The whining notes of an amplified oboe, pounding drums, the distinctive smell of boxing liniment commingled with that of  whisky and sweaty bodies pressed together, four dangling 800-watt globes hanging from poles under a tree in a monastery, bandaged fists, blood, guns, hands waving money in the air, and an audience of Burmese, Thai, Karen, Muslims, Buddhists, Christians, soldiers, monks, refugees, migrant labourers and migrant bosses. This is bare knuckle boxing on the border, an intense sporting spectacle and a bizarre insight into Thai – Burmese relations.