I'm Alone in Thailand

I just waved goodbye to my older brother Ollie and my new German mate Phin as a red and yellow striped taxi with an impractical carbon fibre spoiler that overcompensates for its Toyota Carolla chassis drove them away into the Bangtao Beach sunset.

They're headed to Phuket International Airport, most likely anxiously gripping the seam of a suspiciously stained sheepskin seat cover as a flock of Russian tourists weave their rental scooters through the impossibly narrow gap between the modded-up taxi and a Transformers-themed Tuk Tuk, but nonetheless soaking up their last moments in Thailand before they return to the customs of western life that cease to exists in this anarchic realm.

Phin has an excruciatingly long journey ahead of him to Cologne. His 6’10 stature has its perks – he learnt this the easy way in the hostels of party-capital Krabi – but squeezing into an economy seat that feels more like an infant’s highchair for 14 hours sure isn’t one of them.

Then there’s Ollie, who claims to be six feet but is really 5’11, who will far more comfortably board a 737 for nine hours back to my hometown of Brisbane.

See, there’s perks to being a Short King!

Ollie was supposed to keep me company for the final four days of training here at Bangtao Muay Thai & MMA, but the bloke couldn’t bare another second away from the misses. Must be nice.

Good news is, without him insisting on using my laptop solely for Netflix rom-coms and Nick Bare YouTube videos, I now have free rein to write about my Muay Thai experience in the heart of Phuket.

So, without further ado, let's rewind one month.