Plan B for Better

The ancient philosopher Lao Tzu said "A good traveller has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving."  Let's see how well I can misuse that wisdom.

Accommodation was something I thought I'd hastily sorted the night before, but after I arrived on this new island by ferry, the first two taxi drivers didn't recognise my intended lodging.  Koh Phangan had a limited number of roads, especially compared to the more developed Koh Samui that I'd come from, though I also had the feeling that addresses were a new concept here.  Undeterred, I jumped on the back of the second guy's moped after suggesting what I thought was a nearby landmark.

As we were leaving the port, he suggested that I put my arms around him to hold on.  That didn't seem necessary - is this how he adds a bit of excitement to his day?  The reason, soon became apparent as the roads took a vertical slant with a random selection of bumps and potholes.

After a short ride up the western coast, we took a right turn up an even steeper driveway.  This was a huge, ocean-facing property.  The stressed bike's engine climbed past a worker's building, then a small front office and a number of bungalows before the road came to an end at a clearing full of rented mopeds.  This wasn't the top of the hill, but it was the end of the ride.  I thanked and paid the driver then began up the stone-cut steps.  This place had boasted, among other things, the best sunset view on the island and the more I increased in altitude, the less I doubted the claim.

As I began my ascent, two smoking-hot European women were coming down the stairs while speaking a non-English language that I was a little too distracted to recognise.  Passing each other on the steps, there was a short pause to exchange eye contact and smiles.  This place kept getting better the higher I went.

The Amst*rdam Bar (spelt with a star) is actually two bars which take up a large deck each.  The lower section has a swimming pool, whereas the upper deck had an even more laid-back atmosphere with a cushion covered floor and small, square wooden tables.

Panoramic views overlooked nearby islands as well as ferry transits to/from those beyond the horizon.  Today's weather was overcast but the (monkey) magic of the place was irrepressible.

 

Most bars require footwear whereas this one requested the opposite.  Small groups were scattered across the place, sipping drinks and heating plant matter that could somehow justify harsh and extended cage-time in this country.

I put my bag down, ordered from the bar and took in the scenery.  It was good.  As I finished my drink, my intent was to quickly establish base camp so that I can return to relax here.

I went downhill to the admin building where they tried, unsuccessfully, to help me locate my prearranged accommodation.  There was a WiFi signal here though, and I used my phone to take into account two maps.  There was a low-resolution map from the booking page that roughly marked the location, and then there was Google maps, which didn't mark the location, but did show roads and topography.  Topography was the key word here.  It looked like the place was a short distance away as the crow flies, however, there was this mountain in the middle and a long road around.

 

They rang the place with a conversation that just led to more confusion and the best I could make out was that they'd ring back in a few minutes.  After a short wait I asked, "What about those bungalows?" pointing to the several wooden structures built into the aptly named, Stone Hill.  "Are any of those available?"

He quoted a price, lower than I expected, which prompted confirmation that they were dorms.  It wasn't an ideal situation, or at least that was my ill-perceived notion at the time.  There were still at least 24 hours before transferred funds became available though my travelling bank card and any delays meant creative solutions would be needed for the few remaining Thai baht in my wallet.  Paying by card wasn't the norm in Thailand, and less so this far from the mainland.

I paid in cash, wrote my name in the register (no id required) and was shown to a clean, empty dorm with the type of view that inspires postcards which inspire resentment.

There was another reason I wanted to have cash at hand.  Police corruption meant that an unwanted encounter with the cops could be settled with a bribe.  This encounter may be warranted or unwarranted, because tourists are sometimes seen as an easy supplement to their income.  My prior research for worst-case scenarios of scams, crimes and misadventure in this part of the world had included episodes of Locked Up Abroad.  That show didn't paint a pretty picture.

At first by accident, and then by curiosity, I'd been learning about the underworld influences in Thailand.  Russians played a big part with significant presence in many of the nightlife industries.  Even on Koh Phangan, which can only be reached by boat (airport unfortunately coming soon), they had a foothold.

On the ferry here, I'd sat behind a man cut from a rectangular boulder-block.  His main knuckles on both hands were healing with scabs that suggested someone else had recently come off much worse.  Travelling alone in an old, faded singlet and hat, he reserved the window seat for an immaculate, huge black leather bag with gold zips.  I didn't need to be a professional profiler to see that something was amiss with this picture.  Whatever was in the bag, I'm going to guess it didn't include a hardcover copy of Walden and a selfie-stick.

 

As I made my way back up to the top bar, I felt like I was on location of a classic cop movie, where a mansion of Uzi-wielding minions is stormed by the law-bringing main characters in the finale.  In this case though, I was on the side that gets either blown away or arrested.

I knew that the reason the bar was able to sell joints was because they'd paid off the authorities, but those types of relationships can easily turn sour and it would be a precautionary exercise to assess the situation for the possibility of a police raid.

As far as fortified locations go, this place was top notch.  The one road from the bottom of the mountain meant that any marked vehicles would be seen coming up the slow ascent.  I'd probably be first noted to this by a sudden change in mood from the chilled staff and I could go rogue in the surrounding jungle.

A police boat would likely come from Koh Samui and this place had the main transit line in view.  Even if they came in abseiling off helicopters, there was enough of a panoramic view that the surprise factor would be diminished.

Continuing this line of thought, I figured that the only way was if they had already infiltrated the place and were going to come out of hiding in a highly-coordinated yet low-stakes sting operation.  There were only Thai's working here and non-Thai's as patrons.  Everyone looked as relaxed as to be expected in this paradise setting.

I'd given paranoia a chance to search for possible threatening scenarios.  It could now set up mental trip wires for circumstantial changes and then be gone.  This would make way for deeper thoughts as my immediate terror-alert shifted to code green.

Via the bar, I sat on a cushioned floor-chair on the main deck.  The grey-could sky didn't make for any less than a million-dollar view.  At this elevated place, I inhaled introspection.

 

Time passed in the most pleasant of ways.  It was in complete contrast to how it passes in places like airport terminals - as if it was credited to my account instead of debited.  This was my birthday well-spent.  It had taken me this many years to truly appreciate Bob Marley and now I was catching up.  Primed set and setting assisted, as well as the appreciation of two guys I'd started talking to.  They were from Iraq and Syria and knew how to appreciate the little things, so when light rain moved many people back to the undercover area, we treated weather like wallpaper.

The crowd increased for an obscured sunset.  It was an interesting mix of world travellers.  I ordered a meal as there was nowhere else I needed to be and even the food was brilliant.  The rain hit harder, then ceased for a while before another downpour.  This validated concern from those with mopeds and accommodation elsewhere.  I watched as a few bikes chanced the steep, downhill path which was now fed by a steady flow of water.  Glad that my room was only a short walk away, I headed to my bungalow.  

As I approached the wooden steps, I realised a stray dog was curled up outside my room.  He was a little startled and rose up to leave, although this movement was slowed by the tiredness of old age.  I talked to him as a friend, without too much direct attention, and he decided not to leave this dry shelter.  This was a flashback to my lodging in the Amazon, where another dog did the same.  It was also a link to my dog at home.  If I put a full stop on the end of my thoughts here, all seemed right in this section of the universe.

Samui & The Witch

Where to next?  The decision between more islands or the jungle was decided by the footwear I'd brought with me.  At home, I had ideal boots for trekking in Khao Sok National Park, but my current shoes weren't up for the task of mud and leeches.

Another item on my to-do list was "dental tourism".  My last dentist visit claimed that a couple of fillings required replacement.  The savings of having it done abroad could offset a large chunk of the travel expenses.  Thailand's hospitals have a good reputation for quality work and I'd looked into a particular place in Phuket.  I was now intent on leaving Phuket and a bit of online investigation revealed that my next destination also had an international hospital used for such treatments.

An hour's flight over the tail of Thailand's mainland and I landed on an island experiencing a different season.  In Koh Samui, it was raining heavily enough to thwart my plans of walking out of the airport grounds before finding a taxi.  I had booked a one-way flight and one night's accommodation, but the weather today didn't favour exploration.  When I arrived at my room, the rain stopped.  This allowed time to explore a little, but I didn't venture far as recovery from the previous week was still needed.  The rain came again and soon flowed into some delta brain waves.

The next day I ventured along the main street and parallel beach of Chaweng.  I didn't have a feel for enjoying Samui.  As far as I could tell, it catered to the vacationist - a subspecies of the tourist that favoured the sedentary dip of deck chairs.  There was a strange mix of middle-aged couples milking their golden watch years, and younger, bar-bound groups (mainly Australian males).  The beach had a trashed-beauty to it, and in the morning resort employees would use wide brooms to sweep in the direction of the ocean.  I wasn't sure why this was necessary until I stepped on a fragment of broken glass.  A beach-strolling hawker offered me cocaine for sale.  Apart from being a bad choice of poison at the best of times, it seemed a strange market for such a stimulant here.  What were people doing - relaxing by the beach with a really intense focus?

I checked in with the dentist and made an appointment for my last day before flying home.  I then booked a ferry to another island to the north, although that would leave tomorrow morning, so I also arranged another night's lodging.

While again walking the main road, I thought to explore the street behind and a set of steps appeared to go up and over.  I climbed the stairs and came across several makeshift curtain-divided rooms that each had a thin mattress on the floor.  In the same second that I realised what this was, a lady emerged from a darkened tent which may, or may not, have contained a cauldron.  I couldn't guess her age as she was withered by more than time.  An unidentified facial malformation spread across part of her nose and upper lip.  Immediately my mind flashed to a graphic witch scene in a novel I'd recently read (The Sad Tale of the Brother's Grossbart).  It was daytime, but she was working the graveyard shift.  As her eyes locked on and she hovered towards me, I abandoned the idea of taking this shortcut.

"Massage?"  If I didn't recognise this as a codeword, she rasped straight to the point, "I'll give you happy ending". 

She had the voice of a retired death metal singer who still chain smoked all day and gargled gravel for breakfast.  With insistence she added, "Happy ending good for you."

In this particular instance, I felt a strong degree of skepticism.  I thought that the opposite was more likely true.  Obscure damage to the mind, body and spirit via PTSD, STD & possible need of an exorcism.

I backtracked with a distance-creating hand that I thought might look like a wave goodbye, but was less concerned with the pleasantries.  She might think it never hurts to ask, but I can still relapse the shivers.

Questionable Crotch Contents

Saturday night.  Time to see what Patong is all about.  I had two keen tour guides, including someone I'd recognised from back home and now officially met.  Located half an hour taxi ride away on the west coast, this is Phuket's debauchery district.  Getting there involves driving over a steep hill in the middle of the island.  Buses severely struggle when climbing this and they are a known cause of death to anyone behind them when the brakes fail.  Our taxi driver was quite eager to overtake the faltering bus in front, although that came with risks of its own.

Patong nightlife is mainly spread over Bangla road.  This is a wide street for pedestrians that was far removed from being pedestrian in the "dull" sense of the word.  A flood of people wandered along a smorgasbord of brightly lit neon disorientation.  Instead of sex being used to advertise everything, here it was direct marketing.  I'd say it was at least ten times more available than coffee.  Families kept a firm grip on each other as they navigated the outskirts of the zoo.  Budget party goers sipped their alcoholic beverages from straws in small buckets.  Middle aged men exchanged cash for charisma as Thai bar girls let them role-play high flyers.  Lady boys (and work-in-progress lady boys) made their presence know too.

Google provides the photos I didn't take

Being my first time here, the company I was with were treating it like it was my 18th birthday.  We sampled a variety of establishments.  There was only one place they didn't want to go, but sometime after midnight and vodka funnels, that's where we ended up - at Patong's main nightclub.  In the VIP area we met up with some of the Tiger staff.  Eddie Bravo had been there earlier, but left because of a seminar in Singapore that day.

On nights out like these, there comes a point in time where it seems that a futile chase is continuing for something that has long since fled the area, if it was ever there at all.  After 4-something in the morning, I decided to pull the pin.  In less than three hours I had to be at a meeting spot for an island tour by boat.  I exited the establishment, zigzagged past gender-unknown Thais selling their questionable crotch contents and found a taxi.  I first negotiated the fare then jumped in the back of an empty "songthaew" (I can type it, I can't pronounce it) which is basically two fixed bench seats on the back of a pick-up truck.  This allowed me to lean out the window and appreciate the night view of the island from the climb up the hill on the way back to base.

Sleepless, I prepared my gear for a trip to the Phi Phi islands and then rode to where a van was collecting the tour group.  The morning became a classic case of hurry-up-and-wait and by the time we were in the high-speed ferry, my head was noddy.  I would have caught some shuteye behind my sunglasses if it wasn't for the Russian bikini-clads sitting across from me.

Towards the front of the boat, a heavy-set guy with ill-fitting shorts was giving everyone a cringe-worthy display of bushy buttock cleavage.  His wife failed to address this mutant mohawk.  When the tour guide urged us to see something out the front of the boat, the Australian family sitting near me was the first to make comical remarks about "No thanks, I'll be right" and references to "furry crack".  I laughed and then joined in with comments about a full moon party and how it seemed to go up to the 7th vertebrae.  For the remainder of the journey, the persistent eye-sore allowed a fun trade of amusing remarks.  Childish humour is even better with a dose of sleep-deprived delirium. 

Part man, part stegosaurus.

The Phi Phi islands are beautiful.  The tourist experience of the Phi Phi islands is not beautiful.  I'm sure I've learned this lesson before.

"There is nothing new except what has been forgotten."  -- Marie Antoinette

In a horseshoe-shaped bay, short white-sand beaches are surrounded by vertical cliff walls.  Keeping the dinosaur theme, here's what it would look like to a pterodactyl in flight -

As far as I could tell, for all daylight hours a continuous tide of tourists battered the small coast.  The beach was subjected to the relentless unloading of boats, like a re-enactment of the Normandy landings.  Once emptied, each ferry would make way for the next expulsion of people.  As demand was high, the visit was brief, and our tour was soon herded back into our water craft.

Here's a much better picture found online, compared to the overpopulated ones I took from the same location -

Do hospital emergency rooms continuously update the types of grievous injuries for which they keep statistics?  If so, I suggest a new and soon to be increasing category - namely, "Impalement Upon Selfie-Stick".  Most likely administered by others, this penetrating wound is a questionable mix of malice and public service.

I'm sure there's some practical benefit, but holy shit, have you seen the trance people go into when they use this attachment to their mobile phone?  Held like a Hamlet prop, they swirl around taking dizzying footage as nearby people lean out of the way, lest they be clouted.  But there's also a strange stupor cast upon onlookers, as they can't help but stare at the use of this extension to vanity.

I try not to rant on this blog.  It's too easy to fall into the self-indulgence.  This has been an exception.  A recent podcast on my traveling playlist referred to the cleansing effect of getting annoying thoughts out into written form just to clear the way.  The expression was something to the effect of "I'm just caging my monkey mind on paper so I can get on with my fucking day."

Speaking of monkeys, there was an island with them scheduled on the tour itinerary.  This ended up being our boat watching people from another boat throw pieces of banana at them.  The primates climbed out on branches that overhung the water and took turns trying to catch the flying fruit.  That was a quality encounter, like throwing chips to seagulls.

There was a prior drinking night smearing my judgement, but this tour reminded me that my preference for travel wasn't tourism based.  This experience put my penciled-in plans for the next few days into question.  I had intended on booking a flight to another island for tomorrow, but another option was to explore a jungle on the mainland.  Some research would be nice when I got back to a wifi connection, but priority alpha was sleep.

Where the Rubber meets the Road

It was a bit of overkill, having a moped for this week of training where everything I needed was on the one street.  Having a speedy transit from one place to the other and exploring back streets was still fun though.  Bike rides of less than 100 seconds weren't uncommon.  With a big emphasis this week on training and recovery, there wasn't much time for exploration.  Anyhow, chaotic adventure was next week's plan.

One day I did decide to ride up one of the main roads towards Phuket Town.  This was like launching a paper boat down a fast flowing river with unknown rapids upstream.  Traffic swarmed in different directions.  Three lanes were marked each way but the lines on the road apparently don't mean shit.  Merging was less about indication and right of way, instead following a "be like water" philosophy.  Demanded reverence came from trucks and other vehicles of heftier, roadkill-causing capacity.  Even the direction of travel seemed optional as several bikes chanced head-on collisions.  I'd only had a brief look at Google Maps beforehand, but that wasn't going to help.  The road signs were written in the Thai alphabet and obscured by complex nets of overhead power lines.

Back at training HQ, I tried a different type of yoga class by a lady named Ocean Bloom.  I figured it would be either really good or a bit too hippy.  It was really good.  Mental note to try a few more types of yoga back home. 

In the submission grappling class, I wrestled Stephan who I'd overheard was (Sweden's?) Heavyweight MMA champ.  He was all over me like a Rottweiler on a chew toy and I was glad there was no striking involved.  I kept escaping his submission attempts, only to be squashed in a new position as he setup the next finish.  Eventually he locked up a body triangle which uses the legs to control and squeeze the torso.  It's not usually a submission by itself, but with Dolph Lundgren strength he compressed my innards until I felt and heard multiple crunches like mangled cellophane.  This came from the nomadic section of my ribcage where I'd had previous relocations.  I tapped just to get him off me and assess the damage.  In something like an Arnie accent (although that could be my untrained ear) he said, "Your defence too good - I had to use my strength."

I sucked in a shallow breath to wheeze out a "Thanks".  I wasn't being sarcastic, I'll take that compliment.  There was one more wrestle to that class in which I did a Napoleon impression with a forearm protectively held across my body.  After that, there was one more sparring class I had been considering, but now decided to take a pass.

On my last training day, I began with a private lesson from James McSweeney.  Unlike the Muay Thai PT's, this was customised to my preferences and questions.  In his last fight, James had broken his hand, so he brought in another guy when my questions related to ground fighting technique.   Within seconds of meeting this person, I was being instructed on the finer points of grinding his head into the floor while setting up knees to the face.  Pleased to meet you.

Straight after that, I jogged to a nearby training area for the reason I'd timed this week of combat sports.  Eddie Bravo of 10th Planet Jiu Jitsu had included Tiger on his worldwide seminar circuit.

I'd missed the opportunity back in Australia last year.  Eddie has a creative approach to No-Gi (ie. without a kimono/gi/uniform) Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, specifically in regards to its application to Mixed Martial Arts.  He questions the traditional grip-based approach and this has (disappointingly) drawn criticism from parts of the wider BJJ community.  The alternatives he offers are constructed with wicked logic and he encourages inventiveness. 

Part of the 10th Planet system is leveraged off having flexibility in the higher percentile.  Yoga's half lotus position (one foot folded up to the opposite hip) gives gateway access to the Rubber Guard.  The ability to do full lotus makes it dangerous.  Greater flexibility makes it deadly.

The Rubber Guard was the focus of this seminar.   This shuts down the striking ability of the opponent on top while still leaving one hand free to "take their phone out of their pocket and call their mom", or otherwise elbow strike while navigating to a range of submissions.  By naming a vaster degree of individual positions and the transitions between them, he has mapped out this part of the battlefield in fine detail.

During the seminar, he was animated in his explanations and inspired by the continuing rapid rate of evolution in both BJJ and MMA.  The 3 hours went quickly and was an excellent way to finish up this phase of my time in Thailand.

One more week in Thailand, and up to this point, no fixed plans or accommodation.  The feeling is a weird splice of complete freedom and indecision anxiety.

Melting Moments

It wasn't a psychiatric holding cell, but the walls and floor were completely padded in black dense foam.  Over the course of a packed, 90 minute MMA class, the humid room attempted to become a sauna.  Growing pools of sweat on the floor went from dangerous to ridiculous.  Sliding from one end of the room to the other would be possible, if only one could get the footing for a running start.

There were two types of MMA classes available at Tiger, both run by Ultimate Fighting Championship veterans.  The McSweeney class covered striking from a distance and in the clinch.  Judo throws were also added to the mix, followed by swift soccer kicks to the head.  Unlike the UFC, the rules of the local MMA promotion (One Fighting Championship), allowed these usually illegal strikes.

Roger Huerta's class was wrestling-based MMA.  Apart from competing in various organisations around the world, I just learned that Roger was in the Tekken movie (that may or may not be impressive news).

His class focussed on securing the takedown and grinding the will out of an opponent via position control and GNP (Ground N' Pound).  GNP is not a reference to buying coffee by weight.  It refers to controlling an opponent on the floor while hitting them repeatedly, often with the benefits of that thing Isaac Newton invented - gravity. 

My training partners varied for different classes.  There was Hilo from Japan, who shared the discipline of continuously drilling technique repetitions while others sat and rested in puddles of perspiration.  Karim was a stuntman from California, likely adding some realism to his fight scenes.

A partnered warmup for one class involved taking turns in throwing combinations.  For this, I teamed up with Boris from Russia.  I figured he'd be a strong wrestler, as Sambo is the national combat sport of grappling, with an emphasis on leg locks (No time to tighten my knee brace).  For some reason, he was the only person not encumbered by protective gloves for this drill.  Boris also had some surprisingly adept spinning head kicks in his game.  He either had great faith in my defence, or he was trying to decapitate me.  Each time, I'd return fire with something unorthodox until he finally cracked a smile after I'd snuck a clean heel kick into his liver.

The dynamics of respect varies.  The formula I prefer is - give respect to gain respect.  But sometimes in the combat sport world of the wolf pack, the rule is - prove your ability to maim and kill to earn respect.  Boris turned out to be a great training partner.

Immediately after most classes, I'd order a meal at the on-site outdoor restaurant.  Some people took this time to hold a garden hose over their head for a while to cool off.  It would be luck of the draw if I used this time to socialise (with sweat-sparkly, crossfit ladies perhaps).  Otherwise, I'd add a few pages of scrawled notes from the previous class.  This extended beyond the techniques taught, and included anything useful I'd noticed from anyone in the class.  It was a timely mining of hindsight for insight.  I never noticed anyone else taking notes, but... good.

Armed With More Than 8 Limbs

For decades, Thailand has been a training destination for the national sport of punches, kicks, knees and elbows.   More recently, world-class Mixed Martial Arts and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu instruction has become available.  For the first week of this trip, I have open access to the many classes available at Tiger Muay Thai & MMA. 

I began with a private lesson in Muay Thai.  All of the Thai trainers at Tiger seemed to  be former champions of particular stadiums or parts of the country.  It's a brutal art of accelerated appendages aimed in the direction of damaging your opponent.  During my 1991 introduction, I remember being impressed by the tagline - "the art of eight limbs". 

Years passed before I began to see some shortcomings.  There are benefits to tradition, especially when passing on a skill-set to the masses across multiple generations.  But there are downsides too, as anything bounded by tradition secures its limitations.

My training here helped clarify the fundamentals I didn't agree with.  One private Muay Thai lesson began with around 40 minutes of padwork then chilled sparring.  I kept my game respectfully Thai-style.  As the pace increased and I realised there was no time clock on this long round, I started to dip into the bag of tricks.  Knowing "the proper way" to defend certain strikes, I'd just feint these then attack somewhere else.  No need for Kung Fu to use Sun Tzu.  It worked more consistently than expected.  This could either be a misrepresentation by my ego, or a weakness of my expectations. 

Muay Thai training applies a ton of pad and bag work to create cardio machines that can roundhouse kick in their sleep.  It is the charging up of a battery for bones of bludgeoning.  Instead of having an R&D branch, they instead stockpile standardised ammunition for a war of attrition.  This simplified approach isn't to be taken lightly.  To quote someone else's line, they're as tough as woodpecker lips.

Although I draw much from this combat sport, my preference is for a more innovative approach.  By definition, Mixed Martial Arts allows for this (with an instructor of a similar mindset).  The stand-up striking coach for MMA at Tiger very quickly addressed some of the points I'd been thinking about in his class.  James "Sledgehammer" McSweeney had a justifying resume.  He also asked questions while teaching, to allow mindful ownership of technique.

While Muay Thai boldly ticked the check-boxes for "What" and "How", it's the "When" and "Why" that allow better strategy to be employed.  Add takedowns and groundwork to the mix and the terrain significantly changes.  I'd heard it stated in a submission grappling context, but it applies here:

Lead your opponent down a narrowing selection of options until they are left with just two, and both lead to their demise.

Also, efficient strategies involve idleness, which I increasingly find appealing.

Eye of the Tiger Balm

I've heard it referred to as "fight street" (in tuff talk) - a stretch of road in Phuket lined with training camps for several combat sports as well as crossfit gyms, places to eat, thai massage and other establishments that support the theme. It draws an international selection of athletes, martial artists and the fitness focussed.



My time here was mostly spent at Tiger Muay Thai & MMA with my wooly pyjamas stored at the other end of the road. When in transit, I'd pass by cafe seating and stern looks from all over the world.

After a few classes where I'd proven myself hard to kill, the vibe seemed different with nods and waves from recognised training partners.

I later noted that the grim faces at meal times went with slowed movement when getting up from a chair, or a favoured leg to limp the steps. Battle hardened or war weary?

Frequency with intensity has its toll. I was late to get a handle on dehydration. Apart from first thing in the morning, I didn't have a piss to colour-check. By day's end, exhaustion wasn't looking for more problems to solve.

In hindsight, I can see a stupider contributing factor to my dehydration. I hadn't bought the bulk water conveniently available in the accommodation foyer because of a logo on the label. This was badly-timed consumer resistance. I already had my misgivings about bottled water in general, but now here was the brand stamp of Nestle - world hydration overlord.

I bought 6L of a different brand (likely a Nestle subsidiary), and set my resistance plans to the long game. Global water privatisation wasn't going to be solved with 60 baht.

The all-inclusive training package allowed a daily timetable of impact, crush, twist and stretch options. I wanted to at least try most things on the menu. These discomforts were the paid-in-advance currency of endurance, strength and skill. Super size me.

Even the yoga became a minefield of cramping body parts.

A few days in, I joined a morning fitness session. This was just a chance to see a beach on Phuket's southern coast. It was also the first photo for this trip.