Arrival in Thailand
Thailand is a seafarer’s dream. Tristan and I have just left a gig in Shanghai and are sitting with our feet dangling off the edge of a ferry from Phuket, green islands thrusting up out of the water in every direction. Wearing stickers so the crew can herd us like human cattle, the ferry deposits us onto a second ferry then a long tail boat with a wooden floor you can see the ocean through and an open motor, its exposed belt running just inches from the operator. We bump up into the sand on Tonsai beach and I experience my first unloading of a suitcase with bare feet in the water.
Tonsai is a small paradise catered to tourists- a place of cheap food, bungalows, and climbing. As we unload, I notice the boat next to us is being loaded with empty plastic water jugs from the island. Even simple living makes an impact.
Railay is a playground for adults. Climbing, scuba diving, kayaking, massages, hikes, magic mushroom shakes; and all ten times cheaper than back home. Railay is understandably overrun with tourists, it is an island of foreigners served by locals.
Upon arrival we swim and get our bearings, walk between the three beaches- Tonsai (where we’re staying), Railay East (just next door) and West (across the peninsula). Tonsai is by far the calmest, the people there are there for the climbing, while Railay is more of a typical tourist scene. Day two takes us out climbing in the morning with Base camp, a local operation that rents gear, guides climbing trips and gives lessons. It’s a nice crew and we get along well with the local guides, it’s satisfying to connect with people that are actually from Thailand. A cool morning of top roping in the jungle and we’re hungry for more.
Muai Thai
In the evening we watch a Muai Thai fight. Two Thai fighters in boxing gloves glisten in the ring surrounded by 200 or so tourists. There is an elaborate ritual before the fight with the two fighters in blue and red shorts bowing to the four corners of the ring, stretching, and bouncing off the ropes. It highlights how little every single spectator, myself included, probably knows about what we’re about to watch.
The first round begins and the two fighters feel each other out, looking almost choreographed- an easy kick to a glove, a punch blocked, a kick caught; I wonder if it’s rigged, Thailand’s version of WWF. Is this a show for tourists or the real deal? The second round makes me a believer.
If the first round was the calm, the second round is the storm. The two fighters have tested the waters and now begin to kick the living crap out of each other. The first punch that connects snaps the other fighter’s head back and sends up a collective gasp from the audience. Kicks and knees to the ribs and thighs, punches and spinning backhands to each others’ heads. Watching boxing or MMA on TV is nothing like seeing it live, seeing and hearing the punches connect, seeing the half second it takes their eyes to come back into focus after a big shot.
Halfway into the second round a punch connects that puts red shorts on the deck. I’ve never seen a body drop that fast and hard to the ground, or audience members’ hands go up so quickly to their mouths. Red shorts lays sprawled out for a six count but miraculously comes back to his feet to face blue shorts storming in. We cringe as red shorts covers up and rides out a flurry of vicious punches from blue shorts who is trying to finish the fight, by some miracle he survives to the end of the round.
During this round and the next both fighters will go down at least once, either by punch or throw, the ring shaking as their bodies hit the canvas. At the end of the third round blue shorts holds his hands up above his head as the two fighter retreat to their corners. Though red shorts looks tough, blue shorts is clearly outboxing him. In their respective corners the two fighters stand in a metal tin used to collect the cold water their trainers pour over their muscles, stretching their arms and resting on plastic stools. Tourist women from the crowd are given round number signs and they parade around the ring, giggling at the whoops and whistles from their friends. It’s an odd contrast to the violence.
Tristan and I had talked about the ethics of a bunch of white tourists watching Thai guys beat the bejesus out of each other for money. Before the fight I argued it was fine- we do this in our own culture with similar sports and these guys are clearly athletes, not some punks, but it’s harder to hang onto my conviction as I watch the fight and wonder how much each kick to the head is costing them compared to how much they’re getting paid for the night. Every spectator paid 3 USD to watch, and afterward the fighters will walk around the ring and shake hands with each individual audience member, at which point more tips will be given.
The bell goes, and the fighters step together for a fourth round.
Like the preceding rounds, it’s a tempest, blue shorts again putting red shorts down, red shorts looking for clinches and finding some salvation with short uppercuts on the breaks. Even tied up the two manage to deliver viscous knees to the stomach and ribs.
As the fourth round begins, we wonder how many rounds they plan to fight. A professional boxing match can go as long as 12, an MMA fight 5. It doesn’t look like these two are pacing themselves for either; save for the first round there has been hardly any poking at each other’s defenses. They are both going in with battering rams.
Halfway into the fourth red shorts connects with a spectacular punch to the head and blue shorts goes down. The ref starts counting him out but doesn’t even count five before he is waving his hands and calling the fight and waving in the medics. Red shorts makes a round of bows in the ring while blue shorts remains motionless, by the time he finishes blue shorts regains consciousness and gets shakily to his feet. Red shorts comes around to thank him for the fight and he jumps and brings his hands up to defend himself, still disoriented. After another round of bows, stiffer this time, the two fighters exit the ring. Red shorts, the winner, is on our side of the ring, and he slowly slips his feet into his sandals and limps off into the dark. Three days until his next fight.
Lead Climbing
Wednesday we learn to lead climb with Maxi, who had been with us the previous day belaying other climbers. One was struggling with a line and asked where the good holds were. He looked at the route and shrugged. “To me they’re all good holds.” He proceeded to solo the first five moves in flip flops. This was typical advice from the guides, who alternated encouragement with good natured harassment as we struggled up the routes. “Use your arms and your legs!” was a popular one, as well as “What you doing? Go up!”
The other guides said Maxi is the strongest climber of the group at Base camp and he looks it, slight but powerful, skin pulled tight over his muscles. He covers clipping in, belaying and tying off at the top, cleaning your gear on the way down. He’s funny and knowledgeable, the morning passes quickly and by the end of the day we feel both safe and confident to go out on our own.
When we go to rent our gear for the next day, Helga, a German woman who owns Base camp, tells us she gets a lot of climbers in who learn to lead in gyms and think they know what they’re doing. Singaporians are the worst, she says, they all run back and forth to belay, it must be how they teach it there. That technique may work fine in the gym she says, but here, “Lots of sprained ankles when we rent to Singapore guys”.
Fire Wall
We pass our first day on our own at Fire Wall, a wall so named because it is incredibly hot during the day; but a popular site because of the lower grade routes and a great view of the beach from the top. Good climbing, friendly people. We’re apprehensive to be out on our own after just one day of lessons, but we double check everything and successfully send and clean our first route, GrooveTube, safely and voila, I guess we’re real climbers now.
Wee’s Present
With our backpacks, climbing shoes, harnesses and slings full of metal we jangle our way past tourists in tiny swimsuits taking pictures of themselves on Railay beach. I imagine we look as silly to them as they do to us, but quietly I feel more legitimate with a harness over my shoulder than a camera.
The limestone cliffs here are incredible. Over millions of years rainfall mixed with minerals in the soil to become acidic then dripped drop by mineral filled drop to form stalactites, bulbous mounds and rock prison bars protruding off of the sheer faces. “This is like something off a cliff bar package,” Tristan exclaims.
We climb a warm up route then I make a 6b+ with a bold start down low. Luckily we were tall enough to clip the first bolt from standing and Tristan keeps me tight on the rope as I battle and fall repeatedly before making it through the first set of moves to the second clip, but smooth sailing from then on. Tristan has some trouble with another route but goes up for a second go and sends it. We go to lunch happy.
Thaiwand Wall
That afternoon we hike to the Thaiwand wall, which is the find of the trip. Every route on the wall looks out over all three beaches- Railay East, Railay West, and Tonsai; the routes are all exposed, 25m routes begin on a narrow path below which is another 70m of free fall to the ocean. The whole wall is in the shade and there’s a good breeze blowing, kayaks and boats pass in the crystal blue waters below.
“This is the most beautiful place on earth.There are many such places.”
-Edward Abbey
I send a 6b, a peppy series of overhangs mixed with ledges to catch your breath on and let your balls come back out from hiding. Some excitement near the top- I stop at a ledge 20m up that feels much higher, stumped. According to the guidebook the route was supposed to only have 9 clips, I brought all 12 on my belt anyways but am down to only two, with two bolts but no anchor in sight. A quick aside- At lunch we had read about how they are replacing all the stainless steel bolts with titanium ones as the conditions here can make a stainless steel bolt dangerously corroded in just a matter of months, with no visible problems from the outside. (Support the Thaitanium project here.) Case in point, nearly every bolt on this route comes with two or three options to clip to- steel, titanium or slings. I hadn’t been counting, just clipping anything that looked like it would protect me that wasn’t stainless steel as I went up and over the ledges, which is how I found myself near the top of the route with not enough gear.
I can see two more bolts on the next overhang but the ledge blocks my view above, I can’t see an anchor. So already I don’t have an extra clip for the anchor if it’s tough, but what if it’s just a couple of bolts to make your own anchor off of, or what if there is an anchor, but it’s 3 or 4 more bolts up? I hang out on the ledge wondering if I feel strong (and brave) enough to gamble taking a swing on the overhang until Andy, an OG climber from England that’s been climbing Tonsai since before they had motorized boats, tops out his climb nearby and I ask him about it. “No worries mate, its right there. Last part’s like climbing up an elephants bum. Have fun!” He gives a cheeky wave and disappears down the side, casual as if I’d asked for directions to the pub.
His attitude inspires me and I go for it. The last moves are tight but I battle it out and wriggle my way over the top, clip in and sit in my harness looking over the best damn view in Railay. Between the excitement with the clips, the difficulty, the exposure and the view it’s a lot, I need a moment at the top to take it in. I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude to be up doing something so difficult and beautiful and simple and pointless and perfect in this amazing place.
I come down and Tristan flashes his 6a+, the most exposed route of the wall, starting with a traverse off of the belay path into thin air, and comes down with the same look on as me. This is a special place.
We’re packing to walk down, talking with other climbers, when we get a tip that you can climb an easy route, maybe a 4 or a 5, and it puts you into a series of caves that comes out the other side of the mountain. We’re in. We belay each other up into the caves, which have a series of bamboo ladders and ropes through the pitch darkness into the depths of the mountain. When you shine your light on the ceiling you can see hundreds of black dots. Bats. We keep our exclamations about the cave to a minimum. The caves are giant, as if the mountain is hollow, with occasional glimpses out windows of distant islands, blue waters and white beaches. We come out the other side and take a dip in the ocean before jangling home as the sun sets on the best climbs of the trip.
Often a good story comes from a good crisis, so maybe this made a better vacation than a story. So be it. I am typing with raw fingertips, I found the kinds of problems I was looking for.