Antonio's training and pro-boxing in Thailand are some of the adventures featured in his new book, Bikes, Boats, and Boxing Gloves: Adventure Writer in the Kingdom of Siam.
On the night that I heard about Thailand's last Muay Thai Temple, The Golden Horse Monastery (Wat Acha Tong), near Chiangrai, I was pre-occupied with packing. In less than eight hours I would be leaving my home in Taiwan, to study at China's Shaolin Temple, and write a book about the experience. For us, living in Chinese culture, the idea that Buddhism and martial arts are inseparable is a given. In China and Taiwan today, the best Tai Chi and Kung Fu teachers are deeply religious, often monks, and more likely than not, also practitioners of traditional Chinese medicine.
In the Theravada Buddhism, practiced in Thailand today, however, monks are generally expected to spend their time in prayer and meditation, avoiding physical activity. But, this was not always the case. The deepest, most ancient roots of Muay Thai are closely related to Buddhism. The ancient fighters practiced meditation and prayer. They believed that the fighter who purified his soul and body would be victorious in battle. Consequently, Muay Thai was taught in temples.
I flipped on the TV, for background noise, and whether by fate, the had of God, or the benefits of a deluxe cable package, Star Network was running a documentary about Wat Acha Tong, a Thai monastery, which, since 1991, had been a home for orphans and displaced souls, many of whom were recovering from yaba addiction. In the ancient tradition, the Monk Abbott Pra Kru Ba taught the arts of Muy Thai, meditation, prayer, horsemanship, and hard physical farm labor, as a way of purifying body and soul. The rigorous program was designed to create physical and spiritual harmony, and keep young people off the streets and away from drugs. When the boys felt ready to leave the program, they would have many career options: farming, animal husbandry, military or police, or professional Muay Thai.
On the night before the biggest adventure of my life, I was already making plans for the next adventure. I vowed, after I had finished in China, to fly to Thailand, and study with Pra Kru Ba. I would eventually wind up spending two months at the monastery, discovering that I was only the second foreign student ever to study there. The first one, also an American, had quit after five days, saying the program was just too painful. After my two months, I couldn't blame him. Studying with Kru Ba was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Keep in mind, that in addition to studying at the Shaolin Temple, I also completed boot camp in three branches of the US military. The gifts of learning and growth which I took away with me were invaluable, and yet Kru Ba never asked me to pay a single cent for my food, lodging or training.
Days in the temple, although wonderful, were physically draining. The roosters woke us around five every morning. If I had a gun we would be eating fried chicken for dinner. Payon, my training brother, is already up, doing his morning prayers, on the small prayer mat, in our thatched hut. I fall on my knees, and grudgingly do my prostrations. The truth is, I pray a lot better after coffee. But Payong seems to pray well day or night. Most nights, around 1:00 AM, one of the novice monks comes to wake us for evening prayers. This would mean three hours of sitting on the floor, in an unheated mountain monastery, chanting. I usually pass on that part of the training.
Payong lights a candle, and we climb the hill to our shrine, with the statue of the golden horse, the signature of the Golden Horse Monastery. We sweep the floor, light the candles, and do more prostrations, as we light the incense. We sip the holy water before entering the cave. This is where it all began. This is where Pra Kru Ba meditated for a period of years, eventually having a vision that he should rebuild the monastery. It was the same story as Badidahrma, who built the Shaolin Temple. But Kru Ba was real, tangible. The cave had an eerie, powerful feeling about it.
"Pra Kru Ba was a soldier and a professional Muay Thai fighter." Explains Maii, our house mother. Although breakfast isn't until 9:00 Am, if we come snooping around the kitchen she usually gives us some kind of treat. Today it is sweet porridge for us both, and a cup of coffee for me. Fortified with caffeine, I was ready to take on my daily prayers.
The boys living in the temple ranged in age from thirteen to twenty-five.
"Many of these boys used to be addicted to yaba." Explained Maii. "Pra Kru Ba hates drugs. So, he and the boys ride their horses to the mountain villages, telling the boys not to take drugs. If there are any boys without parents, he brings them back to the monastery, and they become like his sons."
Payong and I jog to the Muay Thai ring, on the opposite hill side, where we are met by our other training partner, Laescho. We strip down to Muay Thai shorts, and no shirts, in spite of the cold mountain air, and begin our routine. We do several rounds of knee and elbow strikes on the bag. As I am new to Muay Thai, the scabs which formed the night before, open up and I am dripping blood from all four limbs.
Maii supervises our training. She is tough, but very loving. Yesterday, one of the kids upset her, so she beat him, rather expertly, with a practice sword. This was nothing like the nuns back at Catholic school, hitting me with a ruler. Maii picked that sword up with two hands, and swung with all of her body weight. Crack! Crack! I was reminded of Obi Wan Kanobi. But there is no malice in Maii. Later, when she was handing out cookies, she also gave one to the boy she had punished.
The trucks came, to take us to work. It was already loaded with Muay Thai fighters and Little Budas, the apprentice monks. The older boys are generally not monks. They wear regular clothes, and look like teenagers and twenty year-olds anywhere. But the small boys all have their heads shaven, go barefoot, and wear orange robes.
Maii pointed at each boy, and told me his story. "This one has no parents. That one was too small, and couldn't work enough, so his family didn't want him. That one was the seventh of eight children. The family couldn't feed him, so they sent him away."
We stop for gas, and Maii hands the receipt to one of the twenty year olds.
"What is this word?" She asks, in Thai.
His lips stammer as he slowly sounds out the word. "Liters" He says.
"And this one?"
Again, a long pause. "Price per liter."
"And this one?"
"Total."
"Do you know what is total?" She asks.
He looks down, embarrassed.
"This is the amount of money you have to pay the man." She hands him some Thai Baht notes. "You go pay him." She said.
After the boy was gone she explained. "He has no family, and he never went to school. So now I teach him to read." Maii also taught the boys how to cook, how to use money, how to drive a car…basically all the things we take for granted because we learned them from our parents.
We each take a Thai laap, a huge machete, and begin cutting corn stalks, to feed the horses. We cut all day, breaking only for meals. When we have finished cutting, we hoist the heavy bundles on our shoulders, walking back and forth, loading them on the trucks.
"Today you will not unload the trucks." Explains Maii. My heart soars.
"Instead, you will go to Pra Kru Ba."
Pra Kru Ba is seated beneath a tree, beside the horse corals. He has been ill lately, spending a lot of time in bed, for which he seems embarrassed. Even in his slightly diminished state, his power is unmistakable. His upper body is heavily muscled, and every inch of it is covered with holy tattoos. He wears a smile, as if it were part of his uniform. His eyes always gleam with the child-like wonder of a Christmas morning. He lives so enthusiastically, that is as if he is seeing the world for the first time. He smiles even brighter as he sees me approach.
"Show me what you have learned." He says.
I begin throwing kicks, elbows, knees, and punches. Pra Kru Ba calls out the names of each move, in Thai. I am faced with two problems. Sometimes I have forgotten the move. Sometimes I have forgotten which Thai name goes with which move.
After dark, we return to the monastery, where we bath, by pouring bucket, after bucket of ice-cold mountain water over our head. We gather in the main room, and watch a Thai TV show, about the King of Thailand. Everyone loves it. Even Pra kru Ba watches with interest, making pointed comments, and occasionally laughing for no reason at all. He looks over, and sees me writing in my diary.
"Antoni," He says. "After you leave here, please don't forget us."
"I will never forget you." I promise.
The show ends. We share our dinner together. Payong and I go back to our little hut, and say our prayers. Lights out is at 9:00. At 1:00 an apprentice will come to wake Payong for prayers…And the day will start all over again.
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