Chapter 19 The return

At Heathrow I returned to O’Neil’s bar and sat with whiskey and cigarette promising myself ‘no more Yaa’. It would only be about the plan this time, money running low this would be my final chance to make it to The Legion.  A brief stop in Abu Dhabi I arrived in the early evening.  I felt like nothing could touch me in my Lanna Boxing t-shirt, back with purpose, back with my plan. 

Grabbing my bag from the carousel I made my way outside and smoked.  It was the one thing working against me but I enjoyed it too much to quit.  Lutia had told me I wouldn’t on my last trip, told me you needed to have to have more than a good reason and she’d been right.

As the bus to the city arrived I climbed onboard sitting next to an oriental girl as a ticket seller boarded and shook the driver awake.  Lurching forward we moved towards the domestic terminal, a Mercedes edging out of its space, then the scraping of metal on metal. I looked for our driver's reaction watching as he parked up and slumped over his wheel.  Behind I could see Mercedes man mad with rage, a girl stepping out to hold him back.  

“Looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while,” I said to my companion.

“I think this man drunk,” she replied.

The doors swinging open we stepped off. 

“Where are you from?” I asked lighting a cigarette.

“Japan.”

“travelling for long?”

“Just fifteen days, hard to get holiday in Japan.”

I nudged my chin forward in sympathy.

“And you?”

“England, I’m staying up in Chiang Mai.”

 “Oh, I just go Chiang Mai,” she said, “very beautiful but now have festival, everyone throw water, I not like.”

“Is the festival still on?”

“I think until the weekend.”

She was pretty and I started to imagine a one-night stand, chatting until we reached the guesthouse, going for dinner and then somehow waking up in the same bed.

“You staying in Khao San?” I enquired

“Yes.”

A replacement driver arriving we re-boarded.

“What do you do in Japan?”

“I graduate last summer, now I find work in foreigner teaching agency.”

“For English teachers?”

“Yes, do administration, help the teachers to be happy in their schools.”

“You always travel alone?”

“My friends like the beach, not interested in seeing things. I like to see different places, experience culture, better to do this alone.”

Feeling sleepy I’d closed my eyes, occasionally glancing from the window to check our progress.  We were somewhere downtown now, a Thai fast food joint serving American burgers and ice cream, a bunch of teenagers loitering outside and gazing up the street I saw a Westerner come running.

“Songkran!” he shouted as he soaked the bystanders with a giant water pistol.

A beep on the other side I turned to see an opened backed four by four, youths throwing buckets over passing cars. 

It took another thirty minutes to reach Khao San road beeping hordes clogging the roads, cars smeared in a yellow brown paste grinding through the jam.  The bus shuddering to a halt I took my bag and stepped into a muddy puddle.  

“You know where to go?” my Japanese friend asked.

Assuring her I did we pressed through the crowds, a sea of heads moving up and down there was no escape from a soaking, youths splashing water from buckets, a petite girl stepping forward to smear my face with paste.  I was lost again, another Thai night, a city brought to its knees by the collective intention to soak everyone to oblivion. Too wet to follow through on my courting I directed my friend to Khao San and returned to the guesthouse where I’d eaten breakfast on my last visit. 

Approaching the reception I watched as the girl cup her hand over her mouth, “You O.K.?” she giggled.

“Fine, how are you?”

She turned to her friend and turned back.

“O.K., O.K. you want room?”

“A single please.”

She took my passport and offered me the chance to view before I paid.

“You have a shower and a towel?”

“Have.”

“Not need to see room.”

Ten minutes later showered and reinvigorated I needed to see Khao San again.  Skipping over the unfamiliar puddles the entire carnival had disappeared by nine, Police overlooking the clean up, the streets were deserted.  It was as if the residents were suddenly under curfew, wary of stepping into the street for fear of a snipers bullet.  Walking a lap of the strip I took street food and satisfied I’d touched base returned to bed. 

The next day I made my way downstairs ordering coffee and toast.  I had to get to Chiang Mai, the Japanese girl had told me the Songkran festival had another day to run but tonight I wanted to be moving. 

After munching through breakfast and reading the Bangkok Post I approached the travel desk and asked about buses.

“No bus today, too busy, can go Monday.”

I wracked my brains,“ Can I take the train?”

She rummaged in her desk and pulled out a timetable.

“Train have, can go six o’clock.”

“Is there a bus to the station?”

Noting the number I retreated to my room and spent the morning reading about my journalist turned bank robber.  Deciding to head for the station early to avoid the crowds I waited on the sidewalk, crouching below a wall to remain out of sight and standing a minute later soaked to the bone.  At the station, I checked my bags in and with three hours to spare decided to explore the adjacent Chinatown.  It wasn’t very Chinese, only the occasional sign and backstreet temple marking the heritage.  I avoided a second soaking for twenty minutes, a group of children dowsing me with an icy bucket.  Stopping to check my documents had survived I continued towards town realizing I’d got the time wrong, my train was leaving in thirty minutes.  I upped my pace and made it back sweeping past a tout. 

“Hey man, you want a ticket? Where you going?”

“Fine thanks, got one.”

Boarding the train the cabin was tidy, the only drawback frosted orange windows which obscured the view.  ‘Whose idea was that?’ I thought, ‘the greatest pleasure of rail travel’s the view and some mugs gone and spoiled it’. 

The sun falling as we rolled out of Bangkok a smartly dressed guard passed through the carriage converting seats to beds.  Having an upper bunk I climbed straight up reading and then fast forwarding to my favourite scenes from The Last Samurai.

‘Legend has it that the old Gods tipped a coral blade into the sea and when they withdrew it three perfect drops fell back forming the islands of Japan.’

‘You are deep in the mountains now, until the spring comes, and the snows melts, you are here.’

‘Saki, saki….’

‘You can spend your life searching for the perfect blossom and that search will never be in vain.’

The air-conditioning making it too cold for sleep I was still awake at five.  Up at six and sure I wouldn’t sleep again I made my way to the toilet for a cigarette.  The jungle scenery racing by as I stuck my head from the window, I could feel myself coming home.  Somehow the place I’d discovered felt like the only place I wanted to be, a place where all my passions could connect; travel, language, food, wild nights out, pretty girls, the scenery.

Returning to my bunk the guard was chatting to a female colleague.  The girl listening respectfully he seemed to be offering advice. I wondered about his life, how similar it was to the coach driver who’d taken me to the airport.  How many times he’d have made the journey back and fourth, returning to Bangkok to iron his smart white shirt, an endless cycle with no destination but his monthly paycheque. 

Half an hour later he made his way down the carriage, reconverting beds to seats and taking orders for breakfast.  Eating a couple of runny eggs I was impatient to arrive, to see how many old faces would still be there, to see what had changed in the three months I’d been away.   

The station looked more like a miniature railway as we pulled in, just two narrow tracks and an entry hall selling snacks and newspapers. 

“You want taxi?” a driver called.

“Thao ri.”

“One hundred baht.”

“Come Chiang Mai before, too much.”

Walking to the main road I joined a Thai lady hailing a songtao and arrived at the camp just before eight. I’d dreamed of a fanfare reception, all the old faces emerging one by one to hail my return but looking around I didn’t recognise anyone.

“Paul, when you come back?”

I turned to see Mali.

“Today, love what you do, do what you love, tomorrow never know, right?”

Pleased to see at least one familiar face I asked her to arrange a motorbike and returned to the Up North guesthouse.  Taking the same room as before I found it exactly as I’d left it, the same green bedding, the table, the view of the mountain obscured by the tree.  As if the last three months had been no more than a dream, it felt good as I unpacked and walked back to camp.  Finding Andy’s wife no longer making breakfast the owner of The Cherry Mart had opened a kitchen.

“Paul you come back,” she smiled as I wracked my brains for her name, nothing.

“Sabi dii mai?”

“Sabi dii.”

Ordering muesli I sat listening to the noises from the gym, grunts and groans, the smashing of bags, Linkin Park blasting from the tannoys.  Everything was as I’d left it. 

Finishing up I went to visit Andy and found him at the computer. 

“Ah, couldn’t stay away huh,” he beamed.   

“Had to give it another crack, busy as ever?”

“Yeah, lots of paperwork, trying to organize a fight for Lutia.”

“Many of the old faces still around?”

“Yeah, let’s see, Thomas is still here, Walter.”

I nodded with satisfaction at the mention of Thomas. 

“Well, I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Taking time to rest in my room I wrote up my schedule.  I’d ease myself in this time, training once a day for the first week and then twice a day for two months.  With no plans to return to Yaa evenings would be filled with D.V.D’s, no more nights out I’d work quickly reckoning I needed just two months to return to peak fitness.   

Running alone that afternoon I completed an easy circuit and returned to strip off my shirt.  I looked better than when I’d left, my strict diet in revealing a full set of abdominals, veins running from wrist to chest, it was as I’d remembered Andy on my first day.  Rehearsing my moves in front of the mirror they all came back, the teep, the roundhouse, it was all lodged in the memory now, instinctive actions I could call on without a thought. 

Moving to the bags I smashed away for half an hour, finishing up with my Legion exercises.

“Back in the swing then.”

I turned to see Andy.

“Yeah, feeling pretty good.”

“You look like you’ve kept in shape.”

“Diet, not been doing much exercise, but been really careful about what I ate.”

As I continued training that first week, I came across the old faces one by one.  Lutia had been fighting more than anyone, Thomas in a down phase after a match a few weeks before.  It was interesting watching him move in and out of shape, right now carrying a belly, the last time I’d seen him he’d been ripped, a full set of abs, bulging calves.  He knew exactly how the cycle worked, gradually upping the training before a bout, reducing his calorie intake and once it was over he’d relax, eat pizza. 

In my second week I re-launched into the full programme.  I wasn’t as fit as I’d been but that was O.K., you couldn’t cheat fitness. It was the home of absolute honesty.  What you ate, the level you trained at, the results were precise.  Running on a Wednesday I found myself alongside Nicolas, a stick thin Japanese.  Wearing large oval glasses he had the look of the oriental stooge you’d see in old American movies. 

He told me he was a Christian nomad, a spiritual seeker who’d spent the last three years travelling overland to Israel where he’d spent a year in a monastery.

“How you doing?” I enquired.

“Ah, good, thank you.”

“Feeling fit now?”

“Yes, the training’s very good for my body,” he said thrusting his arms forward in a gesture of new found powers. 

“Hard for me because I’m older, but my body feels very good.”

I looked at his skeletal figure, ribs poking through his skin, I reckoned one good shot would have smashed him to pieces. 

“So, what were you doing before you started this journey?”

“In Japan?”

“Yeah, how’d you afford to spend three years travelling?”

“I work in tofu factory.”

“Tofu as in the food?”

“Yes, I operate the machine which cut tofu, nice work, O.K. work, when I’m doing this my mind is free.  It pay very good too, in one month I can make $5000 so I only have to work six month.”

I knew his expenses were low, he’d told me he didn’t drink, didn’t go out, lived off street food.

“So, what were you doing before you started all this travelling?”

“When I younger I go to university to study economics but not finish.  You know in Japan many people are like salary man.  Have one job for their whole life, work very hard.”

“I’ve heard about that.”

“I decide a long time ago I didn’t want this life.  I wanted to know God.”

“And how’s that going?” I said with sincerity.

“I think having God is very peaceful, it teaches you how to control your mind, how to be a good person.”

‘That’s all well and good,’ I thought, ‘but what if you couldn’t accept the dogma?’ For a time I wished there’d be a religion for me, a set of rules I could commit to.  It would have been easier that way, having a value system to measure my actions against, being able to push my energy towards a single point.  I’d come to the conclusion religions were started by men who’d wanted to find the best in life.  They’d had good ideas, been clear in expressing them and when they died people had wanted it to continue.  That’s what religions were to me, a means of passing down good ideas, something tangible people could hold onto.  The older they got the more dogma got tacked on until the original messages became submerged, followers doing nothing but arguing over codes and practices. 

So, I hadn’t committed, I’d decided to be like the originators, form my own philosophy, borrow what worked, eject what didn’t.  I was at a disadvantage or course, I had no group to cling to, no church to attend.  Part of my dislike of missionaries stemmed from jealously.  I loved what they were doing when they helped people but you had to commit, had to say you loved someone else’s idea of God and that was something I couldn’t do.  For me it would have meant living a life of hypocrisy and I wanted something I could really believe in. The only way I saw to go it alone.  It didn’t bode well, everyone who’d done so seemed to have been persecuted or brought back in line Jesus, Ghandi, Socrates.  But, that was O.K., I’d rather live my life like that than pretend to believe in something I didn’t.

I often wondered how many believers really believed or understood what they were supposed to be believing in.  It was like having life’s answers handed to you so you on a plate so you never needed to think about them for yourself, how the world started, what was right and wrong.  It was certainly easier, but I’d found the best in life didn’t come easy.  I felt privileged to be asking the questions for myself, ‘Do I believe in a God?’ ‘Do I believe in an afterlife?’ ‘Sin?’ ‘How should I earn a living?’ ‘Where should I live?’

I hadn’t got all the answers, but I’d certainly got some.  For me everything belonged to one whole, whether it was infinite, had a beginning or end didn’t seem important.  It was just one, the universe and whatever lay beyond it.  I was a part of the greater whole but at the same time I had a mind and a body under my control, a little part of the universe which was mine.  As for sin, eternal damnation, I couldn’t believe people still swallowed it.  For me being good, being ethical they were concepts too fluid to be contained.  You had to decide for yourself what was right.    

 

“Running’s like meditation,” Nicolas continued. “Same as Muay Thai, when I’m doing this my mind is somewhere else.”

“What do you do at night?”

“Usually I read the bible, very nice, read a passage and then I can sleep.”

It was a strange life, in his thirty-eighth year, travelling the world learning about God.  He wasn’t a preacher, never tried to push his beliefs on anyone but for me it seemed too selfish.  Like the Buddhists in India working to save people for the next life, minimising their involvement in the world, but for me you had to be involved.  To take the world as it was and push yourself into it, take your ideas and see them stand or fall.  Hunger in Africa wasn’t going to be solved through silent prayer.  For me my Japanese friend was playing on the back of economics, we all did in Asia, took advantage of our bloated currencies to create some fleeting freedom. 

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As I looked through the gym over the next week I tried to suss out who might be worth spending time with, I wasn’t looking for a drinking partner, just someone who could hold a decent conversation.  The serious boxers weren’t an option, as weren’t the short termers, but one guy had caught my attention.  On an afternoon run I chatted to Cameron, an Australia who’d told me how he’d been at Lanna before and had just finished a stint in New York.  He looked like a sheep shearer, stubbly beard, rugged physique, our mutual interest was girls.  He’d told me about dating the girl who sold fruit in Phuket and I told him about Yaa and the Yakuza girls.  When he’d gone on to fill me in on dating in New York I’d had a good feeling, no bragging, no bullshit, just telling it how it was. 

As he’d prepared to leave after training I’d overheard him talking.

“Yeah, just got back from a spell in the big smoke, trying to do a bit of acting.”

I wondered if I’d heard right, acting, a kiddie dream you were supposed to grow out of.  It was exactly the type of career my family derided, one without utility, without stability, something to be done in your spare time. 

Returning to my room I met my new next door neighbour Ben, a strapping six foot blonde.  His second spell at Lanna too we shared dinner at a restaurant I’d been waiting to try.   

“What’ve you been doing with yourself?” I began.

“Well, let’s see, I’m travelling with my girlfriend, she’s down on the islands looking after monkeys.  Been on the road nearly a year now, started here doing some boxing, then bought a camper and spent six months touring Australia, thought about coming back to fight but that hasn’t happened.”

“What were you doing before you came away?”

“Working as a Securicor Guard, transferring money in one of those big blue vans, got me a mortgage.”

“Rented it out?”

“Yeah, had to sell all my things to get out here mind.”

“Did you do uni?”

“I’ve got a degree, well a HND anyway.”

I took a sip of my soft drink and forked a ball of pineapple rice.

“What Subject?”

“Sports management.”

“Not fancy personal training?”

“I did that when I graduated, the hours were unsociable and the pay's not great, so I went to work for my old man installing waterbeds.  Did a stint unblocking drains after that, that was fun and well paid, sat around for hours in a van waiting for someone to call, and, ah yeah, my last job before the security I wanted to be a paramedic.  They couldn’t get me in straightaway so they gave me a job as a carer spending nights with someone who might need assistance.  Nothing ever happened, so I got paid to sleep.”

It was more confirmation that jobs were nothing more than a means to an end.  You could define yourself by what you did or you could just see it as a way of making money to do things that you really wanted to do.  If you really lucked in, you got both, made it to that dream where what you enjoyed and what you got paid for were the same thing.

“How about your girlfriend, she O.K. with you being here?”

“Yeah, she’s quite happy with the monkeys.”

“You never screw around? I mean, I can’t keep my head still in this place.”

He looked away.

“Before we came I had a thing with one of her friends, she doesn’t know about that. I think it’s buried, but yeah, I’ve managed to keep a lid on things out here.”

“What does she do?”

“Marketing executive, has a nice car, not like me, tends to stick in one job.”

As we continued to chat I felt Ben might be worth another night out and we agreed to meet before Friday fights. I looked in on him occasionally; observing he tended to stay local eating thirty baht meals and returning to his room at night to smoke marijuana.

During afternoon training on Friday I invited Cameron to join Ben and I on a trip to Friday’s fights.  Arranging to meet at The Chiangmai Saloon I gave Ben a lift and arrived early.  It was a classy joint, solid wooden menus offering steaks and Mexican food, music changed with seamless precision, the pool table the best in the city.  Owned by an ex-Navy man from Texas it had the air of a well run ship. 

We ordered Sangsom and sat chatting.

“Sawat di cap,” Cameron said as he arrived, his Thai sounded great with its Australian lilt. 

“You boys on the whiskeeeyyy?”

Pouring myself a third and topping Cameron up we launched into a conversation about tattoos and Muay Thai.

“Well boys,” I said, “tell me this, is there a better place than this in the world?”

The guys glanced around and came back with a unanimous conclusion. 

“So, what’s on tonight’s agenda, fights, Bubble, Spicy?” I ventured.

The boys didn’t take any convincing and giving them the tip about getting in the fights for free we arrived for 9.30.  Reckoning we’d stand a better chance moving in one by one, I went first and was joined by Ben and Cameron.

“Man, I can’t believe how easy that was,” Cameron purred as he took his seat. 

Daniel, a kiwi and currently the camps top fighter was in his third round.  He had a thickset build, a small Maori ponytail nestled at the top of his spine.  A black belt in taekwondo I’d watched him practising spinning kicks in the gym, one moment standing toe to toe, the next completing a rotation to strike out with ball of his foot.  His opponent was tough that night, snarling back and advancing again and again.  Finishing the final round with a flurry of kicks and a couple of missed elbows the decision went to the home man.  Daniel had been pretty to watch but Muay Thai wasn’t about being pretty, it was about efficiency, inflicting maximum damage with minimum effort.

Ben no longer interested in coming out Cameron and I roared across to Bubble, throwing ourselves into the thick of the action I performed my gay moves and Cameron stuck to a more conservative routine at the back of the stage.  It was the first time I’d been out since my return, almost three weeks and I was more than ready.

“Hey buddy, you know a girl called Nen?” he said as I returned from the men's room.

“Nen?” I thought it over ‘Nen, Nen’.

“When you left the stage all hell broke loose, a girl comes up and asks ‘Is that Paul?’ then she disappears outside and comes back, apparently some girl’s looking for you.”

Turning around I saw Nen.

“Hey, how are you?”  

“You want to see Yaa?”

“She’s here?”

She flashed her eyes to the corner, Yaa holding my gaze for the briefest of moments before fleeing the stage.  She was too fast, disappearing into the ladies and leaving me outside until she finally emerged.

“Hey, aren’t you going to say hello?” I called as she brushed past me.  She stopped and turned to look at the wall.

“When you come back to Chiang Mai?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Why you not call me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to, I’m here for Muay Thai, that’s it, but it’s good to see you.”

Through a drunken haze or an honesty which comes with inebriation, I wanted her.  I’d done so well, nearly a month, but now I’d seen her….

“Cannot talk now,” she snapped.

“Why?”

“Have new boyfriend, he here tonight.”

“O.K., when can I see you?”

“You still stay boxing?”

“Yeah.”

“I come tomorrow, twelve o’clock.”

She was beautiful as ever, I hadn’t expected her to wait for me but I was surprised to find she hadn’t returned to Bangkok.  Rejoining Cameron I found him in the arms of a lady.

“What the fuck was all that about?”

“I told you I had a girlfriend last time I was here, that was her.”

“No fucking way, I thought she was in Bangkok.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You going after her?”

“Nar, she’s got a new boyfriend.”

Moving to Spicy it had changed since my last visit, the old venue replaced by an indoor bar, two large screens playing music videos and a split level floor giving room to dance.  The atmosphere was different, somehow seedier, the walls hemming in the debauchery, the intention of the crowd more pronounced.  You were there to get laid, single and desperate and this was your last stop.  

Collecting a whiskey I stood alone near the door, seeing Nen enter and walk towards me.

“You have to go.”

“Why?”

“Yaa come.”

“No problem.”

“Please.”
 

I wasn’t sure exactly why I was ushered out but content with my appointment I left.