Taken for Granted: Election 2012 in Thailand

Missing what was probably one of the most significant elections in my lifetime, I sat in front of a fuzzy reception of CNN, amazed that it was even in English. I rushed out of my first morning class and biked to Kelsey’s school where one of her teachers so graciously found the channel for us to follow our country’s election. Being very interested and somewhat informed on political current events, it was hard to watch the outcome knowing that I hadn’t been able to participate.

Enough arguments have been started and completed on Facebook, most everyone of them void of compassion and full of malice toward the “other” party, so I choose not to even make comments in regards to the logistics of the election. Granted, my opinions lie in vast the minority, if that give you any hint as to where my affiliation lies, but that’s beside the point. Liberty is the core of my belief system, and as I stand back to look at the whole picture from 8,000 miles away, I’ve gained a better perspective than I could ever hope to gain if I was in the States, personally attacking people through a microscopic lens.

As I strained to watch the television, Kelsey’s teacher, Pen, made a profound statement. Though not in these exact words, she commented on the efficiency of our system and how lucky we were to be in a country where people are only arguing over politics rather than having to live in fear amongst the corruption and killings associated with it. And that’s when she explained an abridged version of Thai politics to me.

All I know about the story I’m about to tell is from the experience of a local Thai. I’ve not read any sound documents, but I’m convinced that personal stories are the richest form of any history. The last prime minister of Thailand, a man named Thaksin, became a billionaire businessman overnight and began to abuse his power, corroding Thai politics from the poverty ridden class to the police force. Pen described to me the false vows he’d made to the lower class, promising them loans and “free” money. In a funny and somewhat blunt way, Pen described the farmers as gullible and “not smart at all,” so they believed Thaksin. Banks suddenly began giving out money like candy, and people who lived in huts began buying the newest model of expensive cars on the market. When they failed to pay, banks heartlessly (and by means of Thaksin’s newly implemented ideas) took the main possession of these poor farmers, their land. Suicide rates amongst that class skyrocketed, yet they still flock to his empty promises. When Thaksin’s corrupt tendencies and money laundering surfaced, he was quickly labeled a criminal and fled the country. For nearly a decade, Thaksin has wandered the world, battling exile and seeking refuge and begging to be readmitted into the country. The division of his supporters (driven ignorantly by the poor) and his enemies has caused nothing but havoc in Thailand. Occasionally, Thaksin will hold video conferences in undisclosed locations, rallying his supporters and calling them to acts of violence. Once, Pen said, he even promised that if he heard gunfire during his speech to silence the skeptics, he would return to Thailand and rule again. An outbreak of murder began, and Thaksin was nowhere to be found. Rumor has it that he is hiding in Hong-Kong now, evading arrest. Pen said that recently, the captain of the police force in Bangkok located him and immediately hopped aboard a plane, ecstatic to have discovered his whereabouts.

“What do you think the policeman did?” Pen asked.

“Arrested him, I hope!” I replied, intrigued with such a bizarre story.

“No. He went so Thaksin could promote him and put new stars on his uniform.”

So here we are - in a country where politics doesn’t cause upheavals on Facebook or incessant Tweets with agendas. It causes murderous outbreaks, blind belief, uncertainty and death. In wake of this election, stop for a moment and be thankful for the Liberties and honor we DO still possess. Politicians are sometimes full of empty promises, yes, but at the end of the day, we live in a free country - one that’s abundant with prosperity, invokes some semblance of proper leadership and has the ability to unite in the face of tragedy.

I currently live in a country where cars pull over, people stop mid-walk and time stands still at 8 AM and 6 PM when their national anthem is played over television, radio and loud speakers across every city... where the symbolism of their King is admonished and where flags fly at every home, business, school and deserted street. Let's be as thankful for our nation's leaders and lasting liberties as Thais are for theirs, despite such disparity.

Snippets of Paradise.

Blogs are curious things. Depending on their sole purpose, they can either be intermittent logs of ordinary happenings whenever you have time to write them, the annoying tri-weekly posts updating people on the status of your sick cat or your new secret to weight loss, or there are those special times when absence from your writing hasn’t been because of lack of subject matter and your wordiness isn’t for fear of losing those 12 faithful readers -- It’s because you’ve been caught up doing the most wonderful things, details too many to recall or reconstruct if even a blog a day was posted, and because the days are too full of such detail to even permit a second to write them down. No one can ever fully appreciate what I’ve experienced here lest they also have experienced them firsthand. Pictures never encompass exactly what the eyes gather and journaling can never corral the small “in between” aspects which make a trip unique. Like the skeleton key lock on our guest house door, stacks of pirated movies in the market, fake backpacks crudely embroidered with the North Face label or a motorcycle powered cocktail car. The main events like Tiger Kingdom, elephant training and zip-lining make the headlines, but details make the vacation. In this blog, for fear of beginning to effectively recap the past two weeks, I want to try something different. In no particular order, I will just write sentences about the trip as they pop into my head.

If you ever find yourself in Chiang Mai, visit Diva Guesthouse, a trendy little hostel with funky painted rooms and staff who will organize your whole trip and memorize your breakfast order.

Elephants are frightened of cows and will attempt to stampede away from them if spooked. Too bad my elephant ambled past a cow in the road on the way to the watering hole. On the bright side, we arrived at the river much sooner than planned, and I got a complementary pachyderm shoulder blade massage on my rear.

On a leisurely walk through the hubbub of Chiang Mai, we discovered a little restaurant that made avocado and egg bagels. Needless to say, we trekked those 13 blocks for the rest of the trip.

Elephants have eyes the size of billiard balls. Probably the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Russians have taken over Pattaya beach, and I wasn’t thrilled to see their hairy backs and ill-fitting speedo thongs.

Tiger cubs are cute until they unsheathe their massive claws. That’s when you reach for the bottle.

So as not to exploit any ethnicity or nationality, let’s just say I’ve surmised that older international women are either not aware of how their bodies look in string bikinis, or they have a God-given confidence I wish that I possessed.

I will experience a rude awakening when I get back home and look back on the time I haggled with a woman who wanted to give me a pedicure for $3 and I refused because it was too expensive by Thai standards. This exchange rate has created a monster.

Elephant poop is a wad of green vegetation, and the trainers at Mahout Elephant Training Center (and your pesky roommate, Kelsey) WILL throw it at you.

Not sure if the Subway we found was the Mecca of all Subways, or if we had been deprived of our American delicacy for too long, but I ordered a footlong and was not ashamed.

My dear travel buddy battles with motion sickness, the inescapable plague of curvy Thai roads, reckless driving and worn out shocks on a van older than me, but she handles it like a champ, no doubt about it.

Watching, or rather binging on, a full season of 24 while in a city ridden with prostitution and Mafia was not a good idea for a concept called “sweet dreams.”

Just because many consider Asia to be the fashion-forward continent due to its population’s bold wardrobe and hair statements doesn’t mean Americans should visit a popular salon in Thailand and expect anything of the sort. On a totally unrelated note and for your information, 7-11s carry hair dye. 

What better way to conquer your fear of heights than to zip-line across 800 meters of cable, thousands of feet above a rainforest, crashing into a 95 pound Thai tour guide and hoping he alone can stop you from barreling into a tree at high speeds.

Add a lion tamer and a clapping seal to our luggage laden motorbike (aka, clown car) and you’d have a circus more entertaining than Ringling as we drove to the bus station. Just ask the pack of stray dogs who chased us down a dark street. All I remember is a lot of explicit language, flailing legs, snarling and mauling sounds, wobbling tires and nearly crashing through the wall of a home where we’d have most likely joined a Thai family for dinner in a cloud of dust - suitcase, backpacks, pink travel pillows and all. Since one of those mongrels gave Kelsey a nasty bruise, this circus won’t be passing through this part of town ever again.

And I don’t care who you are, but no one looks good in a zip lining harness.

Gagnam Style may be a popular song in the US, but you’ve not experienced it until you’ve danced it on a beach with a large Asia population wearing glow-in-the-dark face paint.

Although I’m sad to see this holiday come to an end, it will be nice to befriend routine once again and begin the downward slope of our mission here. Look ahead, but cherish every moment in between.

Zip-Lining, Tigers and Islands - Oh my!

Mentally checking off semester one of this Thai school year, I look back and am speechless as to where it went. October has been my benchmark from the very beginning, that point in the distance I squinted to see back in May, wondering what my state of mind would be. Having reached that point, I can truly appreciate the steady stride we’ve hit this past month. A mixture of pleasurable routine and variety have created an odd sort of contentment, and I’m glad of it. I’m the most placid and motivated I’ve ever been, and most of all, I’m living and finding a sense of community in the most off-the-wall place I’ve ever been. Still today, after 4 months in this beautiful place, I’ll zone out, mentally and physically (like a slow motion zoom-out on Google Earth from me to outer space) and look at my life. Holy shit, I actually live in Thailand, in Asia, in a 3rd world region, in a city a lot of natives can’t point to on a map, 8000 miles away from home. I don’t think that will truly sink in until I step off the plane in Atlanta next year. I can imagine it being a blanketed feeling of sudden realization and real sadness that its force didn’t hit me until then. I can’t wait until that moment, really. That moment suspended between two completely different lives. It will be hard to return, but so easy at the same time.

As breathtaking as it is to look back though, I’ve never been more excited to look forward. Three weeks of freedom await, and we have plans to wander. A statement which seems to be, in itself, counterproductive. Guidelines with room to wiggle.

Several years ago, my dad spent many, many months planning a special trip for my family. Unable to fully appreciate it at the time, I now look back with a fond wistfulness and wish that type of trip could happen again someday. After 12 hour work days, my daddy would drop one task and pick up another: the task of planning our 2 week vacation to Canada. Hours of accumulated research added up to equal a trip that moved like clockwork and ticked without the slightest glitch. Everything from rental cars to seaside B & Bs and whale watching tours to ferry rides worked just as he had planned. I was so amazed. 

So when this trip rolled around, Kelsey so graciously let me try my hand at planning. Albeit a far cry from the detailed trip my daddy planned, I attempted to lay some skeletal guidelines, then when we arrive, I will let Kelsey’s previous backpacking instincts fill in the gaps. Perhaps the hurdle I faced most, rather than the task of having every minute planned like our Canadian adventure, was the constraints of finances, currency exchange, and communication. So, after a little surfing online and a lot of luck, our vacation is as follows: We leave tomorrow headed several hours north toward Chiang Mai, the second largest Thai destination aside from the capital city. The mountainous city has so much to offer. One day, we are being picked up and taken to an elephant reservation to adopt our own lovely creature for the day. After visiting Night Market Bazaars and locating and frequenting a Subway that is rumored to be in the city, we will visit a Tiger Kingdom and hold baby tigers. I hope they’ve been declawed. Week two, we will travel nearly 9 hours south to Pattaya beach where we will visit a local orphanage, scuba dive in the coral reefs and take a 2-day zip lining tour through the jungle. Week three, the week with the least planned and the one weighted with the most anticipation, will be spent on a tropical island called Koh Samet in the Gulf of Thailand. Having been frugal with our accommodations until this point, we decided to splurge and stay in a bungalow style resort on the beach. Though I mentioned not having plans per se, we actually plan to be busy reading, relaxing, writing letters to loved ones and spending the whole week looking out on that crystal blue ocean and pinching ourselves. Because it will probably be the most unforgettable trip ever.

Assuming this trip, too, like Canada, goes without many hitches, I will be ecstatic to fill in this loose itinerary with colorful details, fun stories and the most valuable of memories. We hop aboard a bus tomorrow at 9:45 AM with a little luggage, a little cash and a lot of pent up excitement for a trip I know, where whatever we do, will be the trip of a lifetime. 

Conversation Exams, Anxiety and Fulfillment

“Would you like to hang out and go see a movie sometime?”

“Awesome, I’d love to!” she said, not knowing quite the exact meaning or pronunciation of such westernized slang.

“It was nice to meet you. See you later!”

“Goodbye!”

Their timid voices and strong accents faded away, and two pairs of eager eyes stared at me then stole a glance at my grading chart.

“Excellent,” I complimented. “Very well done, girls.”

I have never experienced a prouder moment. My shy Thai girls had memorized, understood and recited a 25 line conversation with more enthusiasm and confidence than even I could’ve muster in front of a such a large group of piers. After such a fulfilling and accomplished moment, the only thought that ran through my head was, “I don’t think teaching is right for me.” 

Shocking? Why had I come to such a seemingly contradictory conclusion? Especially being that teaching English was the central idea of this whole trip. Compared to other significant spans in my life, these three months have been the most refreshing and revealing of them all, and here’s why. Evaluating your own shortcomings and strengths is one of the most daunting and self-effacing of tasks, but it must be done. Why did I enjoy that brief, enclosed moment listening to my girls speak their midterm exam more than the previous weeks of teaching combined? How can I explain my reasoning for feeling more accomplished after those two girls finished their test, giving me a smile brimming with comfort and new-found realization, than I feel after a class of 50 kids parrot (with perfect pronunciation, I might add) the question of the week?

The answer is simple, yet the meaning itself lies in the complexity of my personality. I am simply not comfortable in groups. There, I said it. Let me clarify, though. I like being on the outskirts of a group, merely listening and quietly surmising my own opinions, but when asked to be put in the middle, God forbid the head, of such situations, I would rather bow out. This is the point in my argument when one would assume I lack “backbone” or leadership qualities or authority, but it is also the point in the argument in which I would argue, matter-of-fact-ly, that those assumptions are untrue. Is a painter considered to be an untalented artist if he can’t sculpt replicas of a Grecian busts or create beautifully edited digital photos or carve wood into an intricate statue? No, because he can wield his artistic weapon on a canvas, investing every ounce of his creativity into that one medium. Just as this artist delves into one facet of a vast array of artistic talent, my leadership and influence take command in a certain arena as well. And that space, where my inner introvert has always felt at ease, is in the comfort and confines of intimate conversation. One in which both parties leave feeling more restored and encouraged than they did before they met.

Why do I feel more fulfilled after one hour-long private English lesson than teaching a whole class? Why do I cherish meeting our new German friend, Klaus, at "New York Grill" (our only source of beef in Thailand) rather than an activity filled weekend retreat with our Organization? These and every other situation in which I feel comfortable are because of the confinements of one-on-one interaction.

Over a year ago, I was accepted and registered to begin my Masters in Clinical Counseling but decided to put it on hold. I had no exact reasoning other than the fact that I felt it wasn't the right time. Little did I know that this nudge to put Grad school on hold was enough of a nudge to send me all the way to Thailand. Had I begun the courses, I would've never been free to take this journey, come to know my best friend and discover just how perfect that career path would inevitably be.

 * * * * * * * * * *              

"Feel how sweaty my palms are," Kelsey said gripping my arm with her clammy hands.

"Why are you so anxious?" I asked, wondering why her nerves would be so heightened while we were just sitting and waiting on our dinner.

"They're always like that." She said, her thumbs restlessly tracing her fingernails, her leg unknowingly bouncing against the table leg.

Puzzled, I inquired further. "What other things do you feel when you get this tense?"

"It's actually all the time. I've never really told anyone about this. I didn't realize it wasn't . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Wasn't normal?" I finished, regretting my choice of word, but I was suddenly and completely concerned. Eventually, I came to know exactly how many symptoms there really were. Ones I had noticed, and ones that she'd kept repressed.

"My palms are always sweaty, my shoulders are always tense, I can't shut my mind off to sleep at night, but during the day I'm so fatigued that even daily tasks seem out of reach and uninteresting. My jaw is constantly clenched, I feel suffocated and impatient in social situations, my mind is swamped with irrational worries, and I'm on edge as if someone is about to jump around every corner."

Her descriptions hit me like a ton of bricks, leaving a familiar tone resonating in my mind and in my heart. She didn't realize that that one spilling realization did more for her than I could ever do, but I was determined to help her understand it. And from that day forward, I've tried to do just that. Before this trip, we were acquaintances compared to now. I was humbled by her honesty, and there is no stronger bond for a friendship.

"I don't choose to be this way. It's like I can't stop it. It's like an out of body experience where I'm looking down at myself saying, 'Kelsey relax. Calm down. Stop worrying. Stop acting this way.' But I can't." She looked at me regretfully as if it was her fault, apologizing for something she couldn't help, and that broke my heart. What she didn't know was that I did know. I knew without touching sweaty palms when she was anxious. I knew without her even opening her mouth when she was in a downtrodden mood. I knew without seeing her fidgeting feet when she was uncomfortable. And I understood. Even if their wasn't a tangible reason.

Having been raised in a family where severe anxious tendencies were common, I was familiar with the symptoms and  how they affect those they hold captive. There's not one "thing" that makes someone depressed. There's not one "instance" that makes someone anxious. There's not one "situation" which sparks an outbreak of irrational fear or regrettable words. And I, more than anyone in the world, understand that. Call it masochistic interest, but I love being around it. For some reason, I tolerate it willingly and almost with welcomed enthusiasm. I can see past the anxiety to the real person who is hurting because of it. I can see through the depression and love the one who is trapped behind its crippling mask.

What if my mother hadn't excavated through the barriers of my self-conscious fears and bolstered me each and every day? What if my daddy hadn't ignored my self-criticism and told me to be confident with who I was? What if my sister had not pulled off my cloak of timidness and showed me how to be slightly outgoing? What if Kelsey hadn't taken the time to see past my wall of introversion? Everyone has them. Insecurities, depression, anxiety, self-deprecation. Someone has to be patient enough to see through these barriers to the real person, or else they'll be trapped alone. I don't want them, or anyone, to be alone.

As I sit and watch my sweet Thai girl struggle with pronunciation and reading, I know she hides behind a fear of failure. As I watch the darting eyes of my sweet Thai girl quoting her conversation exam, I know she hides behind a wall of shy embarrassment. I was put on this earth to help uncover those fears and be patient until they do. As I help them, I inadvertently help myself, so what could be better?

I couldn't be any more grateful for such a loving family, an honest best friend and willing Thai students who have helped me feel a sense of worth and fulfillment. They will never know to what extent I appreciate their reliance upon me, no matter how slight. I know what I'm supposed to do now, and there's no greater feeling of satisfaction.

Floating Markets and Fairytales.

From my earliest of memories, I can recall my family telling stories about Thailand. Having spent 2 years of her young childhood there, my mother has since shared the snippets of her experiences she still remembers today. My grandfather was in the military, and thus on an American base, but this didn't hinder my mother and her sisters from being immersed in the same culture in which I now find myself. Stories of sticky rice in ice cream, smelly fruit, sipping red Fanta from a bag, floating markets, manic taxi driving, reclining Buddha statues and their made called Dang, are among the stories that I have not only heard, but some of which, I've been able to experience first hand. So you can only imagine my excitement as our bus reached its final stop, and I stepped out into the city of Bangkok, where my family, some 40 years previous, had lived, worked and sacrificed the "normalcy" they'd known in the States.

      

         We were greeted by a family friend of Kelsey's and were ushered off to a weekend of sheer heaven and unrivaled kindness. We stayed with a hospitable family who, during this trip, adopted us into their Thai family. When I met them, I couldn't help but be reminded of some of my mother's stories about her caregiver and maid from years ago, Dang. A selfless, motherly figure to my mother and aunts, Dang's legacy and lasting impression became more than folklore to me. It became reality as I stood face to face with the exact Thai love and inclusion as my mother and aunts experiences long ago. We were given a private room, fed the most amazing breakfasts and then whisked away through Bangkok traffic on an all-expenses-paid tour through the city. A weekend full of food, museums, palaces, golden statues, floating markets and authentic Thai massages was sure to leave me grasping for the details at the holiday's end, hoping I could relay at least a bit of my elation through this blog.
I could tell you about dinner on the streets of Bangkok that first night, taxis weaving through table and vendors. I could tell you about the King's palace, the golden archways, handcrafted mosaics and reverent prayers. I could tell you about the heartwarming respect the people have for their King Rama IX, his flags flying on every corner, his picture plastered to skyscrapers. I could tell you about the canal-side resort in jungle where we watched monks paddle serenely by. I could tell you about longboat skiffs which carried us to vendors while other boats merged in and around us, their hulls equipped with whole kitchens. I could tell you about my first massage, Thai no less, and how modesty is the least of worries and having to shift your mindset from molestation to relaxation is rather difficult. I could tell you about the Thai homesickness I felt having to hug these precious people goodbye. I could tell you about our rushed drive to the bus station, arriving in time to get the last tickets on a minivan driven by a 17 year old and wishing away carsickness as we barreled 7 hours south toward home. I could tell you about all of those things, but I can't. It is simply a personal experience I could never hope to accurately convey without pitiful discredit to this place and its people. They are memories which I, not selfishly but exasperatedly keep inside, wishing I could share with utmost detail.
 

The taxi sat in traffic then, finding a tiny opening, sped through the creeping cars and darting motorcycles. "Here we are," said our gracious host. "This is part of Sukhumvit Road." The taxi then stopped abruptly on the side of the busy street, and I saw what looked to be a small replica of Time's Square, a huge television screen overlooking the 6 lanes of bumper to bumper traffic on the road called Sukhumvit. I snapped a few quick photos before hopping onto the sidewalk. It was such a surreal experience having come full circle in two respects, really. One, by stepping out of that taxi, I had finally solidified the place I'd known to be true in my mind but had yet to transform from mere fairytale stories to reality. And two, a dream (or fairytale of sorts) in my own mind that had finally come to fruition. A desire to travel, to be adopted into a culture, to respect beliefs and simply to nurture my own dreams for once without the slightest reservation. Both successes wrapped in one dream turned true, and I couldn't be happier. 

To return will be so refreshing. During our break in October, Kelsey and I plan to do some extensive traveling, both to Bangkok and a slightly smaller, more rural city called Chiang Mai. If our first excursion from tiny Uttaradit was any indication of the ones to come, I can't wait to see what's in store.

Sprained Ankle and Patience

It’s a shame that the capacity of mental will sometimes doesn’t match the threshold of our physical will. I felt this, more-so from a physical standpoint, last Monday when I woke up to go to school and my ankles were swollen and my toes nearly unable to move. As thrilling as it was to have fought valiantly through 3 hours of kickboxing the previous Saturday, waking up 2 days later with aching joints was chilling. Not because it was painful, no, it was something I could tolerate, but because of the barrier it was sure to put between me and my new love, Muay Thai.

I hobbled through Monday, limped through Tuesday and cringed through Wednesday until finally one of the Thai teachers in my office inquired about my slow moving. Reluctantly, I told them the story of perhaps my overzealous 3 hours of kickboxing, and before I could shuffle to my desk, they had pulled a student from her class and were mumbling instructions to her in Thai. I will never grow immune to the compassionate and care-taking nature of these kind people. They had made me an appointment for that very evening with an English speaking orthopedic doctor in the city.  Knowing full well that my problem was overuse, ill preparation and a probable sprain, I didn’t really feel the need for an appointment, but the ladies insisted.

Sitting in the “waiting room” of the doctor’s office, which was a hole in the wall exposed to the swarming traffic nearby, I couldn’t help but feel two opposing thoughts. One was appreciation. That I was (and will for the duration of my stay) be taken care of and gratefully, I would be on my way to recovery with a little rest. The other feeling was that of complete frustration with myself. At that very moment, I knew Kelsey was working her ass off in that ring, and I sat waiting to the prognosis of what inherently was my own stupidity. I stay motionless as the Doctor prodded around on my left ankle and made a quick diagnoses of “sprain,” saying that Muay Thai was definitely not for women. Little did he know, this prescription for quitting has only spurred me forward.

My lovely teacher, Kru Kanika, then took me to the Hospital pharmacy for a brace and topical pain reliever. I sheepishly rode around in a wheelchair upon her insistence, gathered my recovery necessities and was out the door in no time. 

“It’s my pleasure. I am glad to make you convenient and happy, Jade,” were the words from dear Kanika as she sat and waited with me. Nothing warmed my frustrated heart more.

Back at the apartment that night, my ankle in a brace and propped on a pillow, I couldn’t hide my disappointment any longer. I broke down in tears to Kelsey, telling her how I’d obsessively canvased the internet over the past several days for my prognosis, how I’d worried our trainer would think me weak, how I was stupid for not preparing myself for such traumatic exercise, how I felt I would lose the ground I’d gained. Sympathy was what I thought I needed, but she new better, quickly rebuking me for blaming myself and saying that I needed to hush. So with renewed motivation and a different plan of attack, I am resting for 3 weeks.

We worked an English camp at a Technical College this past weekend, and although I moved around and was active much more than I should’ve been, the weekend was worth it. Playing intense versions of Red Rover with 20 year old boys is no easy task. But, as if God-sent, my school is testing this week (my 2nd week of no activity) and they are allowing me to sit out for the duration since only the Thai teachers can administer tests.

I have a much more positive outlook than I did the day I was Googling torn tendons and sitting in a rudimentary doctor’s office. At least on the weekends we are able to watch local Muay Thai fighting so I can get my fix. We’ve been such faithful followers of the local fights that the announcers announce our arrival, and we are graciously ushered ringside, or the splash zone as I like to call it, where one is at risk of being sprinkled with water, sweat and blood. Better than high definition television any day! 

I’m most often a patient person with everyone besides myself, but when it comes to exercising personal patience, I am my harshest critic. But I’m determined to prove myself wrong.

Thai Boxing and Benevolence

“Haa-sip,” our trainer said.

“Wait, is that the number 15 or 50?” I shrugged.

He motioned the number five and then zero with his hands.

“Ohhhh,” both Kelsey and I sighed in exhausted unison. Then, after already an hour and a half of constant (and unexpected) kickboxing, we proceeded to round-house kick the swinging bag of sand fifty times.

I didn’t know what to expect that first day visiting the Muy Thai training camp. Picturing a gym or at least a building of some sort, I had at least resigned myself to the probable absence of air condition. But when we turned onto a winding dirt road and pulled up at a boxing ring in the middle of a densely wooded area, I was speechless. Several sweaty boys in silky boxing shorts were wrestling in the ring, stray dogs wandered around the premises and several flags and old Thai banner hung from the rafters of a crude awning which shaded the ring. One older man in particular, padded around his waist and holding tight to pads in his hands, shouted directions in Thai to the young adult fighters who swung their powerful legs and elbows against the trainers steady grip. They shouted a word or yell of release with each swing, a practice we later learned was used to let loose tension or an “evil spirit.”

Though I would’ve been content enough to watch the power and prowess of the practicing boxers, the older trainer approached us, breaking the trance and beckoned us onto the ring. We looked at one another with a “what the hell” glance, and Kelsey and I climbed the stairs, wriggling awkwardly under the ropes. Nearly two hours later, we stood drenched with sweat having been thrown in the ring, literally, without a clue or an effective means of communication. The older gentleman, we were told, is a retired Muy Thai champion. Having fought in Bangkok and apparently been rather popular in his prime, the trainer now devotes his time to training aspiring young boxers. Their respect for the sport and their trainer is a wonderful thing to watch. How privileged and honored I was to know that such a legend would take time to entertain two foreign girls’ wish to pursue the same.

Muy Thai is a discipline rooted in rich cultural tradition. Last weekend we were able to watch several matches at a location on the outskirts of the city. Several food stands, games and rides were set up in a field, resembling a small fair. Mesmerized by over three hours of back to back boxing matches, we were able to see the ritualistic dances, hear native music and watch the most engaging sport I’ve ever witnessed. It is such a contrasting mix of peaceful, smooth movement and brute, barbaric strength. The fighting magic lies in the powerful shins and knees which are thrown into an opponent’s abdominals and sides. It’s no wonder the boxers have the bodies of Greek gods; they have to be able to withstand incredible trauma for 5 rounds. Arms lock around one another in a weird sort of hug around the neck as the boxers dance around, trying to gain control of the other’s torso. Then, with poised force, they hold their victim in a headlock and send their knees and inner thighs pounding into the opponent’s bare side. Though you can count the specific, rehearsed moves on one hand, I can only imagine that it takes years, if not a lifetime, to master the courage.


Truth be told, if I was thrown into a ring, I would be knocked out in a matter of seconds. If not from scrambling to escape the ring itself, tripping over the ropes and plummeting to the ground below, it would be from unpracticed oblivion. Over and over during each lesson, “Golden Bug” (which is our trainer’s ring name) has to pull my gloved hands above my head to remind me to “bock, bock.” Blocking my head is the least of my worries. I’m trying to perfect the angle of my shin when I kick. See? I would be flattened in half a second. Regardless of this fatal forgetfulness, our kind trainer somehow expressed to us with numbers and a thumbs up that, after only 4 lessons, we are doing well. That, or he is saying there is no hope for us after 4 lessons. Hoping it wasn't the latter, we thanked him profusely. In some way, his confidence and invested time makes me want to work harder. Almost as if to prove I can keep up with the exercises he throws our way.


And can you believe that the lessons are the US equivalent of only 3 dollars per hour? Believe me when I say, I will be out there until either my legs are too bruised to continue or the mosquitoes carry me away. I’m in no way saying I will ever approach a match, God help me, but the fulfillment and strength of mind it give to train in Muy Thai is unlike any other.

I can’t describe the exact feeling during our lesson. The sour smell of sweaty gloves, the rough ring floor rubbing my toes raw, the sweat seeping into my eyes, the stinging slap of my legs on the pad, my quavering muscles after hundreds of kicks, the swarming mosquitoes at sundown, the stage fright of being watched by the smiling faces and sculpted bodies of the young Thai fighters outside the ring, Golden Bug’s grin (whether it is of humor or benevolence) as we give every ounce of ourselves to his commands, interpreting movements and steps with a language barrier. . . I think the best of them all though is driving off on our motorbike, the hot Thai air somehow feeling cool on our sweaty backs, having given the whole of our energy toward bettering our bodies in a boot-camp atmosphere and learning through trial and error the value of discipline, strength and common ground, no matter the culture.