Fighting Fit: Lao boxers kick it up a level on the banks of the Mekong
Daniel Allen
Thai-style kickboxing is arguably the most extreme form of unarmed combat. While boxers from Thailand have long dominated the sport, young practitioners from neighbouring Laos are now taking the fight to their feted counterparts.
Match of the Day
A swollen eye bag, blood-encrusted nostrils, bruised shins and a re-opened gash on the elbow - Sisouk Thongpadsa's body is taking a beating. As the bell goes the wiry eighteen-year-old boxer staggers back to his corner for another pep talk and patching up session. Under the bright lights of Vientiane's main muay lao (Lao kickboxing) arena, the crowd rises to its feet to shout encouragement and exchange crumpled banknotes.
In Vientiane, the Laotian capital, Saturday night is fight night. But while the prize money for big kickboxing events in neighbouring Thailand can run to thousands of dollars, the purse here is a little more modest. In Thongpadsa's class, the winner will take home around US$90, although this will have to be shared with his coach, his parents, and probably his girlfriend.
"I'm not really fighting for the money right now," explains Thongpadsa before the match, his numerous tattoos and bleached hair at odds with an earnest, somewhat bashful demeanour. "I'm fighting for the experience. Boxing in front of a crowd against a stranger is completely different to training in the gym with your coach or sparring partner. Before these matches I used to feel nervous and sick. But the more I fight, the more routine it becomes and the better I can perform."
With the minute's break nearly up, Thongpadsa shakes his head, dog-like, crouching forward on the low stool. A fine arc of water droplets and blood sprays the referee's table below. Thongpadsa punches himself twice on the forehead with his outsized yellow mitts, psyching himself up for the last of the five rounds. Both fighters have landed solid hits, both are bleeding - the points tally is going to be close.
At the sound of the bell Thongpadsa launches himself forward, kicking low at the outside of his opponent's leg, his left shin striking the outside of the right kneecap. Then both fighters are locked in a frantic embrace as a wild-eyed Thongpadsa employs the "clinch", his forearms pressed tight against the other fighter's collarbone, his mitts cradling the back of his adversary's head. He knees the other fighter repeatedly in the inside of the thigh and abdomen until the pair finally stumble against the ropes, too exhausted to stay on their feet.
The referee gesticulates and shouts instructions, as the fight becomes an exercise in cagey circling. The final bell mercifully sounds the end of the bout and the shattered duo cursorily touch mitts. Thongpadsa raises a gloved fist in premature celebration, while the partisan crowd return the salute and roar their approval. The other fighter is clearly not from Vientiane and appears resigned to defeat.
The two referees duly proclaim Thongpadsa the winner, and he sinks to his knees to kiss the floor of the ring. As the crowd chants his name, the pain and exhaustion are forgotten. Coach and support staff shroud the victor in a shiny boxing robe, and rush him off for some first aid, a massage, and the liberal application of tiger balm.
At some point an envelope containing fourteen 50,000 kip notes will find its way into Thongpadsa's kit bag. It's scant reward for the hours of training, not to mention the bodily punishment, but as he revels in the adoration, the young boxer's mind is already dreaming of bigger things.
Progressive Pugilism
While Thai kickboxing, or muay thai, is famous the world over, far fewer people realize that derivations of the sport are widely practiced across Indochina - in Laos, Cambodia and Myanmar. According to historians muay lao, which is all but identical to muay thai, originated in northeastern Thailand, although others claim kickboxing was first conceived in Cambodia.
Today muay lao is incredibly popular in Laos, although kickboxing in this sleepy nation of just six million people is way behind Thailand in terms of skills and prize money.
"Muay thai fighters are still better than those in Laos," says Vientiane-based kickboxing coach Kampanad Xunlavong. "Until recently there was nobody supporting the sport here, no television deals, no sponsorship at all. Competition prize money is still not enough for a Laotian kickboxer to live on, especially if they stay in Laos. All of the boxers I know have other jobs, and they come to me in the evening to train."
Still, regular professional fights do take place now in Vientiane, and numerous amateur matches are held during countryside festivals. It's common to see Laotian pugilists come together on the banks and sand flats of the Mekong to compete in impromptu bouts whenever there's money to be made.
Indeed, with Laos now developing rapidly, so the standard of muay lao is improving too. One only has to look at the number of shiny new SUVs on the streets of Vientiane to see how the local economy is taking off. A growing number of well-trained Laotian boxers routinely make the journey across the Mekong to compete against their Thai counterparts, inspiring more youngsters to take up the sport.
"You know, it's a bit of a stereotype that the Lao people are a gentle, lackadaisical race," says Stephen Parker, a Vientiane-based Australian expat working for the Asian Development Bank. "Put a Laotian boxer in the ring and he wants to win. The passion, the pride, the naked aggression is all there. After seeing my first competitive muay lao fight here I realized these guys don't hold back."
Full Contact Focus
Kickboxing is often referred to as "the science of eight limbs", as the hands, feet, elbows and knees are all used extensively. Almost all techniques in muay lao involve full movement of the body, with a boxer rotating the hips with each kick, punch and block. This is where much of a kickboxer's power is generated, and this is what sets muay lao and muay thai apart from other forms of martial art.
In fact, taking part in a real kickboxing match is one of the most dangerous things you can do, without using a weapon. Fought in a ring, over five rounds of three minutes, the majority of bouts end in a technical knockout (or TKO, where the referee stops the fight) or an actual knockout. It's not uncommon to see a fighter being carried out of the ring on a stretcher.
Muay lao focuses on parts of the body normally off limits for use in other combat sports, principally the knees and elbows. Combining these with extremely powerful kicks, and boxing gloves designed to limit the amount of punches thrown, typically results in broken jaws, cracked ribs, damaged knees, internal bleeding, and periods of unconsciousness. It's rare to see a muay lao boxer over the age of 30.
Apart from hip rotation, another distinguishing characteristic of muay lao is the use of the shin bone as the striking body part. While most martial arts use the instep of the foot, Lao boxers prefer to use a harder, thicker bone to inflict damage.
"The problem with using the foot is that it has a lot of small bones, so it's easier to break something or get hurt," explains Kampanad Xunlavong. "Lao boxers will often toughen up their shin bones by repeatedly kicking a banana tree."
By creating micro-fractures in their shin bones, kickboxers turn a normally fragile bone into a strong, blunt club. A single kick to an opponent's knee or thigh is often enough to induce a severe limp, and many muay lao TKOs come about because a fighter falls to a kick and is no longer able to stand up, much less continue to fight.
In muay lao, all parts of the body except the groin are considered a fair target. Common moves include elbow thrusts to the head and face, high kicks to the neck, low crescent kicks to the calf, and knee hooks to the ribs. A fighter is even allowed to grasp the opponent's head with his hands to pull it down for an upward knee thrust (the "clinch"). Most kicks are used to soften the opponent's knees and legs while elbow strikes are crucial in nearly all matches.
Because of the fearsome power involved with muay lao techniques, fighters don't usually block strikes as in other martial arts. Boxers prefer to evade attacks by stepping out of range, or moving toward their opponent in order to mitigate the force of a kick.
"Usually there's no advantage to be gained from blocking," says Xunlavong. "I tell my fighters it's better to dodge than defend. You have to learn to read your opponent's body language, and quick reaction times are critical."
Generation Game
Kampanad Xunlavong was just 23 years old when he competed in the 1980 Moscow Olympics. Apart from short trips across the Mekong into neighbouring Thailand, it was the first time the Vientiane native had ventured beyond the borders of Laos.
"It was exciting, and it was scary," he says. "I'd never been away from home for such a long time. I'd never flown in an airplane before. I'd never seen a city as big as Moscow, with so many cars and its very own subway. Our training conditions were very basic back then and I didn't win a medal, but it was still a proud moment for me. I was proud to represent my country, and my father, who was also a kickboxer and taught me everything."
Having hung up his gloves at the grand old age of 40, Xunlavong now spends most of his time coaching at the grandly titled Kwanjai Sikhot Boxing Gym. Tucked away down a unmade road close to Vientiane airport, it's more a dusty courtyard-with-ring style affair than somewhere you'd expect to see Wladimir Klitschko hanging out. Still, with a long line of muay lao trophies adorning the ringside display case, it's obvious that Kwanjai Sikhot has bred its fair share of champion boxers.
Xunlavong now has 13 fighters on his books, of which five are women. This includes his 13-year-old daughter Nina. "Kids can start kickboxing when they're eight," he explains. "They can fight in competitions when they're eight. People ask me how I can let my daughter fight, but I never worry. I've trained her well. She knows how to stay out of trouble."
Kwanjai Sikhot is a truly egalitarian institution. "We accept everyone," says Xunlavong. "If a kickboxer has boxing in the heart, he or she can be great. A body can always be trained, but not the mind. If a student is determined to succeed, and always listens to the coach, then there is potential for greatness. It's not about physical attributes, it's about technique. I've seen boxers weighing 60 kilogrammes knock out guys three times their size."
Xunlavong also trains foreigners. With gym and coaching fees in Laos about one third the price of Thailand, it's little wonder a long line of Europeans, Americans and even Thai kickboxers beat a path to Kwanjai Sikhot. "You don't need fancy gear or a big bank account to be a great boxer," says Xunlavong. "You need dedication."
Young Blood
Dwarfed by a full size Kwanjai Sikhot kick bag, Captain Phonsyry's 12-year-old body looks deceptively weak. Outsized boxing shorts accentuate a flat chest and a barely developed musculature. Put him in the ring, however, and it's clear this wiry youth from the outskirts of Vientiane has plenty of potential.
Today Captain is at Kwanjai Sikhot to practice his angle or roundhouse kicks. Kampanad Xunlavong straps on a pair of well worn kickboxing pads and clambers into the ring. After a quick warm-up, Captain starts to throw roundhouse kicks, twisting his hips and shoulders through ninety degrees as he slams his shins into the cushioned mitts. With Xunlavong bracing himself for repeated impacts, the power generated by such a small frame is phenomenal.
"When executed properly the roundhouse kick is the most powerful weapon in the martial arts world," explains Xunlavong, as coach and student take a break. "I tell my students not to kick at their target. I want them to imagine hitting the other side of their opponent's ribs… and then hitting someone else. That's what I call a hard muay lao kick."
He may yearn for soft drinks and instant noodles, but Captain Phonsyry is already on a strict diet of fruit, vegetables, eggs and meat. While his friends knock back the fizzy pop, Captain has to make do with mango juice.
"He's only been training for six months," says Captain's father Kao Phonsyry, "but he takes part in competitions every month in Thailand already. He can beat fighters his age from Laos, and he can beat fighters from Thailand.
"You know, people from Laos and northern Thailand are ethnically the same," continues Kao. "In terms of kickboxing we just lacked the money and management. Now there are more gyms opening in Vientiane and companies with money are getting involved. In five years our boxers will be as good as their boxers. That includes my son."
Kao is now putting his money where his mouth is by building a new kickboxing gym on the other side of Vientiane to Kwanjai Sikhot. Companies such as Beer Lao and Singha Beer have already inquired about sponsorship. Tour agencies will soon bring minibuses full of eager holidaymakers to witness demonstration fights.
"This gym is my son's legacy," says Kao, pointing toward a block of unfinished changing rooms and covered ring. "When he retires from kickboxing he will manage this project. That's how much faith I have in the future of muay lao. It's not about making our national sport as famous as Thai kickboxing. It's about fulfilling our potential."
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