Fucking frogs

(Written, well, pretty much every night since I arrived…)

I fucking hate them. Seriously want to kill every motherfucking last one of them.

Not the French, I love them. There’s the Auld Alliance, The Inspector Cluzo, Serge Gainsbourg and the fact that they eat horses. They rock. I’m talking about those slimy, hoppy, ribbity little bastards who are slowly chipping away at my sanity by keeping me awake from roughly ten at night till three in the morning.

You see I can handle the heat, it’s just a matter of acclimatising. I can handle the jet-lag, it wears off before you know it and my body clock is well and truly adjusted. I can handle the noise of the fan in my room, you just tune it out into the background thanks to its regular, rhythmic nature.

What I can’t handle is the motherfucking frogs and their motherfucking croaks right outside my motherfucking window.

Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit. Non. Ribbit. Fucking. Ribbit. Stop.

You can’t tune it out; it’s too loud and too arrhythmic. You can’t silence it; the windows don’t close all the way. You can’t get rid of them; if you scare them they just return to the same spot in a couple of minutes. Nick the Marine tried chasing them with some kind of garden implement last night – several minutes of effort rewarded by maybe thirty seconds of silence before they returned to mock him.

Please, for the love of all that is decent and pure, send me tips on how to combat these evil bastards. Whisky and sexual favours for the best suggestion.

The dream is over…

Not for me but for Marty.

It was all his idea to come here, he’d already planned this as a stopover on his way to spending a year to Australia. He’s been doing Muay Thai much longer than me; two years or so to my three months. I’d never have even considered doing this if he hadn’t mentioned it during a Messenger conversation – something at that particular time just clicked into place, I’d just started a new job and finally had money again so I thought “Why not?”. I also had spare cash kicking about as a result of selling my entire DVD and CD collections (clutter bad, digital good), money which I had earmarked for a trip to Russia, a trip[ I’m now eternally grateful that I never booked.

With a case of classic bad timing, Marty managed to prick his wrist on a thorn bush in Belfast just a week or two before we left. It was nothing, literally the size of a pin prick. No bother – except that it got infected and his left arm swelled up like a balloon, leaving him in agony and pretty much unable to use it for anything, let alone fighting.

The doctors gave him antibiotics and the seemed to be working slowly but surely. However, a couple of training sessions soon put paid to that. Cue a visit to a Bangkok hospital and more pills, all to no avail. The arm remained, stubbornly, the wrong shape, size and colour.

On a normal holiday this wouldn’t be much of a problem: stay away from anything strenuous, keep it rested, keep popping the pills and enjoy your relaxation. This isn’t a normal holiday though, far from it. We came here to do two things, kick some ass and chew some gum – and we forgot to bring the gum.

Furthermore, this isn’t some tourist camp. Bangplee is a remote suburb of Bangkok with no attractions for westerners – the fighters here are the only farangs within a half-hour cab ride, so if you want entertainment outside training times you either spend cash getting there or you provide it yourself. For me this is ideal, I focus on training and in between sessions I can read, listen to tunes, swim, sleep or take the odd trip to Bangkok or Mellows. The camp ain’t cheap though so if you’re not getting the training then the costs seriously mount up.

So Marty has hit the road. Last night he packed up, signed out and headed up north for some adventures which don’t involve repeated use of arms, or any other limbs for that matter. I must admit that I’m absolutely gutted for him, I’d pictured him being the one going pedal-to-the-metal at the camp while I slacked off, maybe managing one session a day. Instead I’ve been at it twice a day while he managed maybe five sessions in total.

I’ve made a change to my own plans as well. Originally we intended to stay here for a fortnight before heading down to Koh Samui for a spot of relaxation on the beach. Right now I can’t imagine anything worse. Tourist central, sitting around doing nothing but ‘chilling’? Fuck that. I’m pushing myself harder in a physical and mental sense than I ever have and it feels amazing. Apart from some shoulder pain from constantly holding my guard up (yeah, I’m a wuss) my body feels great and now I can barely remember how I passed the time before this, it’s all coming so naturally. So I’m trading my week off for another week at Fairtex – after all I can check Koh Samui out any time once I move here, I’ll be living a mere two-hour ferry ride from the place.

Anyway, farewell Marto. I’m so fucking glad you mentioned coming here and owe you big-time for it. Hope you discover some fucking amazing stuff on your travels and we can hopefully grab a pint in Bangkok in a couple of weeks before we head our respective ways.

They call me Mellow yellow

Mellows is officially the best bar in the world.

Looks like it’s straight out of a Vietnam war movie? Check
Serves massive, mouthwatering chicken skewers for 30 baht (£0.60) each? Check
A plate of fried Thai beef jerky for less than two quid? Check
500 ml bottles of Tiger beer? Check
Will bring a bottle of Black Label and as many glasses as you need to your table for 800 baht (£16)? Check
Will let you bring your own  spirits for a couple of bucks corkage? Check
Hot waitresses in tight dresses advertising their various beers? Check
Bands playing the cheesiest synth-pop known to man? Check
Machine gun on the bar? Check

Suddenly every single pub back home seems dull as  hell…

Improving slowly

(Written Wednesday 1st July)

The training is improving already despite the ever-increasing list of aches and pains. Right calf – tight as hell; right shin – bruised beyond recognition; injured shoulder – getting more injured; knuckles – raw and bruised from hours of constant punching.Still it’s not keeping me from going back again and again, I’m now four sessions in and can’t wait for this afternoon to get some more.

Neung is a wonderful trainer. It took me a while to get used to his mannerisms at first, having to figure out “is that his good scowl or his bad scowl?” and “is he shouting at me because I got it right or wrong?” but everything seems to be slotting into place. The broken English isn’t a problem any more and I’m used to, for example, his way of telling me that he’s not going to bullshit me about how I’m doing: “I teach, you pupil, I say good, no good, I tell you good, no good. You good!”.I still can’t help laughing when he says “shoop” each time I hit the pads though, can’t get that damn Cher song out of my head :p

Every now and again his dad will step in to offer some gems of advice. I’ll find a link to some info about the guy but he’s an absolute legend – still helping train at 69 years old he had a fight record of 150-odd wins and no defeats and was apparently named “most dangerous man in Muay Thai” by the King some decades ago (these may be myths but I don’t care, I’m buying into it wholesale). He’s a cheeky, mischievous old soul and will never miss an opportunity to teach you some dirty tricks – innumerable ways to sneak in an elbow to the face after you block an opponent’s attack. His continual reminders to “tell you friends home, Mr Wong come see them, he kill them all. Mr Wong kill YOU!” are guaranteed to lift the most flagging spirits.

So my punches, elbows, knees and kicks have already vastly improved, I just need to work on shaking the nickname “Robocop” – not because I’m a badass or the future of law enforcement, just because I move like a clanky tin-can around the ring. Must relax, relax, relax. Mind you that’s easier said than done when I’m still having to go through airline pilot-esque checklists for every single move – okay, right arm down here, left guarding face, knee up, toes down, up on toes of left foot, body back. Every second I’m losing my body weight in sweat (seriously, doing crunches the other day I had sweat pouring off my FEET!) and coming closer to total exhaustion and he expects me to be some kind of graceful ballerina? I think not sir.

Give it another week and a half and I’ll be rocking though, I guarantee it.

Update – during this morning’s training Neung was trying to explain something fairly complex to me but didn’t have the English for it at all so he beckoned to an elderly gent to come and translate for him. He let loose with a torrent of Thai, obviously imparting some priceless Muay Thai wisdom. The old fella nodded sagely, soaked it all in, thought for a second, looked me in the eye and said… “Don’t freak out. Yes, don’t freak out”.

So there it is, the ultimate secret of Muay Thai

Breakfast curry wins

I’m never going to eat the same again – seriously, I just can’t go back to that pedestrian routine of cereal for brekkie, tuna/pasta salad for lunch and some kind of brown past/wholemeal rice and chicken combo for dinner. I just can’t do it.

Here at Fairtex we get two meals a day provided for us, breakfast and dinner, and it has left me happy as a pig in shit, basically because it’s basically the same thing regardless of the time of day. We troop into the canteen after our training sessions so typically be faced with a plate of rice and a few trays of extras. Maybe one will be a nice red chicken curry, maybe some spicy seafood, possibly some sliced pork in a lovely sweet chili sauce. Let’s not forget a tray of the most succulent, mouthwatering and explosively tasty pineapple, melon and watermelon I’ve ever tasted.

And like I say, this arrives for breakfast as well as dinner. The only concession to the morning meal is that there’ll be some eggs as well, either fried, scrambled or – my favourite – boiled, peeled then briefly cooked in sweet chili sauce. Just like heaven.

Only one criticism so far, and that’s that there just isn’t enough of the stuff. Fair enough it may have sufficed for me back home but after a long day involving two intense training sessions it just doesn’t quite fill the hole. Luckily for us there’s a stall across the road from the camp where you can pick up a massive hunk of dried chicken and a bag of sticky rice for 30 baht (roughly 60p). On top of that there’s Big C, the local supermarket, where you can fill your fridge with fruit, snacks (Oreos ftw) and the most amazing fruit juice (orange, lemon, pineapple, grapefruit, carrot, tomato, celery and something else I forget) for an almost insultingly low price.

This place rules. Food rules. Most importantly, breakfast curry fucking rules.

(PS – tried to take photos of the meals as evidence but I always finish it too fast…)

Thalailand – A Day At Fairtex

06:10 – Wake up, try to figure out where the hell i am and what the hell I’m doing. Why is is so damn humid? What’s that sound like a giant fan? Oh, it’s a giant fan. Aah, I’m in Thailand.

06:12 – Swig of water, stumble into a cold shower to wake myself up

06:15 – Into training gear, head to the gym for warm-ups

06:20 – Bit of stretching, 15-30 mins running (depending how I’m feeling), half-heartedly arse about on the other machines, sweat profusely

06:50 – Head to the training rings, get the hand wraps on, more stretching

07:00 – Time for seven or so rounds on the pads with my trainer. Drilling through all the techniques – punches, elbows, knees, kicks, blocks, clinches. 4 minute rounds with a minute’s break in between, utter agony on the shoulders from all the punching and constantly holding your guard up.

07:45 – Move on to the bags for more drilling of kicks, punches, knees, etc.

08:15 – Freestyle workout, just doing crunches, sit-ups, chin-ups, whatever you feel you can do without collapsing.

08:45 – Hit the swimming pool, the reward after a hard session. Fuck about with all the other guys, lots of bombing, splashing and general teenage behaviour

09:00 – Breakfast! It’s curry time baby, got a post somewhere saved about this

09:30 – Internet time, chilling out in an air-conditioned room with a cup of reasonable coffee

10:30-14:00 – Basically find something to keep you occupied. Favourites seem to be sleeping, reading, watching TV or anything else that involves zero physical exertion. Perhaps hit the gym for some weights or hop a taxi into town for some shopping.

14:30-17:30 – Warm-up, training, pool, dinner

18:00-23:00 – Free time, lots of options here. Bumble around, read, surf the net, hang around and chat with folk. Maybe head off for a Thai massage at the local mall, go into town for more food (hey, we need our protein and carbs) or head to one of the local pubs, only one of which is in walking distance.

23:00-06:10 – Try to sleep. Try oh so hard but realise it’s damn near impossible with the buzzing of the fan and  the heat. Try switching off fan for some peace, feel temperature climbing and humidity becoming unbearable. Grab a couple of hours sleep, filled with the most insane and vivid dreams (more on that later)

Lather, rinse, repeat.

It’s  fucking great.

Thailand Pt. 2

(Written Mon 29th June)

I started Muay Thai lessons fairly recently, just after the turn of the New Year, and despite my uncertainty and misgivings I took to it like a duck to water, or more appropriately like a pacifist with pent-up anger issues to swinging his fists at (mostly) inanimate objects. Or at least well-protected people…

Despite many an accident during my tenure at the classes in Edinburgh (to wit: a fractured toe; a sprained wrist; a twisted ankle; torn shoulder ligaments and bruised ribs), mostly unrelated to Muay Thai itself, I thought I was getting on admirably well. My slap-dash, spastic-on-a-rampage technique was morphing into something recognisable as a martial art, my attacks were hurting my imaginary assailants more than they were me and gosh-darn it if I wasn’t even starting to move a bit gracefully.

Well, I was wrong.

After my first lesson at Fairtex my trainer Neung, son of the camp’s elderly and wonderfully genial owner (and Muay Thai legend), basically ripped up everything I knew about the sport and through it in the trashcan like yesterday’s lunch.

Stance? Move that hand up! Get those elbows in! Open the fist, rotate towards me, legs further apart (I still adopt an Aikido stance by reflex), head down, FUCKING RELAX!!!

Jab? Well, actually that bit was okay. Apparently I jab like a pro

Cross? Cross no good! Move the body more! More power! Slide the foot forward! Not so high! FUCKING RELAX!!!

Knees? Oh, they’re good too. Probably ’cause I like doing it so much…

Elbows? Move the body more! Keep the guard up! Over the mouth! Tip of the elbow! FUCKING RELAX!!!

Kicks? (Guess what?) Move the body more! Turn the leg over! Balance! FUCKING RELAX!!!

Okay, so there’s a bit of poetic license in there, mostly consisting of the conversation being translated from broken English, sign language, odd grunts and exaggerated facial expressions, but you get the gist. Everything I’d learned was wrong and got torn down (odd seeing as my trainer back home apparently frequents this camp rather regularly) and today I started learning Muay Thai again as a beginner, building it from the ground up. And you know what?

Fecking loved it.

Everything clicked into place, it all seemed so much more free and natural yet at the same time more controlled and precise. The one-on-one training with a hugely intense and talented individual added to the challenge in that I now really had to impress someone other than myself, as opposed to “here’s a combo, go do it for a few minutes on your partner”. That, plus the fact that the environment is amazing: the clinging moisture in the air combining with sweat to form a constant waterfall down your body (I literally trailed

Jab? Well, actually that bit was okay. Apparently I jab like a

puddles wherever I went); the comforting yet cloying smell of summer rain mingling with the refreshing sharpness of Deep Heat; the sounds of gloves smacking against pads to the rythmic chants of the instructors; all that plus the knowledge that there’s a delicious meal and some banter at the end of it. And that’s just after one lesson, I’ve got about twenty-odd more to go.

I’m starting to see how this sport can become an obsession for some and an entire life for others.

Thailand Pt. 1

(Written Mon 29th June)

Man, it rains here. It really fucking rains and it does not fuck about. I’m sitting in my room with the door open, typing away at the desk and looking out at a solid curtain of water descending from the ominous, deep grey skies, punctuated by occasional a

Man, it rains here. It really fucking rains and it does not fuck about. I’m sitting in my room with the door open, typing away at the desk and looking out at a solid curtain of water descending from the ominous, deep grey skies, punctuated by occasional astral flashbulbs of lightning and the booming bass of the most guttural roars of thunder I’ve ever heard.

It’s fucking awesome, and not in the sickeningly overused (OK, I’m a culprit) Keanu Reeves, bonehead-skater sense of the word, rather in the sense of inspiring such awe as compelled out ancestors to create pantheons of weird and wonderful deities in order to explain it all.

I was about to write that I would here and now promise to never EVER complain about the weather in the UK but that’s a lie. You know why? Cause we don’t have any fucking weather to complain about, we have a pale shadow of the real thing, a fleeting glimpse of what mother nature can do when she really gets into party mood.

Damn, just had to close the door, realising that rather foolishly I’d just been inviting every single Satan-spawned ’skeeter in the entire camp to feast on my pastey-white, near-translucent (but apparently delicious) legs. The fiendish flying fuckwits have been tucking into me like I was a seven-course taster menu at The Kitchin; the Hairy Knuckle Of Toe seem to be a favourite, not the most comfortable to have a swelling, glowing, itching bite-wound as you can probably imagine.

Wait a sec, this post got derailed before it even got started. I was intending to write about how wonderful a place Thailand, and in particular the Fairterx Mauy Thai camp, was. All I’ve covered is rainstorms and bugs. Okay, will post about the breakfast curries, beautiful people and back-breaking workouts next time…

Thailand – quick update

OK, landed in Thailand a few days back and have already started kicking ass at Fairtex to the pojt of severe pain and exhaustion  There’s no wi-fi here and it costs money to use the net so I’ve been writing posts on my netbook and planning to transfer them onto here as a bulk upload. Unfortunately the PCs here don’t want to speak to my external hard drive so I’ll have to figure something else out.

Should be resuming normal service soon…

Transformers 2 Review

I’ve possibly never wanted to avoid a film as much as this one seeing as the original pissed all over so many childhood memories and, thanks to Shia LeBeouf, instilled my first genuinely murderous thoughts. Turgid, wanky, stereotypical garbage. For some reason my ex loved it but then again she only ever owned about ten DVDs, and one of those was America’s Sweethearts. People try to argue that it’s just a bit of fun, some mindless action that lets you switch off your brain and relax. I say bullshit, if you want a good bit of brain candy with some pretty explosions you go and watch Die Hard, not this pitiful excuse for a movie.

Anyway the sequel has been unleashed to almost universal rapturous, erm, apathy. Apart from Mike Patton voicing one of the Decepticons I thought it would have no redeeming features but apparently I was too hasty and was just looking at things from the wrong angle. Charlie Anders at io9 has the lowdown on how Michael Bay has finally made and art movie…

(Hat-tip to Greta Christina for linking this on Facebook)