Public displays of affection are a bit of a no-no in Thailand but interestingly, only when between men and women. Beyond that, Thais - when among close friends - are a tactile bunch. School girls walk in and out of class holding hands, motorbike taxi drivers sit waiting for fares with arms slung around each others’ shoulders and groups of guys spoon food from shared plates into each other’s mouths during meals. It is rare though, to see a foreigner being accepted into the fold to the point where this sort of treatment is extended to them. However, after I had earned my stripes with my Thai trainers by winning my first Muay Thai fight I barely spent five minutes without some bloke’s arm around my shoulder.
My technique hadn’t been great but my trainers didn’t mind – nobody expected me to have crisper moves than the Thai who had trained most of his life in his national sport. What Ek and the rest were most delighted by, and what they reckoned won me the fight, was that I’d a shown bit of heart towards the end of the bout while the other guy faded.
When I bounded out of the ring I was mobbed by Thais eager to pat me on the back and wish me well. Everywhere in the packed out little stadium I looked there was a Thai face beaming at me. The happiest among them was Ek, who bear hugged me until I thought he’d finish the job of collapsing my rib cage which his countryman had started. Bizarrely, a few kids even got me to pose in photographs with them.
An elderly Thai gent had wandered into my changing room before the fight, to give me a look over before to see if I was worth betting on. After casually mentioning that I was the rank outsider, he’d pottered back outside and betted on me to win. He was among the first to pat me on the back when I climbed out of the ring and I could see from his face that he was happier to have been able to demonstrate his knowledge of the game so masterfully than he was to have picked up whatever few bob he’d won.
The fight promoter, the guy who had tried so diligently to stitch me up by pretending I would be fighting a novice from Japan before springing a seasoned Thai on me at the last second, was suddenly my best pal. His chubby, gold encrusted hand slipped me a 500 Baht note – the equivalent of 10 Euro – of which I was obliged to pretend to be grateful for. I was eager to get out of the snakey bastard’s company but before I made my excuses he informed me that, as I had beaten a decent Thai, I could have a fight in Lumpinee Stadium – the holy grail for Muay Thai fighters the world over – any time I wanted. He could arrange it, I just had to say when.
I also sought out the guy I’d fought, mainly to get in a picture with him but also to see if he was ok. He had a few lumps on his legs he said, and he looked like he would have a monumental black eye the next day, but beyond that he was fine, albeit a bit gutted at being beat by a novice foreigner in front of so many people he knew. He enquired after my well being and it dawned on me that I had actually no idea what sort of condition I was in. I discovered then that I had a whopper lump on the top of my head from where he’d planted me with an elbow, my shins where like the Himalayas, I rotated my left hip in some weird way, my ribs were badly bruised on both sides and I had what looked worryingly like a broken foot. It swelled up like a balloon and gifted me with a crunching sensation when I walked. Happily, after downing a few drinks all the pain was forgotten.
I almost had to be dragged out of that little stadium in the middle of nowhere, but the threat of not making it back to Bangkok in time to go to a nightclub made it necessary. As soon as we left however, I felt a pang of regret for not hanging around longer among that crowd of Thais whose respect I think I genuinely won.
