Chapter 7 Diarrhea

Waking to the sound of folk music outside I gazed at my alarm clock seeing it was 6.00 p.m. and remembering it was market night on the main drag through the old city.  I didn’t need anything in particular but with nothing better to do I rode down and walked the strip. I didn’t consider myself a tourist in Chiangmai, more like an agent on a deadly mission.  I observed the passing faces, older men with petite Thai girlfriends, the traveller crowd in flowing cotton trousers doing the hippie thing, proper gap yearers who’d step off the plane at home and straight into their suits, the package holiday makers suffering from sunburn and overeating.

Sidestepping into a temple food stalls were laid out and I scanned the dishes picking up a rice concoction and grabbing a fruit juice before returning to the street to scrutinize the merchandise. Everything was handmade, vendors sat on mats with their crafts laid out in front of them; Buddha paintings, cards, paper lamps, they were things worth buying just for the effort which had gone into them. Each item a reflection of the person who’d created it.

Tired after an hour I returned to sleep and woke to the turning of my bowels.  Rushing to the bathroom I sat and waited, my rectum exploding with a rush of air.  Nothing much seemed to come out but as I stood to survey the bowl it was black.  Returning to bed when my alarm rang out in the morning I stood briefly and slipped back beneath the sheets.

I visited Andy in afternoon.

“Hey, missed you at training this morning.”

“Yeah, got a bit of diarrhea.”

“Diarrhea, that’s a nasty one.  I wouldn’t worry about parasites, it’s probably not that but you’ll need to take it easy for a few days.”

I shuddered at the mention of parasites, my hippie friend Craig had picked them up in India, swore to this day they were still living inside him.

“Should I eat anything?”

“Not for a couple of days, drink lots of Coke, Coke’s got plenty of sugar, lots of energy.  If it’s not better in a couple of days I’ll run you to the hospital.”

Returning to my room I lay down considering my predicament.  In a way it was just what I needed, a valid excuse to break from the gruelling regime.  Having trained constantly since my arrival I felt my body had called for a rest and I was ready to take it.  Time on my hands I started writing up my journal, ‘Training going well up until enforced break, managed to complete every session and confident Muay Thai will give me the fitness I need for The Legion.  Had a good night out on Saturday…..’  As I wrote that I stopped I had, had a good night; Bubble, Spicy, the girls, it was like nothing I’d ever imagined.  I decided I’d allow myself to go out at weekends, Saturdays, possibly Fridays too.  As long as I ran and did my exercises I reckoned I have what I needed.  More importantly, on my next night out I wouldn’t fail, no matter what, I was going to find a girl.   

Meeting Jay on Wednesday he asked how I was feeling and it struck my energy levels had soared.  On a diet of Coke and dry bread my body had been flushed clean. The break in training allowing my fitness gains to make themselves known.  It was the ironies of being in full time training, constantly exhausted the only time you really knew how fit you were was when you stopped.  The diarrhea still hanging around by Thursday Andy drove me to the hospital.

“You use this place much?” I asked as we sat waiting.

“The doctor you’re seeing treated my cancer, nice guy from India, been here about fifteen years.  If one of the boys gets injured, I bring them here.”

“And do they get injured?”

“Not often, it’s usually one of the Westerners.  I had a guy training with me a few months back who broke his arm in a fight.  It was his fault, didn’t block properly.  Anyway, he stayed on a couple more months and I let him fight again, broke the same arm.  That doesn’t happen often”

“Mr Adamson,” I looked up to see a pretty nurse with a folded napkin clipped to her hair, leading us to a small room where a plump Indian sat reading my card. 

“Nice to see you Andy, not seen you much recently,” he started.

After a couple of minutes catching up he turned to me.

“So my young friend, what are your symptoms?”

“Just diarrhea.”

“No nausea? Not feeling faint?”

“No, feel on top of the world actually.”

“Well, in that case I don’t think its parasites.”

That was a relief and taking my prescription I paid and received two bottles of anonymous pills.

That night I joined a party riding to a festival of fights in the countryside, travelling for an hour until we arrived at a carnival.  A temporary boxing ring at the centre, there were strings of lights overhead, stalls laid out selling snacks and drinks.  I wandered off alone buying a bottle of water and standing behind a group of drunken elders to watch a fight.  Spotting Ben across the ring I was surprised to see him smoking.  The fittest boxer in the camp it was reassuring in a way, confirmation it couldn’t keep me from my goal and in another respect a challenge, seeing if I could keep up the habit and still compete in the runs. I walked across and stood next to Oren.

“Ben smoke much?” I asked.

“Ben like, never seen him without a fag when we’re out, but you’ve seen the guy train, super fucking fit.”

Two more days without training I finished reading about Geishas and I felt I got a good insight.  Women trained from childhood in a prescribed list of talents.  It was a romantic story, the main character crying in the street as a child and being comforted by a businessman who offers her his handkerchief.  Years later she meets him as a Geisha, they fall in love and she still has his handkerchief. 

Hearing Zac return after Friday’s training I knocked the door and entered. 

“How’s it going?”

“Good Man, how about you?” he questioned.

“Diarrhea all week, but I’m thinking about another night out.”

“Well, if you want to join me I’m heading out about 8.00.”

Meeting outside the Cherry Mart he told me to wait as he disappeared inside and re-emerged clutching a bottle of whiskey and a green tea.

“A trick I learned for the budget traveller,” he said pouring half the tea to the ground and refilling the bottle with whiskey.

“I’m here on a budget, so this works for me.  Just put it in your pocket when you walk in a club.”

I bought my own tea and Zac topped me up from his whiskey.  Eating at the same place as the previous week, at ten I followed him to The Rooftop Bar near the Thapae Gate.  Climbing four flights of stairs and emerging to a balcony of bean bags and low tables.

“I like to start out here, kind of sets up the night,” he said.

Talking for two hours about Muay Thai and the delights of being in Thailand we gazed over the city.  ‘This is the way it’s got to be,’ I thought, ‘imagine a life where I didn’t get to spend nights like this’.  The mountain was lost to the darkness, only the lights of the temple visible at its peak.

In Bubble for twelve I could feel the whiskey, the dance floor packed as I took a Deep Bomb cocktail and made my way to the stage.  My ex-wife had been a great dancer and as happens when you spend a lot of time with someone her moves had gradually rubbed off on me.  I stepped into the routine, face emotionless, lips pouting, turning confidently. A girl moved in from behind and just as I thought I was about to make contact Zac stepped in. Wearing a baseball cap and his Lanna Boxing t-shirt his rap dancing looked ridiculous but she responded.  ‘Not again’ I thought. 

Moving to Spicy I chatted to Zac’s girl while he visited the bathroom.

“You like Chiangmai?” I asked.

“Yes like, I just come back from Australia,” she smiled.  She had what I’d describe as Eurasian looks, almost Indian, tall, sharp features but perfectly set.  Even her metal braces couldn’t detract from the idea I wanted to sleep with her.

“Whereabouts?”

“Brisbane, I live with my husband.”

“Australian?”

“Yes, nice man at first, but after we go Australia sometimes he not talk to me.  Just sit with his friends when we go out like I not there.  I have job in Thai restaurant so I save some money, and then I just want come back.  Hey, you like football?”

“Newcastle.”

She smiled.

“My team Manchester, we play Newcastle tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“You want come my bar?”

Agreeing to meet her I took note of the address and kept the invitation to myself.  It was another night of failure but the promise of a date the following evening made the walk home less painful. 

The next afternoon I spotted Zac as he arrived midway through training. 

“Hey, how was last night?” I asked as he tied his wraps.

“A little weird actually.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, well, you saw the girl I was with last night.  After I left you she took me back to her place and there was some guy there.  She called him her brother but it wasn’t her real brother.  Anyway, I spent the night with both of them.”

“Fuck, nice work, so I take it not much happened.”

He looked to the ground, “Well, no, actually we did get it on.”

“With the guy in the same bed?”

“Right, I’m lying there with her on top of me and this guy keeps reaching over with his hand.”

“And you did what?”

“Just pushed him away, but he was pretty persistent.”

The fact that Zac had spent the night with the girl I was planning to sleep with would have held me back at home but in Thailand I figured most of the girls were operating on a one guy per night basis anyway, whether it was Zac’s or someone else’s I didn’t really care, tonight, just for one night she’d be my Thai girl. 

Recruiting Gunner for the mission we passed through the city and arrived for my appointment at nine. Just off the road from the girlie bar it was a tiny place, half a dozen tables and a single customer sat with his beer.

“Hello again,” I said approaching the bar.

“Ah you come, good.” she said looking pleased. “You want drink.”

“Two Chang’s please.”

She smiled her bracey smile and turned to fix the drinks. 

“What’d you think?” I asked Gunner as we took our table.

“Not bad.”

“I’ve got to get some action tonight, I was so pissed when Zac took this girl home last night.”

“You should come out with my girl’s sister,” he offered as I watched her at the bar.

“How’s that little thing going? 

“Nice, last night I went to her restaurant, she cooked me dinner, very nice.”

I turned as a motorbike revved in behind, cursing in disbelief to see the rider, Lanna t-shirt, baseball cap, ‘Zac’. 

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” he called as he strode towards the bar.

“Man that blows it for me,” I said throwing my head to the table.

Watching him making wisecracks he was everything I’d come to expect in an American; brash, overconfident, a mouth that kept talking without really saying anything.

“Well guys, another magnificent night” he said as he joined our table.

“I thought you had another date tonight,” I said.

“Yeah, that girl had to go see her parents, thought I’d exercise another option.”

It seemed so unfair, not just the fact that my inferior competition had taken my girl, he was taking all the girls, moving through them one by one, it just wasn’t sporting. 

When the girls closed the bar at midnight we moved to Bubble and finished in Spicy.  Zac sitting with his girl I looked at our other companions, a dwarf girl from the bar and a tall broad shouldered ladyboy.  It was the first time I’d been so close to a ladyboy, a layer of foundation hiding her peppery skin, eyebrows drawn in thick mascara, she wasn’t petite enough to be attractive.  Looking over she pouted, 

“You have a light honey?”

The scene was as it had been the previous week, tables overflowing with pretty girls, steaming fish bubbling on tables as white shirted waiters circled through the crowd.  When Spicy closed the girls invited us back to their bar and Zac’s girl looking bored I sensed he might be losing his grip.

“Gun, you gonna give me a bit of support here?” I enquired.

Gunner accenting the six of us slipped back to the bar, entering one by one and Zac’s girl closing the shutter behind us.  We talked drunken talk and with every passing hour I prayed for Zac to leave.  ‘If I could just get her alone’ I thought.  Yawning at five and seeing he wasn’t getting what he wanted he left, Gunner following.  I stayed until six but eventually seeing that the night was over for me too I left with the ladyboy, letting her build up a lead and watching as she stopped to wait for me.

“Where you go?” she said.

It was an invitation and I wasn’t accepting.

“Home, sleep.”

I gunned the engine and occasionally looked back to see she hadn’t followed.  Too tired to feel frustrated I was satisfied that I’d done all I could and sure if I kept up my efforts I’d soon be rewarded.

Returning to training in my fourth week I was refreshed after my enforced break, accepting my first rounds of sparring with a Thai from the camp stable.  As I stood in the corner I thought about my game plan, ‘Keep your hands up, jab, jab, right combination and work the body’, ‘Try to learn not hurt each other’.  Wearing a head guard my opponent peered over his gloves.  He had the typical Thai physique, short, six-pack, wiry muscular build.  When the bell rang I waited for him to move forward and snapped out a jab cross satisfied to see both shots land.  Watching him circle me I tried again with the same result.  Not offering anything in return I waded forward delivering combinations until I’d backed him to the ropes and remembering the body shot swept in a left hook to his rib.  Judging by the trainer’s encouragement I was doing well. 

The second round started in the same vein, then crack a straight jab through my gloves.  I kept going, crack, the same again, followed by a stiff right.  My opponent was giving away a good ten kilos but his power was ferocious.  As we moved to the third minute I dropped my guard and received a flurry of shots to the head. 

“One more, one more,” the trainer called.

I nodded and spent a final round accepting my punishment.  He’d bided his time, now moving through his private workout, shot after shot ringing against my brain.  Finishing the third my opponent tapped me on the head, “Good,” he said.

Staggering from the ring, I was hit by the unexpected sensation of wanting to throw up. It was the last thing I’d expected, my stomach somehow turned by punches to my head. 

“You know who that was?” I looked up to see Danish Thomas looking at me.

“Songpom, ninety nine fights.  It’ll be a hundred this weekend.”

I was satisfied at that news; I’d been in with a professional and not only survived but given a good account of myself.  Sitting for a couple of minutes I moved to look in the mirror, red marks prominent where his gloves had grazed my forehead.  It was great, being tested, being pushed, another intense session which let me know I was alive.  As the urge to hurl intensified I walked to Cherry Mart buying ice and staggering to my room where I lay on my bed letting the knots in my head unravel themselves.