First day in town, Tony wandered through Nathon, the main town on the island, looking for a watering hole and shelter from the midday sun on this hot and humid day.
It was Saturday, so I was sitting at the bar in the restaurant that my girlfriend Phen and I run in Nathon sipping an iced beer when Tony walked up.
"Gimme a cold one, for Christ's sake" he said as he sat down on one of the bamboo bar stools at the bamboo bar facing the street.
"Here, I get fan for you" said Phen as Tony was wiping the sweat from his face onto his T-shirt. She walked over and turned on one of the fans, pointing it at Tony. Voy, our barman, headed out back to the icebox for fulfill Tony's request for a cold one.
"Goddamn it's hot here" Tony said.
How many times had I heard that? Plenty. "Yeah" I replied, "It's pretty much always hot here, right now this is the cool season actually".
"Cool season" Tony muttered as Voy placed the cold beer inside a cooler onto the bar in front of Tony. He drank it in a single hit then said "another one please". Voy was glad to help out on that one and hustled back out to the icebox.
"You staying in town?" I asked Tony.
"Yeah, down at the Win Hotel".
"When you get in?" asked Phen.
"Just today" he replied.
All the usual questions we throw at guests to get them talking. It's pretty much a rehearsed thing but there is no lack of sincerity in the fact that we actually are interested.
"You staying long in town?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I plan to stay here as a base while I tour the island" he answered.
"Yeah, I see that and that is why I am not there. I don't like crowded places and Nathon is pretty quiet" he said.
"Is there anything to do in Nathon today?" Tony asked Phen, "anything interesting around here or should I go hire a bike and go across the island somewhere?".
"Buffalo fights today just out of Nathon" Phen replied, "I go there today, you can come, you got a bike to ride yet?" she asked.
Tony looked a bit surprised and said "Yeah, I rented a bike already but - naaaah, I don't like blood sports, especially with animals involved".
"No blood sport" said Phen, squeezing the words out between her giggles. "Buffalo fight each other, not fight man with sword like in Spain bull fight" Phen said.
"What do they do then, what happens?" Tony asked, turning to me.
"Here, let me explain" I said. "The buffalo fights are pretty much an exclusive to Samui. And the buffalo's never, ever get seriously hurt. A good fighter is worth a lot of money to it's owner and they look after them real well, don't worry. Treat them li
ke they are family they do. There are about six main fighting arenas around the island, just little cleared areas with bamboo barriers to keep the buff's in the ring."
"The fight's are fun to go to, mate. It's always busy, lots of cars and trucks full of people. It's a big deal with the gambling, which of course is very illegal" I said.
"Don't they get busted?" asked Tony.
"No, the cops don't bust it. I think they get a percentage of the fight's takings" I answered. "The money is big. Real big. Business men fly in from outside the island and bring fucking brief cases of cash with them. Last fight I went to some dude lays hi
s brief case out on the hood of his BMW and opens it. I swear there must have been a few million baht in there. People loose their houses on these fights - or win them. Mate of Phen won a fucking truck last week when he won a private bet with somebody.
"Come with us. We'll be going out there about 2 o'clock. It's kind of like a carnival, you see?. When you roll up out front of the arena there's lot's of food vendors and people selling beer and whisky. There's always little old ladies with stands of souv
enirs and little buffalo's carved out of coconut shell. Everybody is buzzing around, the air stinks of buffalo shit and money.
"The owners of the buff's hang over in the far corner, fixing up their animals. The buff's are painted with religious symbols, Pali script and patterns of color. The owners oil their bodies and rub them down before the fight. They kneel in front of them m
aking prayers to Buddha or some animist thing. Pray to the fucking trees or something, or the spirit of some shit or another".
"No," Phen piped in. "They praying to kind of, um, mix Hindu Buddhist thing, some god, something" she said. "Pray for their buff win fight, win money, pray for that".
"Yeah" I went on, "they pray for stuff and rub up the buff's with coconut oil and paint them up like the stuff on temple walls here. The people crowd around the bamboo arena and the buff's are lead in. The money is flying from hand to hand, from bookie to
bettor and back again.
When they lead the buffalo into the arena, the beasts just stand there doing that blank-look-chewing-the-cud routine, you know, same look as on the faces of the girls at the go-go bars, right Phen" I said.
"That's right" said Phen.
"Never been to a go-go bar here yet" said Tony, "guess I'll go take a peek when I go up to Bangkok next week and see if you're right".
"Yeah, you do that mate" I replied, then went on with the yarn. "The owners have to sort of whack the buff's on the arse to get them riled up enough to fight. Well it is kind of a fight.... One buff will kind of bump the other buff with the round o
utside edge of his horns, not the sharp ends. Then the other buff will sort of lumber over and bump him back. Then they grunt a lot and stare at each other. Then again the bumps, this time perhaps a little harder.
When they bolt, that's when sometimes they bust out of the bamboo barrier and run amok amongst the crowd. I've never seen anybody actually hurt bad, and it's so fucking funny to see.
"Last time I scooted up a tree myself and Phen took to the top of a ten wheel truck. The whole crowd was roaring with laughter as they scattered all over the place.
"And I've never seen much damage on the animals at all. Worst I remember was when one actually did attack the other one with the tips of his horns. He made a couple of deep gouges in the side of the other animal, but it wasn't fatal and I remember the own
ers being real upset about it. The fight was stopped. The buff's usually just whack each other sideways with the edges of their horns".
"What time now?" asked Phen.
"Shit, it's nearly two o'clock" I said as I looked down at my watch. "Hey, Voy, you take over the bar, mate, OK?".
Voy the barman nodded in agreement and I looked over at Tony. "You want to come mate?" I asked him.
"Sure, sounds like fun, eh?".
"It is, I tell you. They have these fights about each two weeks and rotate them around the six or so arenas on the island. Sometimes the traffic jams around the area for hours while the fight's on. We'll probably have to park half a K away to get a spot b
y now, let's go, eh?".
We went out onto the hot street and jumped into our open "Jeep" - a Jeep like body with a Toyota motor, fold-down roof and big wheels, great for the island's slippery, sandy roads. We drove out along the Nathon beach front road, the Sea Gypsy's brightly p
ainted boats sat grounded on the low tide, Chinese go-downs washed down their floors and the smell of fish filled the air. Good old Nathon. The Samui-to-Surat Thani car-ferry's horn blared from the wharf as we cleared the end of the town and out onto the
road to the buffalo fighting arena just out of town.
Rounding the corner I could see the packs of parked cars, the familiar and ever-present food and drink vendors (one of the best features of living in Thailand) and buffaloes being unloaded from pickups and trucks. We parked the car and all jumped out into
a cloud of smoke from a woman cooking chicken on a charcoal brazier. The sun beat down between the palms and the heat made the air hazy. Phen was chattering excitedly to another Thai lady as we went into the main area. She was going to place some bets to
day. She is Thai and Thais love to gamble. We were off to see the buffalo fights.
Tony had just landed on the island of Koh Samui in Thailand. Two weeks off from his job in a bank in England. Two weeks of laying in t
he sun under swaying palm trees, sipping a cocktail and watching the sunset over the Angthong Island group off the coast of Samui. The usual tropical holiday dream. Not a bad dream at that, actually. And quite a nice reality too.
"Most folk hang out at Chaweng or Lami beach" I said.
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I took a mouthful of my beer then went on. "Actually, the real fun starts when the fighting buff's bust out of the bamboo. The whole crowd scatters - up trees, under cars, on top of
cars, just running around! Shit, it's fucking funny!"
"Then they'll lock horns and struggle around a while until one of them breaks out and whacks the other one really hard and he takes a run for it and bolts. That is the looser. Th
e one that runs looses, the one that stands wins.
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