a journey, there is a fine line between success and failure.
Do you travel like this only when you have a book in mind?
ANSWER:
I am a massive believer in travelling with a purpose, that’s true. I think you get a lot more out of it. I can tell you all sorts of journeys I made as a student when I never pushed myself solely because I didn’t have a reason. It was a shame, and I’m so glad I saw the light. I’ll give you an example. A couple of years ago I was in Peru, searching for the greatest lost city on earth, Paititi: the ‘House of the Tiger King’. I searched for 17 weeks in deep jungle, until my team and I were on the point on dying of exposure. That felt good. That felt real – as if we had pushed ourselves against all odds. Can you tell me that a backpacker or a tourist who are just ‘passing through’ get that thrill? No of course they don’t.
Yes it’s so true to say that the line between failure and success is as thin as a hair’s breadth. That’s the glorious thing. If you keep going for a moment longer, you may succeed. Push yourself and your team and you get a sensation that’s indescribable. It’s reality.
And oh gosh, how terrible publishing is these days… writers only go on a trip when they have a book in mind. I can get commissions now, thank god, but often I’ll work on something for a year or two before I knock on a publisher’s door. Wilfred Thesiger had lived in Arabia for years and crossed the empty quarter several times before he allowed Longmans to talk him into writing ARABIAN SANDS. That is the greatest thing to me… the fact that Wilfred was there in the desert because he wanted to be, and not because he wanted to make a wad of cash. Thesiger is my yardstick. He had his head screwed on the right way.
In your journeys you tend to avoid tourist destinations and other
clichés. Do you deliberately seek the odd, the extraordinary, the
surreal, or does it just happen to cross your path?
ANSWER:
I hate tourism. If you could find anyone who hates modern tourism as much as me I think I’d reward you. Tourism is a vile, acidic disease that’s destroying much of the world. I sound like a complete bastard of course, as if that I think I’m better than tourists. Of course I am no better than them – but I wish people would travel with a reason, even if it’s to try to understand a specific element of a society.
Sometimes I am looking for strange stuff, mainly because I love strange stuff. Shrunken heads in Peru for example give me SUCH a thrill. I love, everything about them. More than the heads themselves, I love the reasons they were created. As for general strange stuff and strange people, I can say this: I think you have to open your mind when you’re travelling, and you have to observe. Most people are clammed shut. They don’t have any idea how to decipher a place, how to watch people. It may sound mad, but most people are blind to the incredible stuff that’s staring them in the face. It angers me sometimes when people rant on how I see wild stuff and meet wild people – the answer to that is that I see the stuff and the people that everyone else is crossing paths with, but I am tuned in to the right frequency.
One recurring theme in your books is the contrast between remote
destinations and the dullness of safe, sensible, conventional Western
lives, the "cycle of zombie commuting and pseudo-friends". Is life in
the "West" more constrained or predictable than in other parts of the
world? Can confronting other cultures illuminate hidden aspects of our
own?
ANSWER:
I don’t know if this answers you question, but what gets me is the safety net hanging beneath Western society. It’s always there, ready to catch you if you fall. Sure, society has worked hard to get that net there and many people appreciate it. But I see it as a damn shame, as something that strips away extraordinary possibility. I love the idea that you could be many things in a single life, that one could live a full spectrum life – rich, poor, happy, sad – everything. Now the zombie commuters are living lives stripped of risk, lives where they struggle day in day out to pay their bit for that damn safety net.
You have written about the KKK, Indian gurus surrounded by servile
followers, Elvis worshippers, the pernicious influence of missionaries
in the Upper Amazon, Islamic fundamentalism… Is fanaticism a subject
you are particularly sensitive to? If so, why?
ANSWER:
I’ve never really thought of it, but I am interested in fanatics. I see fanatics are the weakest link in society. They are followers and I have very little time for followers. I am MUCH keener to find people who think of themselves, who can shape their own futures. How much brainpower does it take to pull on a KKK headdress, or to pull the chain on a suicide bomber’s belt? The answer is not much brainpower at all. I teach my children one thing, and that’s to think for themselves.
In The Caliph's House, one encounters over and over hilarious
instances of what can be described by the Spanish word "desencuentro":
experiences that frustrate expectations. In the book you state that
Morocco keeps you on edge, that the absence of a safety net prevents
you from "sliding from day to day". Is this related to the endurance
of hardships during your journeys?
ANSWER:
Yes, hardship is a great thing. It’s a fantastic thing. I wish there was more of it in everyone’s lives. Our Western society has been trying to create a very unnatural world without severe hardship… of course it has meant that the so-called ‘developing world’ has been dealt a lot more hardship. Hardship and struggle make us appreciate success. They are there for a reason. If the oyster didn’t have to endure the irritation of the grit, then it wouldn’t create the pearl. It’s a cliché, but you know what I mean.
A friend of mine teaches young British soldiers how to parade. I think it’s known in the British army as ‘square bashing’. I asked him recently how his young cadets were fairing up. He said they were going lame all the time. When I asked why, he told me that it was because they are not used to wearing leather shoes; they grow up in sneakers, he said, and as a result their feet are mush. The point of this is that our society is becoming pathetically weak because of the pampered lives we are living. Do you think I like getting dengue fever in the jungle, or having worms crawl out of my thighs? Of course I don’t, it’s horrendous, but it gives me a sense of value to the life I usually live.
The Caliph's House ends after your first year in Casablanca with the
successful completion of both renovation work in your house and an
exorcism. What has happened since then?
I am writing this in my wonderful cedar wood library at The Caliph’s House. I can hear the muezzin, the Islamic call to prayer ringing out over the shantytown beyond. I am happy here. There’s an innocence about our lives in Morocco, and a sense that we got away from a place where we did not belong. People keep telling me that it was a brave move to up sticks and to leave London. To me it was the most obvious thing to do. I am so glad I left. The main reason is that here in Casablanca I feel that I am part of the real world.
Where will you venture next?
I am writing a book entitled IN ARABIAN NIGHTS, about the role and place of storytelling in Morocco society. It’s something that educates, entertains and passes on rigid core values… something that so often we have lost in the West.
I am also making a documentary film about Afghanistan. Just got back from Kabul. It’s been magical.
(Interview given to The Planet)
(C) Tahir Shah, 2006
Ends
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