Adventures in Thai Boxing, or, Friends Make the Best Collateral

So, tonight I went to my first-ever Muay Thai (Thai boxing) match!  My friend Moray (who's visiting for a couple of weeks) and I got some Mexican food for dinner and then wandered over to the International Thaepae Boxing Stadium, which is basically a concrete box ringed with bars, with an older ladyboy (who, I have to say, was totally working her skintight leopard-print dress) taking tickets at the door.  The whole place is lit up in multicoloured neon and is just the right side of delightfully seedy (which might be put on for the tourists, but it's still fun).  I only regret that we went so early, because they start playing the Muay Thai music about half an hour in advance.  Unlike traditional Thai music (or modern Thai pop), Muay Thai music is weird, discordant stuff that sounds a bit like a bagpipe being run over by a motorcycle.  (In fact, Moray and I speculated that the first Muay Thai match may have occurred when a motorcycle driver got into a fistfight with a travelling Scottish bagpiper he'd just run over.)  After ten minutes of it, anyone would be on edge enough to start punching the people around them.

And then, finally, the lights went down; the first two boxers entered in their ceremonial headbands to pray at each corner of the ring, followed by an elaborate, genuflecting dance in the centre; and the music, kind of hilariously, switched to "The Final Countdown". :)

Thai boxing is very entertaining to watch - it's more about kicks and knees and grappling than it is about straight-up punching, and it's a combination of brutal and weirdly affectionate, as fighters sometimes stay locked in each others' arms for almost a minute, scrabbling for purchase.  Some of the more experienced fighters pull off acrobatic moves that would almost look more at home in capoeira.  But I meant it about the brutal - we saw one knockout, one dislocated shoulder (that the coach relocated on the spot - "Just pop your arm over the ropes there"... *CRAAAACK*), and one kick to the groin that left the boxer whimpering in pain and basically pleading with the ref to end the match even before the countdown (you have to be ready to resume fighting before the count of ten) was complete.  Owww.

Incidentally, I want it on the record that I successfully picked the winner in five of the six fights - all of them except the main fight, in fact, which was the only one that went all five rounds and was won on points.  I obviously didn't place a bet, because VSO might frown on it, or at least on paying for new kneecaps after I got mine broken by Thai bookies.  We DID try to figure out how to break it to Moray's boss that Moray wouldn't be able to return to the office, because he'd be going to work in a Thai brothel after I lost him in a bet.  If this seems harsh, I should point out that he was contemplating selling me to pay for the cost of our dinner in Chiang Dao on Sunday. :)  (Ultimately, though, with my success rate, I don't think I would have lost Moray in the bet after all.  Possibly, I would have won some other foreigner who'd been unlucky at a previous match.)

After the first four matches, there was a break, and then five young fighters came and knelt in a circle in the middle of the ring.  One of the refs went around and, very slowly and ceremoniously, put blindfolds on each of them.  We waited with bated breath:  were they going to face off in pairs for the honour of fighting the next proper bout?  Or were there going to be some kind of blindfolded feats of martial arts?

AND THEN GANGNAM STYLE CAME ON THE SOUND SYSTEM AND ALL FIVE OF THEM KICKED THE SHIT OUT OF EACH OTHER.

This is quite possibly the best piece of entertainment I have ever seen.  The greatest bit was that the ref stayed in the ring to guide them towards each other, and sometimes one of the boxers would mistakenly attack him instead.  At one point, one fighter started hitting the ref... and then another started punching him in the head from the other side... and then all five fighters ended up in a heap on top of him.  I'm probably a bad person for laughing at that, but it was absolute gold.

We ultimately decided that the only thing in the universe that could be better would be to put Psy in the centre of the ring and have him dance Gangnam Style while five blindfolded Thai boxers tried to hit him.  We would call this divine sport of the gods "Muay Psy". :)

The Dog Days Are Not Over

This is another thing I've been meaning to post for a while:  Dog Days.

You know how people have good and bad hair days?  In Thailand, you have good and bad dog days.  (And primarily terrible hair days - thank you, motorcycle helmet! - but that's beside the point.)  I'm serious.  Some days, I can waltz past the guard dogs at the gated mansions and the soi (alley) dogs who sleep in petrol station forecourts without getting so much as a dozy "woof" out of any of them.  Other days, even my neighbours' dogs - who have known me for close to a year now, and will occasionally even play fetch with me (although their concept of fetch extends only as far as "recover thrown object, and then make off with it like a douchebag") - will suddenly charge out of their front gates at me, barking their heads off and treating me like a one-woman barbarian invasion.

I've worked out that part of it is timing.  If it's after midnight, and I'm not on a motorcycle, I'm clearly wrong for that time and place, and therefore fair game.  (Found that out the hard way during a 2 am water run - *shudders*.)  But it's been known to happen in broad daylight, too.  Is it some scent that's throwing them off, like a different shampoo?  Is it my mood on those days?  Have I eaten so much crispy pork in Thailand that I now smell of it?  Who knows?

My worst dog day - well, dog night - was the first and, so far (touch wood), only time that dogs have actually chased me while I was riding my motorbike.  I was driving down a dark street, looking for a friend's house, and at the point where the paved road turned to dirt, there was a pack of soi dogs basically sprawled halfway across the road.  Holding my breath, I eased past them... but just my luck, my friend's house wasn't actually down that turn.  So I had to turn right around, and drive past the pack again.

The first time, they had raised their heads to look narrowly at me, and there had been a couple of warning growls.  But the second time - with an apparent consensus of, "Oh hell no, that bitch thinks she's coming BACK this way?  I don't believe this!" - the entire pack sprang to their feet and started baying after me.

Now, when you're being chased by dogs, your first instinct is going to be to get out of there as fast as possible.  THIS IS THE WRONG INSTINCT.  Nothing is likely to make a dog more determined to chase you than running away, and even on a motorcycle, odds are you won't be able to make your escape fast enough.  (Plus, your legs are awfully tempting targets when you're riding.)  No, my friend taught me the best response when she was giving me driving lessons.  You slow right the hell down, and as far as possible, you act relaxed.  In fact, one of the most effective ways to disarm a dog who's coming for you is to put on a big grin, pat your thighs, and babytalk to him.  I'm dead serious here.  Dogs can sense fear, and like twitchy Cold War governments, if you're afraid and poised to defend yourself, they immediately start wondering what dodgy thing you're up to.

(Hence the world's least helpful advice:  If you're afraid of dogs, stop being afraid of dogs, because otherwise they'll do scary things to you.  I've found that this is equally applicable to dating, and just as unhelpful.)

So I slowed to a crawl, and started calling out in a high voice, "Puppy-puppy!  Here puppy!"  And most of the dogs started giving me puzzled or contemptuous looks, and left off the chase.  A couple of them hung on a little longer, one even taking a couple of snaps at my heels, but when I didn't react, even he got bored.

Point:  Humanity, I think. :)

However, I was pretty shaken up, and it didn't help much when one of my local dogs decided to start playing a little game with me.  He likes to run up behind me and suddenly lunge for my ankles, like he's going to bite me - and then stop just short, huffing hot air on my feet, before running away with his tail wagging.  The first time he did this, I leapt six feet in the air, so now of course he things it's the Greatest Prank Ever.  I have dubbed him Asshat Dog.  (Actually, I had named in James Dean because he was always hanging around the motorcycle carpark, but as far as I'm concerned, he's Asshat Dog now.)

It could be a lot worse, though.  Chiang Mai dogs are comparatively mild.  One of my friends in the border town of Mae Sot is currently on a course of rabies shots after a dog there took a chunk out of her leg; they play for KEEPS in the smaller towns.

With the neighbourhood cats, I seem to be making steadier, although slower, progress.  Most of the cats who live along my route home have apparently decided that I'm okay now.  The main way I know this is that I'm now seeing them everywhere, instead of just a glimpse of a tail here and there as they dart away over fences.  The ginger cat belonging to my downstairs neighbour will actually demand ear-skritches, and occasionally lie down on my feet if I don't oblige for long enough.  My neighbours down the road have two kittens who actively tried to follow me home the other night (to be fair, I had fed them some of my fried chicken).  It makes me ridiculously happy.

All this makes a nice change from the boot-faced cat who lives at the house next to my office and hates me with the fire of a thousand suns.  I don't know whether it's the farang thing, or what the hell I did to him in a past life, but the resentment is palpable.  I even tried to bribe him with chicken.  This Did Not Go Well.

Me:  Kitteh want some chicken?  Yummy chicken!
Cat:  FUCK YOU.
Me:  *quails*
Cat:  *glares*
Me:  I'll... just leave it right here at a safe distance for you, yeah?
Cat:  DIE IN A FIRE.

It's one of those things you don't automatically expect to be different between cultures, but of course it is:  Thai people treat their animals differently than people in, say, the UK, so obviously the animals behave differently.

Incidentally, now that it's almost cold season, everyone is going to start putting shirts on their dogs again.  I can't wait. :)

I'd Sit in the Quad, and Think, "Oh My God!"

My landlady has installed a coffee and cocoa dispenser outside her office.

That's it.  Thailand is officially just like university.  My room is equipped with flat-pack furniture and a minifridge; everyone finds it weird that I drink tea and not coffee; I do laundry in my pajamas, because I need to wash everything I own; I almost never cook for myself; and there's a great social scene available, but you have to look past the parade of drunken 18-year-olds to find it.

And again like university, I can't get the cocoa dispenser to work.

Now, speaking of Thai cultural peculiarities, I'm going to tell you a little story.  Gather 'round, children, and you shall hear the tale of A. and his Mullet Adventures!


Some time ago, my colleague A. decided to cut his hair.  (You might remember that this is what would later lead to people being completely unable to recognise him.)  Ever since I’d known him, A. had had a kind of softer version of a white-boy ’fro – a shock of hair that reached almost down to his shoulders, or would if it didn’t prefer to shoot out in all directions, in that, “I don’t want to be a hair!  I want to be a DRAGON!” way that I’m all too familiar with, myself. :)  (With apologies to Edward Monckton.)

On this particular evening, there was a house party to say goodbye to two of the fast-dwindling Chiang Mai contingent.  I was just rolling up when a man I’d never seen before approached and asked how I was.

I did a double take.  “A.?”

The halo of hair I was used to seeing was gone, and in its place – instead of the traditional, close-cropped style I’d expected – was the most classic, sharply-cut mullet I’d ever seen.

And the crazy thing was, it actually kind of suited him.  I’ve often wondered who the hell the mullet was designed for, since it usually looks uniformly crappy on everyone, but on A., it framed his features in such a way that it almost worked.  (A., like me, is from Joisey, so that explains a lot.)  I complimented him on it, and he laughed, a bit embarrassed.  “Oh, yeah, my girlfriend was cutting my hair, and when she got to this point, I asked her to stop and leave it like that.  It’s kinda silly – it’s just for the party tonight.”

But it wasn’t.

Over the next week or so, it was clear that A. had fallen in love with his mullet.  He not only kept it, he changed his profile picture on Facebook to a joking shot of him in a muscle tee, kissing his bicep.  And the fascinating thing is, A. wasn’t the only one enjoying his new look.

“Thai people love the mullet,” he announced, strutting into a meeting one morning.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah!  I mean, they think it’s funny, but I swear, I have people opening up to me more now than with my old hair.  They trust me more.”

It sounded insane at the time, but if the Thai people he talked to were anything like our Burmese colleagues, then I could see what A. meant.  Everyone in the office spent ages cooing over his hair – giggling at it, touching it, wanting to know more about the cultural meaning that we Westerners were clearly attaching to it.  (When A. tried to explain the concept of “redneck”, they nodded sagely.  Yes, there were people in the more provincial parts of central Burma who behaved like this.  Although with fewer guns.)  Whenever someone new came by for a meeting, the whole process would start over.  I could see why A. was getting a kick out of it.

Apparently, outside the office, the attention was even friendlier – although not quite as platonic.  A. reported one day that he’d never had so many Thai women hitting on him.  He put it down to the fact that he looked more harmless and approachable with a silly haircut, but given some of the elaborately spiky styles – influenced largely by Korean pop bands – that I’ve seen on fashionable young Thai men, it’s equally possible that these women thought he was a trendsetter. :)  Sadly, I think that was the death knell of the mullet.  A few days later, A.’s girlfriend apparently had Words with him, and he came into work with a classic short haircut instead.

I missed the mullet, though.

I think A. did, too.