Thai Hazards
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Bangkok, Thailand
Chiang Mai Mae Hong Son Loop Chiang Mai Santai Muay Thai Bangkok |
April 28-May 4, 2015
May 5-9 May 10-17 May 18-24 May 25-June 13 June 14-15 |
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Arrival
It has been said that people choose unhappiness over uncertainty.
I guess it's a choice of routine over risk, to stick with what one knows over what one does not. Unfortunately, at least in my experience, the comfortable path usually leads to boredom and unhappiness, to short-term relief at the expense of long-term satisfaction. Certain aspects of the next country, Thailand, are no secret to anyone well travelled, yet I knew that if I went into vacation mode, things would get old quickly. I needed to experience and learn new things; I needed to find a less certain path in a land dedicated to tourism. On this I mused, far from heaven amongst the drifting divinity of the surrounding clouds, as the plane landed in bustling Bangkok.
I guess it's a choice of routine over risk, to stick with what one knows over what one does not. Unfortunately, at least in my experience, the comfortable path usually leads to boredom and unhappiness, to short-term relief at the expense of long-term satisfaction. Certain aspects of the next country, Thailand, are no secret to anyone well travelled, yet I knew that if I went into vacation mode, things would get old quickly. I needed to experience and learn new things; I needed to find a less certain path in a land dedicated to tourism. On this I mused, far from heaven amongst the drifting divinity of the surrounding clouds, as the plane landed in bustling Bangkok.
Bangkok
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Upon arriving in Bangkok, a modern, huge city with a metropolitan population of over fourteen million people, I felt comfortable; not a good start to my proposed intent, but I supposed a few days of relaxation wouldn't hurt. I took a cab to the Baan Dinso Hotel, conveniently located in the middle of the city yet away from the main tourist hubs, and slept.
Thailand is known as the land of smiles, a reputation well deserved from the people that I met. On my first morning, I left the hotel and started walking in no particular direction. I must have looked lost - which was the point - as half a dozen smiling Thais stopped me over the course of the day, asking me where I was going and offering to help with directions. The conversation usually started the same way every time. "Sawadikap," (this means hello). Big smile. "Where do you want to go?" "Nowhere." I would reply, returning the smile. Understandably a confused expression would ensue, followed by a recovery of the smile and detailed directions to one of the various wats, or monastery temples, found throughout Bangkok. I had seen many temples over the previous months, but since everyone was directing me towards these places, I decided I may as well go and see a few more. My favourite was probably Wat Saket, also known as the Golden Mountain; I climbed its many steps shortly after dawn the next day, and had a momentary solitary reprieve at the top. There were many other wats - Wat Indrawihan, which contains a giant golden Buddha statue; Wat Arun, also known as the Temple of Dawn, which was undergoing maintenance and disappointing; and Wat Pho, which houses the enormous Reclining Buddha, a statue 15 meters (49 feet) high and 43 meters (141 feet) long. In Bangkok, if you have the money - and anyone who can buy an overseas plane ticket has the money - you can get anything you want. Literally anything. Where some constructively adapt to the variety of options available, others choose to misbehave; as I walked down touristy places like Khaosan Road, a renowned "backpacker ghetto" in Bangkok, I saw many foreigners roaming and drinking aimlessly. I marvelled at their lack of imagination in a place where those with money can do anything if they are so inclined. As I tried to escape Khaosan Road, I was accosted by one of the many Indian tailors on the street, Arjen, who showed me his wares and convinced me to buy a suit that I apparently needed. It was entertaining. He burned some different pieces of fabric in front of my eyes as he explained what makes a quality fabric, and relentlessly bargained with me as he threw a myriad of shirts and pants my way to try on. I bartered to the best of my ability, but even though Arjen shook his head and said "Ah you are too good at this sir, loose money close friends," I'm sure that he made a good sale that day. For reasons of my own, I elected not to partake in the legendary nightlife of Bangkok other than to spend a nice evening having a drink at one of the many rooftop bars overlooking the city. I boarded a train heading north to Chiang Mai the following day. |
A sultry view of Bangkok from the Millenium 360 Rooftop Bar.
The wings of Democracy Monument at dusk.
Serene waterways.
Thousands of people march in the May Day parade.
The enormous head of the Reclining Buddha at Wat Pho.
The "backpacker ghetto" of Khaosan Road. This place is a bit of a waste of time.
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Chiang Mai
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I still had no idea what I wanted to do in Thailand, but I felt that whatever I did, it was to be in the north, a slightly less touristy region of the country. The overnight train was comfortable; there's that word again. I arrived in Chiang Mai in the morning and checked into the Banilah Hotel, welcomed by the chatty Phanh and several of her eleven regal cats.
With a metropolitan population of just under one million people, Chiang Mai is the largest and most culturally significant city in northern Thailand, located close to the highest mountains in the country. The city itself is somewhat relaxed, and there are a lot of nice cafes and restaurants; an easy place to live. I suspected I would stay here for a while. I was feeling restless as I walked around Chiang Mai; it was, after all, just a small city peppered with lots of cars and shops and, like Bangkok and the rest of Thailand, countless photos of King Bhumibol Aduladej. Thai people revere their king, and it's best not to speak about him negatively, or better yet not at all; even when handling money, crumpling up the bills with his picture on them is not a good idea - he is that important. In an effort to alleviate the restlessness, I explored a few interesting areas outside of Chiang Mai. It was fun to ride a scooter to Doi Suthep, a mountain to the west on which is situated Wat Phra That Doi Suthep, an ancient Buddhist place of worship. Riding a bit farther brought me to the hilltribe village of Doi Pui Hmong, a tiny settlement containing a scenic garden and various arts and handicrafts. Unfortunately, both of these places were still a bit on the touristy side. A couple more days and I was now getting bored - too comfortable! Trying to do something - anything - different, I went on my first hot air balloon ride one morning accompanied by a blazing sunrise. The fellow operating the balloon, Tao, was nice, and a small Dutch family was in the balloon with us. We were chatting nonchalantly about things not terribly important when one of them asked me, "Where do you live?". I thought about it for a second, and replied, "Nowhere." I extrapolated on this cryptic answer of course, for we had the time to do so, lost in the impermanence of the clouds. Over the next couple of days I thought hard about what I wanted to get out of Thailand. I didn't feel like relaxing or partying, and experiencing Thai culture away from hordes of tourists seemed difficult. Reasoning that the only way to truly fight boredom is with novelty and fear, I did some research and decided to pursue two potentially hazardous activities - motorcycle riding and Muay Thai - to try and salvage my time in the country. I had held an almost unnatural fear of motorcycles from an early age, not being allowed to ride them and seeing some rather gruesome injuries as a doctor. However, I was intrigued by certain aspects of riding and had received my learner's license in Australia earlier in the year, so I figured it was time to confront motorcycles head-on, so to speak. As to Muay Thai, most people do not like getting into fights or being hit in the face, and as a neurologist I have seen nasty head injuries related to combat sports. However, I still appreciated the purity and beauty of an art that seemed to be a critical component of Thai culture, and with some boxing background I was not totally naive to fighting, so I reckoned that spending some time training in Muay Thai was essential. Finally motivated, I moved forward. |
Downtown Chiang-Mai.
Monks at Wat Phra Sing, located in Chiang Mai.
Writing while accompanied by butter coffee at Banilah Hotel.
Blessings at Wat Phra That Doi Suthep.
The hill tribe village of Doi Pui Hmong.
Sunrise.
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Mae Hong Son Loop
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I had read about a circuit that could be driven around Thailand's mountainous north, the Mae Hong Son Loop. The lesser known name for the loop is "The road of a thousand hair pin bends," and 700 kilometers and eight days of riding later that felt like an understatement.
I rented a real bike for this trip - with gears and such - a Suzuki Raider 150 cc, which henceforth I shall simply refer to as Raider. It had been over three months since my motorcycle course in Australia, so needless to say I was not even good enough to be called rusty. I asked if I could try a couple of motorcycles out in the parking lot behind the rental shop before deciding on one, and Raider felt the best. I was nervous as I exited the parking lot to enter the busy, noisy Chiang Mai traffic; according to many lists, Thailand consistently ranks in the top five most dangerous countries in the world for road traffic deaths which probably relates to the fact that there are no age restrictions, alcohol intoxication is high, and helmets are optional in a country where three or four people will often be piled together on the same scooter or motorcycle. Anyhow, I made it to the nearest gas station without any issues and had a self-congratulatory coffee before setting out. I rode north, on straight highway surrounded by flat farmland, towards my first stop, a town called Chiang Dao. It was extremely hot and sunny, and the jeans and helmet that I wore made it feel even hotter. Still, it was nice to cruise along, freed from boredom at last. I arrived in Chiang Dao several hours later, surprised at how tired I was; motorcycle riding, especially when learning, is tiring as it requires constant vigilance to what is happening around you. In a car, you can afford to mind wander a bit since you are somewhat protected in the event of a collision, but on a motorcycle there's virtually no protection, so you have to be watchful and wary every single second. In essence, a motorcycle forces you to live in the now, which to me is one of the most appealing aspects of riding. I spent the night at the Chiang Dao Inn, which was the only place that I could find in town, and made my way to Chiang Dao Cave on the morning of the second day. Chiang Dao Cave is a limestone cave complex with numerous natural formations of limestone and crystal. When I arrived, there was nobody else there other than two little old ladies acting as guides. One of them, Tong, offered to guide me through the cave for a small fee; she was funny and I had no light on me, so fine with me. Tong lit a lantern and after passing by a bunch of Buddha statues we entered the darkness. Although cooler than outside, there was no draft in that musty old cave, so I did sweat a bit. Tong pointed out numerous interesting natural formations in her basic English, but I must say that I was not overly impressed. I departed Chiang Dao in the afternoon, heading west towards the town of Pai. Flat farmland gave way to forests and mountains, with thick clouds hovering above the trees. The clouds in northern Thailand are distinctive in that they dominate every scene in their diversity. My straight road disappeared and became windy with myriad hairpin bends; I had to watch for cars coming from the opposite direction as they overtook slower cars going around one of these bends, resulting in a speeding car barreling straight towards me in my own lane at times whereupon I had to pull over to let both cars go by. It rained, and I slowed down, but still skidded for ten meters on one particularly slippery section; got my heart racing a bit. I stayed at a small hotel just outside of Pai that night and had a couple of Leo beers to calm down after my first reasonably technical day of riding. I slept in on the third day; man was I tired. I spent the morning in Pai, a little backpacker town that I really wasn't interested in, though it did have some excellent cafes and restaurants. After a couple of hours in Pai I carried on through, stopping briefly to relax at a natural hot springs just outside of town. I had a dip and chatted to a pleasant old Thai guy who helped run the place about nothing in particular, and pressed on to Pangma Pha. It was that afternoon that I wiped out on Raider. There were extenuating circumstances of course, but in the end I largely fault my lack of riding experience as the main reason. It happened while I was riding up to the summit of "Pangma Pha's Highest Mountain" (a strange name I know, but the only one that I know of); the road contained lots of exceedingly sharp and steep hairpin bends. While going around a particularly sharp and steep bend to the left, I did not gear down quickly enough - I switched to third when I needed second - and as a result, Raider stalled, slowing down so rapidly that my left lean became excessive for the reduced velocity, and the bike tipped over to the left side. My reaction, of course, was to stick out my left leg to stop the tip as I was now going slowly enough to do so, but my foot found nothing but two meters (six feet) of air in a concrete ditch, to which I fell in, with 106 kilograms (234 pounds) of motorcycle dropping in with me. Vexed, I lifted myself up, checked for injuries, and considered myself lucky for having received only a scattering of scrapes and bruises. Raider's left mirror was broken clean off and some extra scratches had been earned, but nothing more. I was initially angry at myself, but checked that emotion quickly, opting instead to act and get Raider out of the ditch, which took a few minutes and some heavy lifting, followed by a self-analysis of what I did wrong on the turn. The answer was simple - I should have dropped down to second gear well before I entered the turn, and when the velocity slowed I should have pushed out with my left arm and leaned to the right. Recalling the words of my instructor back in Australia - when at slow velocities, if you want to turn left, push out with the left arm - I chuckled, counted my blessings, and vowed to never ever make the same mistake again. I never did. Lesson learned - the road continued, and I stopped at the Soppong River Inn in Pangma Pha for the night. This was the nicest place I stayed at during the trip; the room and restaurant were top notch, and a small river ran out behind, providing a tranquil setting. I considered the accident again, and concluded that it had been bound to happen to me on "The road of a thousand hair pin bends," as I had never done any riding in mountains before. During the night, my brain continued to ruminate on the experience, and I dreamed that I was riding around a tight corner and doing everything correctly, yet the motorcycle kept going straight, right over a cliff... Waking up on the fourth morning, I decided to ride back to the road summit of "Pangma Pha's Highest Mountain". En route, I intentionally navigated each and every hairpin bend slowly and correctly - drop the gears early, push with the same arm in the direction of the turn, and lean to the opposite side. I felt confident on the turns after an hour of that. Upon reaching the road summit, I parked Raider and hiked two kilometers up a trail to a lookout point which was pleasingly devoid of people. Returning to the Soppong River Inn for a meal of oop gai, a dish of sliced chicken and local herbs and vegetables native to north Thailand, I rode out to yet another cave complex in the afternoon, the Tham Lod Cave. This cave contains some of the largest chambers in Thailand, and since the Nam Lang River flows through it, one has to navigate many sections of the cave by bamboo raft. I hired another pleasant elderly Thai lady as a guide, and after heading into the cave for several minutes by raft, we jumped off and she showed me around. I found Tham Lod Cave to be considerably more impressive than Chiang Dao Cave. It seemed much larger and more open, so there was a lot more to see and it was cooler. My guide knew no English, but this did not stop her from pointing to certain natural formations and tell me which animal they apparently resembled. There were loads of bats, which never failed to make her cackle with glee and say "Batman." I stayed another night at the Soppong River Inn, and continued northwest on the fifth day towards the isolated little village of Mae Aw. It was difficult riding, again with many hairpin bends over mountainous terrain, and some dirt road at the end. As I approached Mae Aw later in the early evening, I noticed that some of the ladies had thanaka cream on their faces, something I had seen a lot of in Myanmar, and the reason for this was that Mae Aw is located on the border between Thailand and Myanmar. Mae Aw was the most isolated town I found in Thailand, and the only town where I saw no other foreigners during my brief stay. Despite being situated between Thailand and Myanmar, Mae Aw actually felt more like medieval China - there were Chinese influences in all of the architecture, and many Chinese lanterns hung throughout the village. I'm pretty sure that most people there were not speaking Thai either, and can only assume that they were speaking Mandarin. While Mae Aw was refreshingly authentic, there wasn't much to do there, so I only stayed one night during which I again had some bad dreams relating to the accident; I recall one particularly interesting scene where I encountered a snake shaped like a motorcycle. I took off early on the sixth day to enjoy a nice morning ride, heading south to the town of Mae Hong Son. I looked for new mirror there, but there were none to be found. As I was standing at one shop, with the mechanic shaking his head and saying that he did not stock that type of mirror, I heard a resounding crash about 50 meters away; two motorcycles had collided head-on, both trashed. There were a few people milling about, so I walked over to see if I could offer any help. As I approached, a young fellow in his early twenties came hopping over to me on one foot, blood on his face and trousers, seemingly disoriented. He was about to hop down an alley but I convinced him to stop, placed my jacket on the ground for him to lie on, and carefully checked him over. After asking someone to call an ambulance and feeling his torso and legs for any open bleeds or fractures, I slowly removed his trousers to see if there was any bleeding needing urgent attention. He was tender in some spots, so I thought there might be a couple of closed fractures, but nothing obviously life-threatening. A quick neurological exam revealed no major issues, but his disorientation did make me wonder about a head injury; nothing I could do about that in the middle of the street with two dozen people around us. Pleasingly, the emergency service response time was immaculate, with two ambulances rocking up five minutes after the call. The young fellow was whisked away on a stretcher. As I made my way back to the mechanic shop, one of the bystanders came running up behind me carrying my helmet; in all the excitement, I had forgotten it at the scene of the accident. I appreciated this gesture. The rest of the day was uneventful, and I stayed overnight in the town of Khun Yuam. I rode east on the seventh day, a day filled with endless sky and cloud, and intermittent sprinkles of rain. It was the best day of riding in the whole trip, as I was now used to the hairpin bends and mountain inclines and declines, and the clouds - man, the clouds! - they were everywhere and nowhere all at once, laughing, shifting, sifting, and drifting, joyous in their impermanence. I was happy by the time I made it to Mae Chaem, where I stayed the night. The eighth day started out with a ride up to the top of Doi Inthanon, Thailand's highest mountain at 2,565 meters (8,415 feet). The view was not overly impressive, although I enjoyed seeing the Thai National Observatory. The remainder of the day consisted of stop-offs at various waterfalls. By now I was close enough to Chiang Mai that there were many tourists at these waterfalls, which was fine as I was near the end of the trip anyways. When I arrived in Chiang Mai, I replaced Raider's missing mirror and gave the rental guys some extra money for the scratches; I don't think they even noticed them. By the end of the Mae Hong Son Loop, I felt much more confident with my riding. Any semblance of fear was gone, replaced instead with respect for the vigilance required during the freedom of the ride. Does riding a motorcycle involve an element of risk? Yes. Does living life fully involve an element of risk? Yes. |
Motorcycle upgrade to a Suzuki Raider 150 cc (day one).
Accompanied by many corn fields (day one).
Sunset behind Doi Chiang Dao (day one).
A place to meditate in Chiang Dao Cave (day two).
A lantern in the dark (day two).
Forests, mountains, and clouds (day two).
Sunset from Pai Canyon (day two).
A well-deserved meal; dessert not shown (day two).
Raider and a deserted stretch of road (day three).
Elephant greetings (day three).
Distant contours (day three).
View from "Pangma Pha's Highest Mountain" (day four).
Entrance to Tham Lod Cave (day four).
Floating down an underground river on a bamboo raft (day four).
Yet another lantern in the dark (day four).
Jagged mountains (day five).
Pit stop (day five).
Mae Aw at night (day five).
Helping out at a motorcycle accident at Mae Hong Son (day six).
Head in the clouds, literally (day seven).
Towards Doi Inchanon, Thailand's highest mountain (day eight).
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Santai Muay Thai
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There were many Muay Thai gyms in Chiang Mai to choose from, and I spent some time trying to decide which one to attend. I ended up choosing Santai Muay Thai, a gym located about fifteen kilometers outside of the city; it seemed to have the best reviews, and I thought that it would be beneficial to remove myself from the distractions of Chiang Mai. Santai was situated in a rural setting, and if you saw a foreigner in the area, it was almost a guarantee that they were there to train. Since there were no taxis or other forms of public transit, I rented a new bike, a Honda Phantom 200 cc, which henceforth I shall refer to as Phantom, to stay mobile.
I was not sure what to expect at Santai, although I knew the outline of the training regime; from what I had read, there were two training sessions each day - a morning session from 6 to 8 am and an evening session from 4 to 7 pm - six days a week. I trained every day except for Sunday, which was a rest day. I had booked a room overlooking the gym, wanting to fully immerse myself in the training experience. I arrived at the gym on a Sunday evening, and went to sleep, excited yet nervous. I was awoken at 4 am by the annoying roosters outside my window. After failing to return to sleep, I made my way outside at 6 am and met two other new guys, Andreas from Switzerland and Jamal from France, as well as some of the local Thai fighters, for the morning run. It was just a 4-5 kilometer run, a warm-up run really, but enough to break a good sweat in the already hot morning. One of the seven Thai instructors then did my hand wraps for me and it was time to learn a few things. The next hour and a half are a bit of a blur, but I do recall constant attention from the instructors, with the instructor Lop being the first to have at me. First he utterly dismantled my boxing stance, changing me to a wider stance, forcing me to move with straighter legs, and raising my arms to a higher guard; the higher guard is needed to block elbow strikes, which don't happen in boxing, but in Muay Thai one unchecked elbow strike will knock you out cold. Lop and the others kept my stance wide by smacking at my legs with a stick when it got too narrow, and then he placed the stick across my arms to ensure that I did not drop my guard. My shoulders were unused to a high guard, and they ached after a while. He then grabbed me by the arm and took me to one of the rings, where he showed me how to do a proper kick against the ropes, after which he brought out the pads and got me into a bit of action throwing punches and kicks. My punches were fine, but with the kicks, Lop just kept shaking his head and saying "Noooo!", and pointing out aspects of my "technique" (translation: crappy kicks) that he did not like. If I did something right, usually a good punch, then he grinned a crazy smile, reminiscent of Bolo Yeung's grin from the movie Bloodsport, and yelled out "Yeahhhh!" at the top of his lungs. Five rounds of pads later, with a set of push-ups between each round, I dropped to the mat on my back, exhausted. The group did some abs exercises, and my first Muay Thai session was over. I slept, and the 4 pm evening session arrived quickly; it was structured differently to the morning session. We did fifteen minutes of skipping, an hour of shadowboxing, five rounds of pads - if you could last the full five rounds - followed by twenty minutes of repeated kicks on the bags, and then abs exercises at the end. Push-ups every five minutes during the entire session. The instructors Phon and Nan focused on me in the afternoon, and after doing pads with them, I nearly threw up from exhaustion; although in good shape, I was not yet conditioned for the explosive full-body movements of Muay Thai. In the middle of the first week, one of the young Thai fighters, Chui, fought at a festival in Chiang Mai; a dozen of us from Santai went to watch him. This was a great event, a local Thai event, with no foreigners present besides us. There were a few fights before Chui's, each beautiful to watch. When each fighter entered the ring, they bowed in each direction to the crowd and traditional music commenced. Together, the two fighters then performed Wai Khru Ram Muay, a warm-up dance that demonstrates respect, control, and style; it is a personal ritual that lasts several minutes and can range from simple to complex. To me, the dance-like ritual of Wai Khru Ram Muay is an indispensable part of any Muay Thai fight. The fights themselves, performed to rhythmic music, also resembled a dance, albeit a much faster and more deadly one. Chui fought at the end of the night against a very strong opponent who got the better end of most of the exchanges; at one point Chui was knocked out for a second, but he bounced up quickly and continued. He finished the fight, but lost by decision. He looked miserable in the truck on the way home; it's tough to train so hard for something, then get hurt and lose the fight. The simplicity of the training regime kicked in later that first week - a morning run, a morning session focused on technique, a coffee at Bak's Macho Cafe with the other guys for a couple of hours, then either a massage, pool swim, or ride on Phantom, an evening session focused on pads and sparring, then dinner at Toon and Mi's Watchareya's, and bed by 9 pm. An overwhelmingly simple life, and a rather satisfying one. I met a lot of great people that week from countries all over the world - Canada, the US, Brazil, the UK, France, Switzerland, Austria, Australia, India, and of course, Thailand. The Thai instructors were all ex-professional fighters, and the half a dozen Thai fighters training there ranged in age from ten to the late twenties. I asked about them, and the deal was that they were given to the gym by their families to be trained for many years, with school and other expenses paid for, and any prize money they earned being spread out among the various people supporting them. By the end of the first week, I had a functional repertoire of basic punches, elbows, and knees - no more than that - but I reckoned my kicks still sucked. I had also accumulated a few annoying injuries, including some rather deep blisters on my right foot, and both my shins were bruised and battered. I bought many band-aids and a pair of shin guards for these nuisances, but they continued to plague me all of the second week. Thus, the second week was probably even tougher than the first. While I no longer gasped quite as hard at the end of a pads session, the multiple blisters and shin bruises made it difficult to move properly, especially when doing kicks. I recall a kicking-blocking drill with Phon; when I blocked a few of his kicks, the force from his cast-iron shins seemed to move right through the shin-pads to explode on my own shin. I could not believe it - even though I had shin pads on, this guy's kicks felt like strikes from a baseball bat! I guess decades of kicking and continuously healing micro-fractures will do that; Muay Thai fighters have incredibly strong shins. Anyways, I decided to focus on elbows and knees that week so that my shins could heal up. In the second week, we went to another fight night in Chiang Mai; this time, one of the foreigners, a Canadian guy named Taylor, was fighting for Santai. These fights were different from the all-Thai fights of the previous week. The crowd was almost all foreigners, and the feeling was one of aggression rather than respect. I'm not being negative, just calling what I saw; the fighting was still top-notch. Taylor fought against a Thai fellow, and while he constantly moved forward and never received any real damage from his opponent, the Thai fellow just kept retreating and landing counter-strikes. Taylor got a bit frustrated chasing his opponent all over the ring for five rounds, and had he got the Thai fighter into a corner would likely have dropped him, but the fellow was just too evasive, and he beat Taylor by decision. By the end of the second week, some fighters departed, such as my Swiss friend Andreas, while others joined, such as my friend Jay from the US. The comradery between all the guys was awesome, and nobody I met at Santai had a big ego; actually, I have always found most fighters to be extremely considerate and humble. If they are aggressive, it usually only comes out during training or in the ring. Perhaps the most respectful fighter I met at Santai was Johnny from Austria, who had a fight at the end of the second week at a local Thai festival. Once again the Santai crew were the only foreigners there, and Johnny was the only foreigner fighting. He entered the ring and performed Wai Khru Ram Muay flawlessly, and then proceeded to have an epic fight with an extremely fast and powerful Thai opponent. It was a striker's fight, with both fighters reluctant to clinch. Johnny threw a lot of kicks and a few stellar superman punches, but by the end of five rounds his opponent edged out the victory. By my third and final week, my injuries were no more. I ditched the shin pads and dedicated my training to getting my kicks right; with Bruce Lee's words in my mind, that "I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times," I would do my morning run, stretch, and then just kick the bags for two hours straight each session. Every fifteen minutes the instructors Keng or Dang would come by and correct something in my technique; their favourite expression was "Balance, balance" as I tried to rotate the supporting leg on the mat during the kick. By the end of the week I finally felt that my kicks were workable, and I enjoyed some satisfyingly resounding sessions on the pads the last couple of days. I had initially planned to train at Santai for one week, but it turned into three weeks. Jay asked me if I intended to train for a real fight. I said no, citing my lack of desire to give or receive head strikes as the reason, but truly, I would love to spend six months training and conditioning in the purest of sports to place my skills against an opponent in a place where respect, courage, and uncertainty unite. After only three weeks of training, I found a new respect for Muay Thai; I found a new respect for myself. I spent a couple of more days in Bangkok and left Thailand relaxed, restlessness banished. |
Santai Muay Thai lies outside Chiang Mai in a rural setting, so there are no distractions from training.
Motorcycle upgrade to a Honda Phantom 200 cc.
The gym has three rings and over two dozen punching bags.
This was an all-Thai night of fights, including the spectators (except for us).
Lop prepares Chui for his fight.
Losing sucks.
So shutup and train.
Some of the fellows at Santai Muay Thai.
Me with the the youngest gym member, O, who at ten years of age has been in over twenty fights.
Me with my friend Andreas from Switzerland.
Dinner at Watchareya's.
Thai fighters perform Wai Khru Ram Muay before a fight to demonstrate respect, control, and style; foreigners do not always partake.
Taylor presses his opponent.
Me with my friend Jay from the US.
Johnny and his opponent square off in an epic fight that went the distance.
Near the end of training...tired.
The gym logo on the wall; it's not just a fight, it's also a dance.
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Departure
Thailand is a land dedicated to comfort and pleasure. Strangely, when I tried to relax directly at the start of my time in this country, I just became more restless. It was only after riding in the heavenly solitude of the Mae Hong Son Loop, accidents and all, and only after the relentless training of Santai Muay Thai, injuries and all, that I finally found myself truly relaxed. I must conclude that a truly relaxed life - that of inner peace - involves novelty, challenge, growth, and reflection, and it is good to look for these things even when they seem hard to find. In other words, si vis pacem, para bellum.
