Have You Lost Your Mind?

It all began with a promise.  A halfhearted commitment to a best friend.  One made, ironically enough, under the assumption that the promise would never have to be fulfilled.  But when the glare of the ringside lights gleamed off my freshly oiled body and the local radio man began calling for the “farang” from Chicago to step through the ropes, I knew I had no choice but to make good on my disingenuous pledge.

Let’s back track for a minute to a time before the ocean sprayed fighting ring, menthol laced oil, and paralyzing fear.  Back to the birthplace of this moronic idea.

Ross LOVES minibus rides!

 … On one of our many near death minibus experiences with Dr. Andy and the Entourage, Scott audaciously proposed that somewhere deep within my soul I possessed an unrecognized, insane, craving to try Muay Thai fighting (I don’t know how Scott can see into my soul, but I don’t like it).  The doctor was unnervingly pleased to hear this and felt compelled to share with us that a previous English teacher at KU had tried such an adventure… and had broken his arm in the process.  Naturally, this filled me with an insane craving to try Muay Thai (how did Scott know???).  I’m considering therapy.  Even at this point the potential for me to quench my now insatiable thirst for hand to hand violence seemed farfetched at best.  Then, about a week later, my friend Allie sent a facebook message which coincidentally mentioned a hostel on the island of Koh Samet, where we planned to visit that weekend, which had a fully operational Muay Thai fighting ring.  You can see where this is going.

I thought to myself, how can I, an out of shape coward, who’s last legitimate fight occurred roughly thirteen years ago when I kicked a boy in the groin during a playground brawl (sorry Dan), reasonably justify jumping in the ring with a trained Muay Thai fighter?  Then it came to me.  An idea so splendidly stupid that it had to work.  I would play off my new found desire to come face to face with my own feeble existence under the guise of a birthday promise to Scott.  Everyone would call it idiotic, but they would support it!  And they did…

Let me take a moment to reassure you, or perhaps just myself, that I’m usually a reasonably rational thinker and despite the current body of evidence I’m mounting to the contrary, I feel that this was merely a momentary lapse in sanity.  My mom totally agrees… Now back to the story.

 

The beaches aren't the only pretty things on Koh Samet

After a full day of lounging on Koh Samet’s beautiful beaches, making fast friends with a Finish man named Danny (he called me Santa Claus so we’re cool), and dining for Scott’s birthday, it was finally time.  As the group began heading in the opposite direction of the hostel with the boxing ring I, ostensibly still intoxicated with self-torment, suggested that we swing by the Thai fighting place just to “check it out.”  We’d barely ordered a beer before the girls, who evidently had also become delighted with the thought of watching me writhe in pain, had arranged a match with the young man serving us our Chong’s.

Birthday dinner

While watching two ten year old boys in the opening sparring match of the evening execute their Mauy Thai training with precision and undeveloped ferocity, I was summoned behind the ring.  There an older gentleman, doing his best impersonation of an English speaker, informed me that if I was going to fight I needed to have a manager.  I immediately thought back to orientation and, failing to recall a CIEE session concerning Muay Thai contract language, decided I’d better investigate on my own.  Upon my questioning I was told that no, I didn’t need to sign a waiver.  No, they didn’t want to see my passport.  And no, there wasn’t an insurance policy I could sign up for.  All I needed was a manager.  Scott gleefully accepted this position.

If I only knew what was coming next

The older man then eyeballed me from head to toe, rummaged through a pile of blue boxing shorts, and tossed me a pair that I can only assume was procured from Baby Gap’s overstock supply.  Then Scott and I were nervously led to the “locker room,” a covered concrete slab within full view of a gawking Thai audience, and told to get dressed.  I slinked off my sneakers, socks, t-shirt, and Levis and traded them for something a little more revealing.  Mr. Miyagi arrived shortly thereafter bearing two long, slender strips of cotton and hastily intertwined them between my fingers and around my wrists.  He then doused my fear stricken frame with menthol oil until I could be confused for a seagull caught in the Exxon Valdez spill (side note: I’m allergic to menthol, breathing was a breeze).  Once finished, he gestured towards an unknown destination in the darkness behind my concrete sanctuary and garbled something resembling “get ready.”  Scott and I looked uncomfortably at one another and then, seeing no obvious escape route, followed an overgrown trail away from the ring until we reached the famed Golden Gloves training facility.  Said training facility consisted of two structurally suspicious plastic chairs assembled around a punching bag swinging ominously from an unfortunate tree branch.   Using the former Saw III set as a backdrop, Mr. Miyagi then kindly took three minutes to introduce me to manhood.  Under his tutelage I learned how to punch (I figured I’m 23, it’s about time), block (don’t know when I’d need that), and kick (it felt good to reunite with this old friend).  I awkwardly demonstrated my newly acquired fighting talents, cringing every time my unproven fists collided with the bag, until Mr. Miyagi felt comfortable that a jury of my peers would determine the hostel was not responsible for the inevitable laundry list of injuries I would incur.

Scott acting like he's done this before

Now off the legal hook, Mr. Miyagi escorted me towards the guillotine.  First, past a curiously empathetic looking Thai crowd, then through the unsettling small but especially spirited contingent of Americans.  Spurred on by the cheers of my enthusiastic supporters I cautiously climbed the three stairs into the ring where I was greeted by another executioner; I mean Thai man.  He graciously laced up my boxing gloves and offered me a used, but nonetheless effective, mouthpiece.  Somewhere in suburban Chicago my childhood orthodontist is breathing a sigh of relief and also inquiring why I haven’t worn my retainers since the 8^th grade.

Notice the foot mark on my stomach

With my mouthpiece firmly entrenched, the radio man began his auctioneer call and the referee beckoned for both fighters.  As Scott exuberantly finished his motivational speech (watch your back Tony Robbins) I turned ring ward and came face to face with my beer vending opponent.  A mere hour earlier the boy who’d dispensed our Chong’s was just that, a boy.  Now he was the immaculate example of what diligent adherence to p90x can accomplish (my lack of commitment be damned!).  Presently donning my “leave nothing to the imagination” boxing drawers, abundantly lubricated, and standing next to the Tae Bo guy, I more closely resembled a Vienna Beef dog squirting out of its overly crimped casing than a masterpiece of human anatomy.  So yeah, I was oozing (read: love handles generously spilling over shorts) with confidence.

Functioning as the physical embodiment of deliberate disregard for the food pyramid I was instructed to pace the ring, much like a blue ribbon 4H hog, and wai at each corner as a demonstration of respect.  Despite my misgivings toward religion, I snuck in a prayer or two at each stop.  I figured appealing to a higher power couldn’t hurt, right?  With the prefight rituals complete and my will finalized it was finally time to meet said higher power.  If you’re thinking I’ve lost all my marbles I’d like to reassure you that there was a fleeting moment when I questioned why I had volunteered to have my bones ceremoniously pulverized in front of my friends, but that was quickly suppressed by survival mode when I touched gloves with Ivan Drago, initiating the fight.

Me with the Tae Bo guy

The contest itself, now inevitably unable to meet even your most modest expectations, was mostly a blur to me but the following is how I assume any casual observer would recount the fight.  Round begins, Ryan bounces around with undeserved confidence, Thai guy notices, becomes slightly annoyed, kicks Ryan in the hamstring with intention of severing it in two, crowd shudders realizing Ryan is in over his head, Ryan feels leg splintering from within, attempts to ignore searing pain, strikes back with slap-like punch, then backs off preserving his meager fuel reserves, Thai guy delivers five more crushing blows to Ryan’s rapidly bruising left leg, audience shields its eyes expecting leg to spontaneously combust at any moment, Ryan ignores imminent annihilation, rallies with a fury of undisciplined punches, lands none, retreats to the “safety” of his corner, Thai guy stalks him like a lion in the Serengeti, Ryan ponders benefits of mortality, considers agony of achieving said mortality then instead offers a thousand baht to Thai guy if he’ll “lay off the leg,” Thai guy doesn’t speak English, Ryan irritably responds with embarrassingly delicate kick, Thai guy laughs, Ryan feel inadequate, endures further torturous strikes to now functionless left leg, flees his attacker, then his torso escorts lifeless leg behind him around ring until referee graciously calls the end of the round.   

Mmmm dysentery water

Repeat this scenario several times, inserting scheduled breaks for consumption of non-EPA approved bucket water and weird groin massage sessions, and you’ll have a pretty accurate play by play.  This beautifully choreographed dance (we could have won a Tony) lasted all of three rounds instead of the usual five, which I had fortuitously negotiated prefight (thank you Thai street markets for turning me into a ravenously shrewd bargainer).   

Pre-hug

When the third round finally ended and I awoke from my nightmare, realizing I wasn’t drowning in a pool of my own blood or strapped to a gurney, I was overcome with relief.  Despite losing the fight by a judge’s decision (I’m appealing) I decided to ignore all cultural decorum concerning physical greetings and began casting out hugs like the studio audience at an Oprah giveaway episode.  You get a hug!  And you get a hug!  Everyone was embarrassed but I didn’t care.  I was alive!

 

The left leg two days after the fight

Thirty minutes after the bout was over I finally caught my breath and was shepherded back to the hostel.  There, I forcibly swore my friends to an oath of internet silence until I had an opportunity to tell my parents about the experience (I didn’t want another accidental homicide on my record…).  However, come Monday morning, having not spoken to my mom or dad yet, I found out that a small collection of fight images had been hacked and accidentally released as part of a wikileak circulation.  The pictures had then been posted on facebook and as fate would have it, my mom saw.  So you can imagine how I felt when I casually opened my Gmail account and saw the title of the lone message in my inbox…

Have you lost your mind? 

Apparently I have.

 

 

 

First Three Weeks in the Land of Smiles... Part 3

Scott, Kat, Allie, and I waiting to jump off the bridge

Here it is!  The final installment in the three week series recapping exactly how I’ve so cavalierly wasted my time and blown through baht in the land of smiles.  For some reason, I feel extraordinarily out of breath after writing this.  Hopefully you’ll see why after you’re done reading.

At the Erawan Waterfalls

 

The "super cute" hostel

 

(Ryan takes in an enormous breath in) aaaaaaaaand after Cha-am we went back home for a week which was spent exploring everything that’s ever been on the internet ever, we found out our classes, were given no guidance on how to teach them, then did nothing productive unless you consider watching TED Talks an example of industrious behavior, on Friday Scott Mike Ross Andrew Allie Ashley Kat and I packed our bags and headed west to Kanchanaburi, home of the famed Bridge over the River Kwai, we did not visit said Bridge, I almost had a Chernobyl size meltdown, instead we hung out at an expat canteen called “1 More Bar,” purveyors of wonderful service, pool tables, a dart board, free wifi to watch the Hawkeye game, and Redcoat company for our British colleague Ross, our hostel was and I’m quoting the girls here “super cute,” spent Saturday afternoon playing in the river with local children and jumping off the bridge with them, no not the famed bridge, I contained my weeping to Three Mile Island status this time, that was another nuclear reactor joke, are those doing anything for you?, that night we further improved our neon tans, Ross bestowed upon the world new dance moves that zealously violated the Kyoto Protocol, hot dance moves/global warming joke, no? I tried, found a unique used bookstore, bought 1776 by David McCullough, yes!, woke up early Sunday, rode two magnificently relaxing hours in the back of a tuk tuk with our personal driver Thomas to the Erawan waterfalls, spent the afternoon in the presence of unparalleled beauty, the waterfalls looked OK too, girls that was a compliment, tolerated fish nibbling our feet, ate the best street meat to date, no the nibbling fish were not on the menu, eventually arrived back home late Sunday, spent the next five days reexamining the internet in the hopes that it had expanded exponentially in our absence, it had, tutored a princess, judged a paper doll fashion show, gave poor marks to the eight year old princess’ pairing of a blue swimsuit with brown boots, was chastised by said eight year old for my appalling fashion sense, received a stay of execution from Dr. Andy, and took off for a super chilled out, uneventful weekend on the beautiful island of Koh Samet…

Tuk Tuk rides are awwwwwwwesome

Pheeeeeeeeeeeeeeew

First Three Weeks in the Land of Smiles... Part 2

 As was promised in the previous blog entry, I will indulge you in the details of the second and third weeks in Thailand but if I’m being honest with you this post lacks the enthusiasm of the first two simply because the last weekend in Koh Samet was so crazy/once in a lifetime/really really really stupid and I’m super psyched to write about it.  Just ask my mom, she totally agrees with me…

Dr. Andy and the Entertainers

Let’s pick up where we last left off, at the end of orientation.  After arriving in Bangkok on Friday afternoon and patiently waiting like puppies at the local pet store for our future owner to select us we finally met our coordinator.  I want to speak of said coordinator, Dr. Andy, in a very respectful manner because he is not only our superior but an incredibly well respected man in the intellectual community of Thailand and also our primary benefactor however, there are a few things that are just too funny not to be described here.  The first thing one notices about Dr. Andy are his glasses.  They are abnormally large, bedazzled with rhinestones, and unique in their ability to inhibit him from dodging door frames.  So obviously they throw out a Kim Jong Il kind of vibe (I know, two Kim Jong Il jokes in three posts?  It just happened so deal with it).  Couple the glasses with Dr. Andy’s propensity to answer all direct English communication with an empty “hmm, right…” as if he’s contemplating which execution method best suits you, along with his flamboyant physical mannerisms, 80’s style padded shoulder shirts, nine member entourage, group photographer and personal driver, and the dictator picture begins to paint itself.  Thanks to Dr. Andy’s guidance, I should be commanding a full-fledged military junta of my own in no time!  But I’d feel more secure in my ultimate ascendency to the throne if Dr. Andy hadn’t already declared big Andrew his “favorite son.”  I’ve been relegated to “Prince Harry” status, which I’m taking as a compliment and not a commentary on my current hairstyle.

Thailand traffic courtesy of Nat Geo

On our first trip with Dr. Andy, mind you twenty minutes after we met him and already in the heat of carpool combat, he says “Art (the driver) loves to speed and swerve through traffic  because he normally drives for the school’s vice president who (and I quote) ‘isn’t afraid to die’.”  Welcome to driving in Thailand!!!  After three hours and several bargaining sessions in which I traded away my own existence with a God I don’t even believe in we finally arrived at Kasetsart University in Kamphaeng Saen, Thailand.   We literally spent 6 hours in our new rooms before being whisked away again in the morning by Andy and the entourage to our next adventure in Cha-am.

Cha-am has the potential to be a sedative free relaxation destination for the everyman, unless you’re a groupie on the Andy and the Entertainers world tour.  My cohorts and I expected two days lying on the beach, less than secretly checking out girls well out of our league, and enjoying more alcohol based fruit beverages than are medically advisable.  That didn’t happen.  Not by a long shot.  The first day was a teaser because after the team lunch, which was phenomenal (we were spoiled at every meal); we were privileged with an entire afternoon and evening of free time.  Scott and I promptly headed over to the local massage parlor for an authentic Thai massage after hearing rave reviews from our fellow Teach in Thailanders.

Now, if I was a high caliber athlete with a finely tuned body requiring deep tissue massages and intensive stretching sessions or an overly inviting sheet of bubble wrap than Thai massages would be for me.  However, I am neither, but the 85 pound Thai women who wrapped me up tighter than an Auntie Anne’s fresh baked pretzel (insert drool here) apparently thought I had been delivered by UPS and required a sufficient popping.  I wanted to cry out in agony more times than Rick Perry forgets his political talking points (Baaaaa Ziiiiiiing, whatever, I like political jokes) but I squelched the urge out of respect for Scott.  I knew if I lost my composure he would surely break down in tears and we just couldn’t have that moment this early in the trip.   

The brilliantly talented Nordic proprietor

After slinking ourselves out of the cradle (I wrestled for 6 months so obviously I’m well versed in the terminology), Scott and I headed to the beach where we met a former Iron Chef contestant turned beach fruit distributer.  This woman sliced and diced our pineapple treat so fast that we were convinced the Slap Chop guy had already cornered the beach fruit market in Thailand and was subsequently benefiting from the ShawWow! sales to severely lacerated Slap Choppers.  The pineapple was unbelievable despite the bits of flesh and German crafted towel.

Check out Scott's form!  It's impeccable.

That night the five of us ventured out for the first time as a collective group of Kasetsart teachers.  We chose an inviting little dive bar which advertised as having live music and an expat proprietor.  They failed however, to promote that the Farangs (foreigners in Thai) would immediately begin performing the live music (thank you Andrew) and would be offered the hands of all the disturbingly underage staff members.  We respectfully declined, continued to accept the free beverages, and thanked our lucky stars for an abundance of candles, a musical savant for a bartender, and a ridiculously deep song book when the power suddenly went out at our new favorite watering hole.  The highlight of the power outage was the rendition of Twist and Shout which the makeshift band ensured lasted at least ten minutes by playing the chorus on repeat while Scott and his far less talented back up dancers introduced the Twist to a sleepy South East Asian town.  The marriage proposals once more flooded our direction, we considered, then again respectfully declined and headed home.

One of the King's beautiful open air palaces

Did I forget to mention that we might have slightly overindulged during the impromptu jam session?  That probably explains why I remember the following morning’s breakfast/3 hour trip to the babbling creek masquerading as a “waterfall” /stop at the cool but clearly not cool enough to rouse me from my stupor since I have no pictures of my own monk statue/visit to one of the King’s palaces (which I enjoyed just not the extent I could have under other circumstances)/4 hour shopping extravaganza in suburban Cha-am hell in such a positive light!  It could have been an eye opening experience but we were (by that I mean “I was”) in no mood for it.  That night we learned our lesson and went to bed early in preparation for our inevitably longer than necessary journey to the next stopover on the Andy and the Entertainers world tour.

Mega monk statue near Cha-am (thanks Scott)

I’ll finish up the final installment of the first three weeks recap, featuring a trip to Kanchanaburi (famous the Bridge of the River Kwai), for you later this week and hopefully get to the craziness that was Koh Samet before the next weekend’s adventures become equally distracting.

First Three Weeks in the Land of Smiles... Part 1

Group D at the Grand Palace

You know when you’ve experienced something so momentous, so much larger than yourself that you can’t properly communicate it to anyone?  You understand that it’s incredibly significant but can’t find the words to do it justice?  As I’ve begun recalling the first three weeks of my time in Thailand I’ve been overcome with that sentiment.  I’ve realized that the task of recapping my experiences for all of you has already become incredibly overwhelming.   I want you to feel the same emotions, see the same inspiring natural and physical wonders, and share the new bonds of friendship the same way I did but I know my words won’t be able to achieve that goal.  That being said, I hope you bear with me as I attempt to impart on you the story of my more than memorable first three weeks in the land of smiles.

Exhibit A of orientation week

I first decided to come to Thailand on a whim, without fully thinking through all the consequences because that’s always been my process.  I often lack foresight.  Thailand sounded incredible and many of my friends have traveled abroad and loved it so how bad could it be?  Even after deciding to go and forking over half of my lifesavings to CIEE I never really thought about the implications of what I’d committed to.  Even in the 6 months before departing, actually driving to the airport, meeting up with Scott, saying goodbye to my parents, hopping on the Korean Air flight (all female flight attendants I might add, just saying, if you’re going to fly it’s not a bad option), laying over in Seoul, flying another five hours to Thailand, and finally arriving at the Louis’ Tavern Hotel in Bangkok I had cultivated absolutely no expectations for the my time here.  None.  They could have dropped me off at Kim Jong-Il’s doorstep or in the middle of Hong Kong and I would have said “Oh, this is Thailand, cool.”  So needless to say, Thailand has far surpassed all my prior expectations.

Dinner in Pattaya complete with an Enrique serenade

The first week in Thailand was spent in orientation led by the CIEE/OEG team at relatively cushy hotels in what can only be compared to as a coed summer camp environment.  There were roughly 150 of us, most of whom had little to no idea what they wanted to accomplish in life other than “having a good time.”  We were broken up into four groups based on our teaching experience and grade preference and then introduced to Thai history, travel safety, the Thai language, and the basics of teaching English as a second language.  But anyone who was there will tell you that the only introductions anyone really paid attention to were the ones being done by our fellow Teach in Thailand participants.  It felt like speed dating in a NASA G-force simulator.  We met countless new people every day and by the end of the week you were muttering your own back story in your sleep.  I feel very lucky however that in a mere 7 days I was able to meet so many wildly intriguing, adventurous, free spirited people that willingly tolerate my presence.  Shocking right?   

"Training" in Pattaya

 Even more surprising though was the firsthand education I received on the Thai governmental structure.  I quickly came to learn that the Thai political hierarchy is as follows; stray dogs outnumber people and call all the shots, stray cats are second in command only for a lack of aggressiveness, street side food vendors are the political machine that doles out delicious instantly gratifying treats for a minor contribution but take no credit for the inevitable negative aftermath, and cab/minibus drives are the political revolutionaries who will promise to deliver you anything you want but will almost certainly kill you in the process of acquiring it.  Aren’t Thai political analogies fun?  But seriously there is some political unrest here but it’s been somewhat muted by the commotion over the flooding.   

Pattaya's infamous Walking St.

Speaking of flooding, we were forced to evacuate Bangkok a day earlier than expected and continued the orientation process in Pattaya, a beach city two hours or so south of the capital.  Essentially this was an all expenses paid vacation to Las Vegas, on the ocean, with dozens of new friends.  The only reason any actual training occurred was because the hotel’s conference rooms, which we were forcefully quarantined in, didn’t have windows overlooking the pool or the beach.  Once classes ended however we more than took advantage of our location and, without sharing too many details, experienced everything Pattaya has to offer.  I’ll put it this way; I won’t soon forget my experiences there.  The vacation was seemingly over almost before it had begun and by Friday morning we were checking out of the hotel, saying good-bye to people we’d just met but felt like we’d known for years, and were preparing to meet our school coordinators for the first time.  Depending on placement in Thailand you were bused back to Bangkok to be picked up, flown to your destination, or met by your school at the hotel.  Just like that the first incredible week was over but the memories had just begun.

The KU Team; chosen for their boyish good looks and enthusiasm 

 

 

 

 

I’ll compile a recap of week two in the next post but if I’m being honest, it won’t be written until next week.  It’s Scottapalooza this weekend and we’re heading to Koh Samet to celebrate!  By that mom, I mean it’s Scott’s birthday and we’re going to stay home, maybe play some cards, have an O’Doul’s, and call it an early night.