(if you're looking for the ping-pong show article, and we both know you are, scroll down to the post below this one, although you'll probably enjoy this newer story as well)

An edited version of this article is here: Cycle Asia: Muay Thai Night. This is the original unedited piece, much different from the final copy. Enjoy...

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Somehow I found myself on a street corner, with a bag of low-grade ganja in my pocket, eating some sort of ground-meat pseudo-sushi on-a-stick. At well past midnight, with the neon glow of 7-11 glaring over me, another glorious Thai day was coming to a close. But before all that can be explained, perhaps the day should be put in proper perspective.
I awoke first, a man on a Muay Thaimission. It was almost time for a Friday night of fights at Kawila Boxing Stadium, and we wanted to get tickets before our motorbikes needed to be returned. I was hoping mine would start, it had absorbed a lot of water the day before cruising through the rainy hills outside Doi Suthep.
A few extra hand cranks and I was on my way, awkwardly cutting through the Chiang Mai streets as only a foreigner can: sluggish yet unrestrained. The frustrating grid of one-way streets, combined with thick traffic, makes any journey longer than intended. Amazingly enough, only one wrong turn and a stop for directions lay between me and my destination.
Ten hours before the fights, the arena was almost empty. Soon enough I'd found the ticket seller, and he'd found the stack of tickets. The price, at 400 Baht each for the cheap seats, hopefully means a decent prize purse for each of tonight's fighters. However, given that the tickets didn't even have the correct stadium name printed on them, my main concern was just not getting ripped off.
I feel I should mention that I'm not really a fight fan, but I do enjoy satisfying my traveler's curiosity. Muay Thai seemed a bit of a tossup – while I enjoy watching live sporting events, I'm generally not so interested in people kicking and hitting each other for fun. But since it is the national past time, and I'm a firm believer of “when in Chiang Mai,” it seemed pretty foolish not to go investigate.
Zipping back to the hotel, sweat starts dripping, something it won't stop doing until I go to bed sometime near dawn. Seems yesterday's humidity never quite left, and a shower's benefits are very short-lived. The next motorbike I rent needs to have an air-conditioner installed on the handlebars.
Due to an epic Thursday, involving us riding down steep hills in torrential rain – and that after temple-ing ourselves right out, the plan was, in Blaise's wise Canadian-ese, to do “fuck all” on Friday besides Muay Thai. That involved time-passing: the usual slothful amble through parts of the tourist ghetto, the devouring of some pad thai and khao soi, and of course a few big bottles of Beer Chang.
So perhaps it was some sort of irony that our songthaew driver had apparently also drank a few; he seemed unable to even focus well enough to count all six of us, but his excitement to drive us to the boxing match was irresistible. Our tip on arrival then, was mostly a thank-you for sparing our lives.
Our transition from sparing to sparring was delayed, the fights being on 8:30 Thai time while clocks were reading 8:30 real time. So we grabbed a copy of the card, and headed to yet another 7-11 for beverages. There's something oddly comforting about the familiar sign, though it's the equally familiar low-prices that are the real draw. Thankfully Thailand embraces Asia's public drinking policy, so we were effectively able to have a Muay Thai tailgating party in the stadium parking lot. Then a most unexpected thing occurred: as music blasted through the antiquated loudspeaker system, everyone froze. Suddenly we were the only people moving, never-mind talking: the Thai national anthem is taken a touch more seriously than my own. Good to know.
As the music stopped the energy instantly returned, and it was clearly time for the festivities to begin. Upon entering, we surveyed the scene before sitting high atop the large wooden bleachers that comprised the cheap seats. The crowd was predominately foreign, roped in like us by the English-language handbills plastered to poles all over town. Thankfully, while lacking in numbers, the Thai fans were certainly enthusiastic: cheering and betting with glee from the first fight on.
Muay Thai seems to be a brutal sport, but other than knockouts (there were none) and bleeding (only twice, and rather minor), it is often just the trading of jabs while the competitors dance about awaiting opportunity. The hypnotic music, performed by drum and oud, helps the combatants hone in on a rhythm, while also drawing the audience into the tempo of the match. Music and men pulsate, feet and fists fly, and in a moment a conqueror can find glory. The sport is one of toughness and preparation; endurance is as important as power; passion and technique are both needed to succeed. Clearly training is the most important factor, a fighter is expected to absorb an immense amount of bodily damage without sacrificing form or tenacity.
Fights last three to five rounds each, depending on weight class. This was certainly not high-level competition: the first match was between boys weighing 30kg. Despite their diminutive size, they pulled no punches (as it were), and their ability to assault each other relentlessly was evidently an advantage of age. The first four matches were billed as 'Red Vs. Blue,' though it might as well have been 'And White' for all the cans of Singha that everyone was drinking, myself included. The colors split, 2-2, making way for the main event, 'Heavyweight Fight II' between two 90kg warriors.
Relocating to ringside gave us a perfect view of the Blue corner, from which Kongthup Por Fah Uthai – or Kongtap, depending on which flier was more reliable – would be fighting from. Earlier we'd received a tip, from the stadium's boxing-shorts salesman, that his Red opponent, Yordkeng Sor Viengjedi – or Yodkang – was the favorite, but something about the gleaming, muscular, tattooed body closer to us won my support. They both came out swinging, though knees from close-range seemed to be the mutual weapon of choice. Blood was eventually drawn, from our chosen warrior's stomach, but it didn't seem to slow him up. A full five rounds ended – Red triumphed over Blue, so apparently the judges viewed the match through more knowledgeable eyes than my own. The fight was good, yet long, and it also marked the pinnacle of the evening as fans started departing almost immediately. Blaise and myself stayed on until the end, which primarily consisted of us downing more Singhas. However, time was made for a little casual gambling.
I was approached, I'm pretty sure, by the ticket seller I'd seen that morning. Either him, or someone looking very similar and wearing the same shirt. Hard to remember, twelve hours is a long time when you're traveling. Regardless, I was solicited for a bet, though the initial offer of 100 Baht was a bit out of my price range – I might be drunk, but I know when I'm being taken for a rube. But, somehow, 50 Baht seemed much more reasonable. Tragically my initial enthusiasm was quickly dampened as “my guy” was literally pounded into the ground over the next few minutes. The money was quickly collected, another foreigner taken advantage of by a savvy local. And just like that the Muay Thai was over, the arena cleared out, and we were on the street, following Tha Phae Road back to our hotel.
As badly as my guy had been pummeled, it was nowhere near as shocking as what we witnessed next. We're walking briskly, traffic's whizzing by, when suddenly a tuk-tuk pulls over just in front of us. Ah, an offer of a ride – tempting, but all my drunken mind can think of is trying to score some weed – tuk-tuk driver's are supposedly an excellent source of such an indulgence.
SMASH!
The noise was loud and sudden, the awful metal-on-metal crunch of automotive carnage filling the street. A woman on a motorbike literally plowed into the tuk-tuk from behind; the devastating direct hit left her and her scooter silent on the road, while the rest of us were momentarily caught off guard. Thankfully instinct took over, the bleeding woman was extracted from beneath her mangled moto, and besides her bleeding leg and glazed-over eyes, she seemed in remarkably good shape. You know, for someone who just drove right into a stationary object at around 40km/hr, with no helmet or braking involved. Knowing our role as outsiders, we quickly cleared out once our assistance was no longer acquired.
Fueled by adrenaline, and after nearly witnessing death, the drunken mission to acquire some smoke took on a life of its own. A long chat with Burma Dan, a corner t-shirt salesman, at least led to a promise of some assistance the next day. Technically he came through late the next night, if a 200 Baht half-gram of mid-grade stuff can be considered 'hooking it up.' But this was a Friday night, and my belly, full of Singha, required a proverbial switching of the gears. For better or worse, the decision was made to continue on the quest and meander the main strip of tourist-fantasy-land; where the prostitutes hang out, surely there must be marijuana, right? Fortunately, we were spared the potentially disastrous end results of that line of thinking, as a friendly (how could he not be, he ripped us off that badly!) tuk-tuk driver named Bao whispered the magic word as we walked by: “ganja.”
My head snapped, feet changed direction, and clarification/verification was sought. With a mutual glance of caution, we hopped into his tuk-tuk, for a rare free ride. The price, 1300 Baht, argued down from 2000, could have bought a frighteningly sleazy whore or two, but instead some equally frightening hay was acquired, with a few dozen seeds thrown in for good measure. For a country with a perfect growing climate for marijuana, Thailand's herb is truly in a sad state. Did no one here get the memo that white people might like to get high during their endless touring of temples? W.T.F. At least 7-11 came through, albeit with some strange fusion food that shouldn't have been allowed to exist...
Bowl after bowl after bowls later, the question of whether or not highness had been attained was still rightfully being debated. But at least I wasn't injured, arrested, or dead, and hopefully the money had enabled Bao to take a few nights off from his stressful line of work. Plus, we'd enjoyed some authentic Thai culture, so what more can a brave adventurer ask for?