That Time I Went to Boxing in Ko Phi Phi

I spent most of my first trip around the world partying. I was twenty-five and ready to break free after a century of living a sheltered, middle-class life. In my mind, a lot of backpacking was about meeting fellow travelers, going to parties, and saying yes to whatever came your way. And that often leads to some strange experiences.

Like stepping into a boxing ring in Ko Phi Phi, Thailand.

Before I started that trip in 2006, I used the website MySpace to meet travelers in advance, since, as an introvert, I was very worried that I wouldn't make friends along the way. MySpace had many travel groups, so I reached out to people in hopes of meeting them on a trip. (I was an early adopter of the web as a social networking tool: I had a blog in 2001, and I met my first girlfriend on Friendster back when meeting people online was frowned upon.)

After arriving in Bangkok at the end of that year, I happened to meet Lindsay at the airport, a Brit I was supposed to meet later that week in Krabi. He was with his friends John and Stephanie. As luck would have it, we were on the same flight to Phuket, so we decided to start our trip together early.

In Phuket, we had booked accommodation at a hostel made famous by the movie The beach. It was as bad as the movie made it out to be, with thin walls, dirty toilets, and hard beds. We stayed one night.

From there, we went to Ko Phi Phi, where we planned to spend three nights. The island is still reeling from the tsunami that destroyed it two years earlier, and it's making a lot of noise as it tries to rebuild itself. There was debris and construction everywhere, and many businesses were still closed and houses abandoned.

We found a cheap room at the end of the big city, sharing a room to save money, a traveler's most valuable asset.

That night, we did what backpackers do on the island: we had a party. We ate cheap food at a bustling night market, with vendors selling overpriced pad thai to travelers who didn't know any better. From there, he went from bar to bar, getting progressively drunker, before finally moving on to the Reggae Bar, famous for two reasons: buckets of cheap booze and a boxing ring in the middle.

But the ring is not for watching professional Thai boxers. No, it's there so backpackers can watch other backpackers hit each other with free buckets of booze. (“The bucket” is Thai whiskey, Red Bull, and Coke in a kid's beach bucket. It's a big hit.)

As we got drunker and drunker, James told me to get in the box in the ring. “Come on! We need more alcohol,” he said, glaring at me.

As the night went on and the alcohol did its thing, I realized that I had to say goodbye. “Okay, I'll do it,” I agreed, giving in to the urge to agree to anything and impress my new friends.

I ended up in the ring with a German guy who was just as drunk as me.

“Go easy on me,” I said. “I have never fought.”

“No problem. This is just for fun,” he replied in a husky, pitiful voice.

As I was drunk, I became overzealous and did not “go easy” on him. I was aggressive, hit where I couldn't, and the first round was called in my favor.

In the second, he fought back, not wanting to lose to an American who was half his size. His blows hurt, even when I was drunk.

That round was called for him.

In the last round, we were both aggressive. He defeated me easily, as a lawyer, not wanting me to be too stressed, immediately called a round – and matched – to him.

But everyone loves an underdog, so boos erupt from the audience.

Aiming to please the crowd, the bar ended up giving me a free bucket, and the German guy and I enjoyed each other. His friends joined mine, and we left for the night.

The next morning, when I woke up, I was stiff as a board and had a terrible hangover. Although I was slightly injured, I could not move. Every part of my body ached.

“Why does everything hurt? What did we do last night?”

It took a few minutes, and then it hit me (so to speak).

“Ohhh, yes, I hit someone with a box last night!”

Although I didn't think about the effects on my body the day before, I was coming to terms with it now. It felt like a truck had backed up and down my body several times as I lay in bed.

My friends and I laughed and joked about how stupid it was to punch someone twice my size with alcohol. I slept in pain while my friends were getting ready, until I had to get dressed. We headed to the beach to soak up the sun in the sand and have breakfast.

Boxing in that ring was one of the things I did spontaneously on that trip and, while I will never do it again, it was one of those “fuck yeah” moments that brought me closer to my friends and made a great memory. .