As I write this, I’m on board a train bound from Bangkok to Chiang Mai. The journey is not a short one. A full 15 hours spent traversing the countryside. I boarded the train from Palumphong station at 2:30pm, and arrive there at 5:30 in the morning. My reasons for going to Chiang Mai are numerous. There comes a time in your life when you wake up in the morning wondering what the hell you’re doing with it. When you drag your hungover sorry ass over to the mirror, and you hate the person that greets your eyes. When you feel like you’ve lost the fire that once epitomized the person you once were; a personal fire that set you far apart from others.
I’ve made this personal quest to reclaim that fire. I rest the laptop I’m writing on now on my belly that has grown in recent years. It used to be flat and rock solid, but it now grows sideways because of my love of booze. For years I thought that alcohol and I were good casual friends, but in the last year I’ve realized that it’s been invading my personal space and becoming one of those annoying, nuisance friends instead. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not intending on giving up entirely. It’s fine in moderation, but the lesson I am going to teach myself is that of moderation.
To those of you who know me, you’d know that I exhibit some extremist tendencies. I have always been one of those “all or nothing” kinda guys. In some cases this behavioural trait has served me well. In some, it has worked against me. The lesson of moderation is one I aim to teach myself. In all things that are not self destructive, I shall revert to my previous programming. In those that are, well, they’re gonna have to put up with a new program.
The train ride is beautiful. We’re passing mountains and valleys, and scores upon scores of padi fields that hold host to a huge number of different bird species. My seat is in the last cabin of the train; the sleeper bunk. Men and women selling food noisily make their rounds up and down the train, selling their produce and rousing passengers from their sleep with their constant cries. Every so often, we pass ancient temples that dot the landscape; their towers still standing watch over this peaceful backwater.
I sit thinking about the challenges that lie ahead. I wonder about what the camp will be like. I wonder what people I will meet. Knowing me, I will manage to find good people who, like myself, see the world in a slightly different way, and I’m sure that over the next month, I will have many good conversations. Night is slowly tightening its grip now, and the scenery is getting more and more mountainous, which explains the rapidly chilling air. Time to convert my seat into my bed. Will write more when I am settled.
Friday 24th September
I arrived in Chiang Mai early this morning. I woke up at 5AM to check out the scenery before the train reached the station. It was magnificent. The train blared past beautiful bamboo forests and lush hillsides as it followed the track cut through the mountains. At the station, I caught a tuk tuk to the camp, and the driver smiled happily when I told him the address. “You learn Muay Thai? Very good!” He said approvingly. It’s been years since I have been in Chiang Mai, and it was nice to drive around in the early morning, before the monstrous traffic snarls kicked in.
The man who owns the gym, Andy, is an intense, wiry, and wise fellow. Tall and toned, with penetrating eyes, he speaks softly and gently, and smiles often. He strikes me as a good teacher, and a good man. Canadian by origin, he has lived in Thailand for the last twenty or so years, and built this camp with his wife, Pom. Andy’s a no nonsense sort of guy. After settling down in my accommodation I went over to introduce myself, and find out what I needed for the month to come.
The gym itself is simple. The entire training area is sheltered from the rain by a high corrugated steel roof supported by steel struts. On the wall by the mirrors rest countless photos of visitors past, as well as photos of the champions that the camp has produced. I read a few articles that Andy has put up about diet and lifestyle to help fight Cancer. Later I find out that Andy suffered a terrible mouth cancer, which explains his blackened and painful looking front teeth. Two boxing rings are at the rear of the training area. There is a speedball, and numerous kicking bags that are suspended by steel supports across the gym.
I will begin my training tomorrow, and spend the rest of the day getting what I need, and settling it.
Saturday 25th September
Bloody hell. These early morning starts are gonna take some getting used to. Got up at 6AM to get ready for training. It turns out that not everybody begins training at this time. People do the training they feel they can do. I piled into Andy’s truck with his dogs and a few other people, and he drove us to a big park by the foot of the mountain. It was a beautiful park; complete with a lake and lots of little “water restaurants”, where you sit on bamboo platforms atop the water and enjoy your food. The daily morning run consists of running around the lake; approximately four kilometres. As I spluttered along the road, I realised just how out of shape I’ve become over the years. I recall my army days, where I used to run 6km three times a week, go to the gym 3 times a week, on top of whatever we were doing when we went away for training. Back then, I could still keep up with the best of them, but this morning I grimaced and growled as fit little Thai boys raced past me with no apparent effort. Little runts. Grr.
After the run, training began with about ten minutes of skipping, bouncing up and down on a rubber tire to get the calves warmed up, then shadowboxing. Shadowboxing is a very important part of martial arts and boxing. It gives you the opportunity to visualize your opponent, and the chance to analyze your technique. It is through a mixture of shadowboxing and actual fighting that you actually improve your skill level. Without these things, you may as well be doing ballet.
The next part of training began. Pad work. By my dear friend, Wang. Wang is an angry little Thai trainer. He stands about five foot two, constantly smells of a heady cocktail of beer, sweat, and tobacco no matter what time of the day, and loves nothing more than torturing stupid farangs (foreigners) like me. The commands are belted out, and the corresponding knees, feet, fists and elbows fly towards the pads that he holds. It took me a while to figure out his style at first. “Keek! Pan! Ebow! Nee! Apkat! Ja! (Kick! Punch! Knee! Uppercut! Jab!)” The trainers take turns with all the people present, so everyone gets a turn. Padwork goes on for sessions of approximately three minutes, then break is called, upon which you drop to the floor, do ten pushups, get a minute’s rest, and then resume training. The amount of rounds you do is entirely up to you. After four rounds of being chided and attacked by the vicious little Napoleon, I bowed out of the ring for some water.
Training was done by around 9:30. A well deserved break was in order for the hot part of the day. Afternoon training began at 4PM. It began with another 4 km run around the town area. I have to say I didn’t enjoy this run at all. The narrow streets are crowded with hawker stalls, pedestrians, dogs, as well as the many cars and motorbikes that wind their way through the crazy little backstreets. I got chased by a dog further down the road at a less crowded stretch. I shall remember that dog. He’s getting a stick to the face the next time he tries it. The rest of the training was exactly the same as the morning, but with varying degrees of intensity, as well as more people in the gym. It seems that most people opt for afternoon training instead of doing both morning and afternoon sessions. Anyway, enough training. Food calls. Let’s see what the hawker stalls have for me tonight.
Sunday 26th September
No training today. This is the only day where there is nothing formal going on at the gym at all. People can still use the facilities if they wish, but for most people, this is a coveted day of relaxation. I used my time today getting a motorbike sorted for myself. I saw in town a few places that rented big bikes. By big, I mean bigger than the crappy little 125cc’s that everyone drives around. I dunno, those things just don’t do it for me. I always feel safer on a bigger bike, and it’s what I’m used to. After a very hostile argument with a nasty old local woman who was trying to rip me off, I found a good rental shop that offered a Phantom; a 300cc single cylinder bike. Not ideal, but it would do for now.
You will not believe my luck. I write this entry tending to my wounds. On my very first day of getting a bike, I have had an accident already. No, it wasn’t my fault. No I wasn’t doing something I shouldn’t. I was driving down the main road, minding my own business. This lunatic taxi driver pulled out of a side street right in front of me, giving me no time to brake. Instead of ploughing straight into it, I chucked him the bike, and rolled on the ground. Furious, I picked myself up and stormed over to the taxi, which was occupied by passengers in the back. The douchebag got out and smiled at me. Smiled! Grrrr... After trying to absolve himself of all guilt, he tried to jump back into the taxi. I opened the door and dragged him out and pulled him over to the side of the road. A shop owner at the corner saw the whole thing happen, and he helped me to call the police. I didn’t crash the bike! I’m certainly not going to pay for the repairs either!
Police arrived, and we dicked around for about another hour before a motorbike ambulance arrived to patch me up. In the chaos, I had injured my shoulder, smashed my palm into the ground, badly grazed my left elbow and my right knee, as well as tore off part of a thumbnail.
Great. Fantastic. That’s all I bloody need. I called up my friend’s mother, who lives in Chiang Mai. She was kind enough to go to the police station with me and help me sort out the mess. The bastard still wasn’t claiming responsibility even though it’s as plain as day that he was in the wrong. They have a weird system, the Thai police do. It seems that even though someone commits a traffic offence, the police would still rather you negotiate with the other person instead of having to do paperwork. Gasp! That would actually mean that they’d have to do their job! Shock/horror. Anyway, finally got all that sorted, and I’m off to bed. Grumpy. Let’s hope I don’t get blood all over the sheets.
Monday 27th September
No training for me. Period. Not only am I sore as hell from the accident, I have also started getting a cold, which was, no doubt from the train ride. A lot of hot and cold and wet and dry moments always give me a cold, and there were plenty of them on the train ride. Sooo, I’m sitting in bed, pissed off as hell, watching Al Jazeera news. At least that’s one good thing. I have a half decent TV which will keep me entertained whilst I convalesce and heal up. I’m not a happy camper at the moment.
Wednesday 29th September
Sitting in my room listening to very dark and angry metal. I’d be happy to dig Mr. Murphy up from his grave, revive him, and kill him all over again. Screw you Mr Murphy, and your goddam law.
Friday 1st October
Well, things are slowly getting better. Not as bleak as the last few days. Trained today, rather gingerly I might add. Wang doesn’t seem to care that I’m in pain. His training methods only involve more and more pain. It hasn’t been the best of starts, but hey... que sera sera. Let’s just hope my body stays in one piece long enough for me to get home. Andy advises me to just train through all the pain, which I’ve been doing my best to do, but it also doesn’t make sense to me to punish my body when it’s screaming at me to stop. In hindsight, I think the last few days have been made even worse by the fact that I’ve been suffering a degree of alcohol withdrawal. Back in normal environs, it’s usual for me to have at least a drink a day. I’ve been lying in bed having some rather evil thoughts. Here’s to a better tomorrow.
Sunday 3rd October
What. A. Day. I thought that I’d finally suffered enough that Mr. Murphy would leave me alone for a bit. Today was an easy day to begin with, but towards the end of it things got ridiculous. Went to the local mall to top up my cellphone credit. It took 20 minutes for them to get it loaded on my local THAI simcard, for christ’s sake. Don’t ask me why. On the ride home, I had an impending feeling of doom as my stomach started wobbling and my guts felt like they were about to rupture. Just as I started to get a handle on it, my motorbike, which I swapped after the crash (for a better one) decides to give up the ghost on me. Dead battery. Zilch. Nada. Absolutely bone dry dead. Great. So, making sure that I kept my sphincter puckered, I pushed the bike down the road in amongst peak hour traffic and weaved it to a quiet backstreet so that I could see what was wrong with it. I pulled out my phone to call the rental company, but then I stopped short of calling because I wanted to check the bike out thoroughly first before getting them to come. I absent mindedly put the phone on the seat, then checked everything.
Nope. Still not working. I rolled the bike over to some shade, as it had started to rain. I recall hearing a ‘plop’ sound, but didn’t think any more of it, until I went to go for my phone again. You know when that moment of rage and frustration dawns on you? When you realize you’ve just done something entirely idiotic? Yep. Turns out my phone dropped into the drain on the side of the road. I looked up and down the entire length where I moved the bike. Nowhere to be seen. I concluded that it must have dropped underneath the layer of silt and muck.
As if things could get any worse. There was no alternative but to stick my hand in that shit and fossick around until I found it, which I eventually did. Covered in slime and having been submerged for a good few minutes, I was sure it was a goner. I wiped it off, stuck it in my pocket, and looked wildly around for something or somebody to kill. Screw it. I wheeled the bike back around the corner to a small police stand, where I saw one lone policeman manning the booth. In simplified English I asked him if he could help me call the rental company. He was quite nice, and helped me as much as he could. It’d be a bit of a wait before they turned up, so I decided to get myself cleaned up. Kill two birds with one stone. I pulled out my dirty phone as I walked into a small restaurant, showed them the phone and asked them if I could use the toilet. Success! Managed to drop the kids off at the pool too, and get rid of my burning guts. With clear bowels and a clean hand and phone, I walked back out to the bike.
I suddenly remembered that there was a bike shop not too far down the road. After thanking the officer I wheeled the bike some two hundred metres down the road. Not easy, considering it was a very heavy bike. The guys were nice. They tried starting it a few times with success, but it would eventually cut out again. I asked them if they could help call the shop and update them on my whereabouts. Within a short amount of time, the guy finally came, and swapped bikes with me, telling me he would have the battery replaced by tomorrow. I took that bike and headed straight to the liquor store. Screw it. It’s been an absolute rat-shit week, I’m sore, sick, and am away from loved ones. I have had a hell of a time, and all I care about right now is a drink.
I bought a mini bottle of whiskey and headed home, popping into the convenience store by my lodging for some mixer. I saw Britt, a pleasant American guy who I got on with quite well. He asked me how my day was. “Ya don’t wanna know!” came the growled, exasperated response. Headed straight back into my room and cracked open the whisky. Condemn me if you will, for imbibing in the devil drink, but considering the hellish week I had, and my fragile state of mind, I just wanted a damn drink.
Headed out later that night with my Belgian friend Tom and my friend from the Reunion Islands, Emilie. Tom got shitfaced and we all had loads of fun. We drank to a better upcoming week for me. Gladly accepted. Cheers guys. You have to be able to laugh at yourself. Otherwise you just end up crying. Oh, the kicker? I checked my phone again later that night. By some strange twist of fate, my phone was fine, although it certainly didn’t appear that way at first. No dreaded disco dance of death as I switched it on again. The cover that I had for it had somehow spared its fragile circuitry, although it took a while for the speakers to dry out. Through all the shit that happens to you, there’s always something to be grateful for at the end of the day. If you look hard enough.
Thus concludes my first week. More to come.
All credit goes to a certain special someone who helped me maintain my sanity, via telephone from Malaysia :)
