069 CYCLING THAILAND (3) - EN ROUTE TO MYANMAR

69 THAILAND (3)
Bangkok – Mae Sot - Myanmar Border
572 Kilometres – 15 Days
16 March – 29 March 2015

MAP

PHOTOS

 

  

16 - 20 March - Colombo, Sri Lanka – Bangkok, Thailand

I completed my cycle around the island of Sri Lanka upon reaching Colombo. The following day, I booked a flight to Bangkok, Thailand, mainly to secure a visa for Myanmar. Despite my flight departing at 7:20 a.m., my taxi could only pick me up at 3:00 a.m. for some strange reason. Nonetheless, I arrived early at the airport, which gave me ample time to wrap my bike box.

A few hours after the flight touched down in Bangkok, a taxi soon dropped me off in the popular tourist area of Banglamphu, also known as ‘Backpackerville’. I was pleased to see that the area around Khao San Road was just as lively as I remembered it from 6 years ago, packed with vendors selling everything from clothing to fake IDs and even deep-fried scorpions on a stick. I settled into a room at a guesthouse along Phra Athit Road and made it home for the next few days.

By morning, I submitted my passport to the Myanmar Embassy to apply for a visa. The process took a few days, so I took it easy and explored the city. I relied on the Skytrain to get to and from the city centre, where I hoped to find a new phone charger. I always enjoyed using public transport in foreign cities as it made me feel like I was learning something while getting around. The following day was spent visiting a few temples as I thought the temples of Thailand were exquisite. They are not merely old but immensely colourful and ornate.

One can’t be in Bangkok and not pop into Wat Pho (The Temple of the Reclining Buddha). Famed for its giant reclining Buddha measuring 46 metres in length and 15 metres in height, it’s impressive by anyone’s standards. Unfortunately, the weather was sweltering, and the place was swarming with tourists making me exit the overcrowded hall in a hurry.

The way back led past numerous mobile carts selling various goods, including second-hand false teeth, and I thought that when someone sells second-hand false teeth, no one can accuse them of not trying.

A few days later, I collected the Myanmar visa and was ready to cycle out of Bangkok. The Mae Sot-Myawaddy border was one of the few open borders between Thailand and Myanmar and was roughly a week’s cycle away. The route was sprinkled with interesting sights, so I was in no hurry.

I used my time to get a leg wax and pedicure and, by evening, sauntered along the river to take a few pictures. Unfortunately, I didn’t come across much to capture, except the old fort along Phra Athit Road. So, instead, I had a beer and a bite to eat in the alleyways.

 

21-22 March - Bangkok – Ayutthaya - 90 km

Cycling out of Bangkok was effortless but slow due to the roadworks. Eventually, I reached a rural path next to a canal that led me through a typical Thai countryside with ornate temples and bright green rice paddies. The weather was scorching, and I was relieved to arrive at Ayutthaya, which offered affordable accommodation. 

Despite arriving late, I made my way to the famous ruins of Ayutthaya, now recognised as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Ayutthaya was established in 1350 and served as the country's capital until it was destroyed by the Burmese Army in 1767. At its height, Ayutthaya was one of the largest and wealthiest cities in the East. This era also marked the peak of Thai regional dominance.

Today, the ruins cover a vast area, and I spent an extra day exploring some of the outlying ruins in Ayutthaya. The following morning, I took my bicycle and explored more old ruins and temples.

 

23 March - Ayutthaya – Lopburi - 65 km

Lopburi, a small city with impressive ruins, was a short and pleasurable bike ride away. NooM Guesthouse, which offers budget rooms, is ideally located and caters to backpackers. Since Lopburi is small, nearly all attractions are within easy walking distance.   

Later, I took a short stroll to the Prang Sam Yot temple, home to a troop of resident monkeys. According to Hindu-Buddhist beliefs, monkeys have divine connections and shouldn't be harmed. Despite being a menace, they are fed instead of chased away. Tourists love the experience, but shopkeepers constantly battle as the monkeys grab anything left unattended.

 

24 March - Lopburi – Nakhon Sawan - 131 km

The day was overcast, which made for pleasant biking, and the threatening clouds didn't bring any rain. With the weather in my favour, I continued towards Nakhon Sawan, where I found the P.A. Place Hotel. The hotel had convenient, motel-style rooms on the ground floor and was located near restaurants, making it an easy choice.

Although Nakhon Sawan didn't have many attractions, it was situated at the confluence of the Ping and Nan Rivers, which merge to form the mighty Chao Phraya River.

 

25-26 March - Nakhon Sawan – Kamphaeng Phet (Kamphaengphet) - 126 km

The weather was partly cloudy, so I continued biking towards Kamphaeng Phet, famous for its impressive ruins and another UNESCO World Heritage Site. On my way, I met Mel and Lee, who were travelling by car and stopped to chat. Mel is from Australia, and Lee from Thailand. They have made Chang Mai their home after three years of cycle touring.

I couldn't resist buying some rice cooked in bamboo from a stall I came across, and it turned out to be the best rice I've ever tasted. Once I arrived in Kamphaeng Phet, I opted for the Three J Guesthouse, which had some unique and interesting rooms.

The following day, I spent my time exploring the historical areas and buildings of Kamphaeng Phet, which date back to the 14th century. Running around the old ruins like a famous explorer was fun but, unfortunately, I lost my phone in the process.

 

27 March - Kamphaeng Phet – Tak - 70 km

The day marked my eighth year of cycle touring. During this time, I have witnessed countless magnificent sights, met incredible people, and tried some unusual food. I have crossed mountains and deserts, and on many days, questioned my sanity.

The journey from Phet to Tak was, however, enjoyable as the route followed the Ping River. Although it was a relatively short day, a significant mountain range loomed ahead on the way to Mae Sot and the Myanmar border. Therefore, Tak was an excellent place to overnight before embarking on the final 90 kilometres to Myanmar.

 

28-29 March - Tak – Mae Sot - 90 km

I left Tak without having breakfast, assuming I would find a place to eat during the day. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a suitable location, and the day became a slow and challenging ride over the mountains. As I approached the top of the first big climb, I was disheartened to see yet another incline. Luckily, the weather changed, and the overcast conditions made biking easier. Still, I wheezed my way up the steep inclines.

Finally, I spotted a temple atop a hill, which usually marked the high point. Cars were honking as they passed, and I assumed it was a good luck thing. Exhausted, I was relieved to see the way down. The descent was equally steep, and I sped down and into the border town of Mae Sot, reaching speeds of almost 60 km/h.

Despite being tired and hungry, I managed to find a budget room at the First Hotel, which seemed to be the oldest hotel in Mae Sot. The rooms were huge and decorated with beautiful Burmese teak furniture. Even the corridors and staircase were adorned with wooden carvings. The next day, I spent the best part of the day doing laundry and eating more than two days' worth of food.

Mae Sot is a fascinating border town with a diverse population. I had lunch at Khrua Canadian, where Dave and his wife had been running the restaurant for the past 17 years. Dave was not only knowledgeable about food but also possessed a wealth of information.

 

31 March - Mae Sot, Thailand - Myawaddy, Myanmar - 10 km

Mae Sot, Thailand, was just a five-kilometre bike ride from the Friendship Bridge, which served as the border control point between Thailand and Myanmar. Since I already had a visa, I only needed a stamp in my passport.

It always amazed me how crossing a line on a map could lead to such a vastly different environment. The people, clothing, food, currency, and language were all different from what I was used to in Thailand. After completing customs and immigration procedures, the next task was to withdraw Myanmar currency from an ATM. The exchange rate was 1,000 kyats to 1 USD, and I had to buy a new wallet to store all the notes.

Once again, Myanmar surprised me with its unique culture. Men still wore the traditional longyi, many had red-stained teeth from chewing paan, and almost everyone used face paint.

068 CYCLE TOURING SRI LANKA

Coconuts, Chaos & the Kindness of Strangers: A Cyclist’s Sri Lankan Misadventure

68 SRI LANKA
1045 Km – 22 Days
22 February – 16 March 2015

MAP
Photos

 

 

Prelude

Sri Lanka arrived in my life the way a sudden monsoon does: warm, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. I landed with a bicycle, half a plan, and the naïve belief that luggage always follows its owner. What I found instead was an island humming with colour and kindness, where tuk‑tuks behaved like caffeinated insects, monks drifted past in saffron robes, and every road promised either enlightenment or mild terror. I didn’t know it yet, but this small teardrop of land would become one of those rare places that feels instantly familiar, even as it surprises you at every turn.

 

 

Arrival in Sri Lanka - Missing Luggage & Snake Charmers

The flight from Muscat to Colombo touched down in the bleary, pre‑coffee hours of 22 February, a time of day when no one should be expected to make life decisions, let alone locate luggage. SriLankan Airlines, clearly agreeing with this philosophy, had misplaced my bag entirely. The bike, however, arrived—because of course the one object shaped like a small industrial machine makes it through, while the bag containing my worldly possessions vanishes into the ether.

After drawing a few rupees and acquiring a SIM card from a man who looked genuinely surprised anyone would want one at that hour.

Still, I left the airport—minus luggage—and hailed a taxi into Colombo.

Sri Lanka was love at first sight. As the taxi rattled toward town, I realised I had entered the land of tuk‑tuks, paan, Buddhas, monks, and traffic that behaved like a large, excitable family reunion. Everything was green and humid and slightly chaotic, and I felt instantly at home. 

The next morning, the airline phoned to say they had located my bag, presumably in the same place it had been all along. It was delivered to the Clock Inn hostel, my temporary Colombo residence. The bag had been opened, but only my Swiss Army knife was missing, which suggested someone had rummaged through my belongings, discovered nothing but tattered cycling gear, and thought, “Well, at least I can take the knife.” I imagined them sighing in disappointment. I reassembled the bike and set off to explore the historic part of town.

The old market was impossible to cycle through. It was the kind of place where even pedestrians walked single‑file. I pushed the bike along narrow lanes while vendors shouted, chickens objected loudly to their existence, and the smell of spices drifted through the air like a warm invitation.

Later I ambled to the beachfront, where the sunset itself was unremarkable—more of a polite dimming of the sky—but a snake charmer appeared, apparently hypnotising a snake with a pungi. I didn’t know snake charmers still existed outside of cartoons. The snake looked unimpressed, but the charmer was having a wonderful time.

 

Traffic, Temples & Tropical Rain (80 km)

Sri Lanka is small enough that one needn’t race around it like a contestant on a reality show. After breakfast, I loaded the bike and headed south toward Galle.

Cycling in Sri Lanka is an adrenaline sport. My hands were permanently on the brakes, and my eyes were glued to the road. I wove through tuk‑tuks, buses, trucks, ox carts, and the occasional holy cow who clearly believed traffic laws did not apply to her. The coastal route passed temples and fruit juice stands, and I felt as though I never truly left Colombo—the traffic simply continued, like a long, unbroken conversation.

I reached Bentota shortly after midday. The village offered everything a weary cyclist could want: accommodation, food vendors, a river, a beach stretching for miles, and the Galapata Vihara Temple with its underground tunnels that looked suspiciously like they were designed for people much smaller than me.

Then the rain arrived—tropical, theatrical, unapologetic. I put my feet up, opened a beer, and watched it pour down in biblical quantities. It was perfect.

 

Temples & Tourist Pricing in Galle(70 km)

Sri Lanka is a country of many religions, all of which seem to coexist with admirable patience. Every village had a church, a Buddhist stupa, a mosque, and a Hindu temple, as though the town planners had simply decided to include one of everything.

The Hindu temples were my favourite—immensely ornate, colourful, and impossible to pass without taking a photo. Buddhist monks drifted past in saffron robes, looking serene while I looked sweaty and dishevelled.

Galle, famous for its Old Dutch fort, was more of a citadel than a fort. Today it’s a bustling town within ancient walls. Accommodation inside the fort was pricey, but I found a room for 2000 rupees. Food was equally expensive, so I wandered to the main gate where traders sold snacks for 10 rupees apiece. I ate several, partly because they were delicious and partly because I felt triumphant at having outsmarted tourist pricing.

 

Unawatuna Coconuts & Hippies (7 km)

Stacks of yellow coconuts lined the roadside, ready to be machete‑opened by vendors who wielded their blades with alarming enthusiasm. I usually stopped for one. After drinking the coconut water, the vendor would crack it open and fashion a spoon from the shell so I could scrape out the meat. It was a small act of craftsmanship that made me absurdly happy.

A sign pointed toward Unawatuna, the old hippie town, so I veered off and found a lively tourist village full of clothes, jewellery, and slightly overpriced everything. I located a room and set off exploring. It was pleasant, colourful, and unapologetically touristy.

 

Stilt Fishermen & Paradise Bays (80 km)

The going was slow because Sri Lanka kept throwing interesting things at me: Buddha statues, old forts, temples, and the famous stilt fishermen perched on poles like philosophical seabirds. I believe these spots remain in families for generations, which must make for interesting inheritance conversations.

Tangalle appeared like a postcard—paradise‑like bay, cheap beach accommodation, and a general air of “Why don’t you stay forever?” The New Beach House was not new, but at $10 a night, it was perfect. I parked myself down, beer in hand, and congratulated myself on excellent life choices.

 

The Safari That Wasn’t (100 km)

Bundala National Park looked promising, and the Lagoon Inn, set in a lush garden, seemed ideal. Unfortunately, one couldn’t cycle into the park. A mandatory jeep was required, and hiring one for a single person was priced as though I were renting the entire vehicle for a safari expedition of 40. I settled for cycling the short entrance road, which was scenic but not exactly the wildlife adventure I’d imagined.

 

Coconuts, Elephants & Frangipani Air (40 km)

The short ride to Kataragama, the holiest town in Sri Lanka, made for an early arrival. The town was sacred to Buddhists, Muslims, and Hindus alike. A massive park stretched along the Menik Ganga river, where people bathed, washed laundry, and occasionally scrubbed an elephant, which is not something one sees every day.

The Maha Devale shrine featured two enormous boulders where pilgrims smashed coconuts while muttering prayers. I found the whole ritual strangely mesmerising—half spiritual, half enthusiastic coconut destruction.

Theravada Buddhism is the religion of roughly 70% of Sri Lankans. At the temples, the scent of frangipani and incense hung thick in the air. Families brought offerings of flowers and fruit to their preferred deities. It was colourful, intriguing, and utterly captivating.

 

The Jungle Road & Imaginary Elephants (65km)

The road from Kataragama to Monaragala was known locally as “the jungle road,” which sounded thrilling until villagers began asking whether I wasn’t scared. They didn’t specify of what, which left me wondering whether I should fear the people, the animals, or perhaps some mysterious third category of danger unique to Sri Lanka.

In the end, the ride was uneventful. I kept an eye out for elephants—dangerous ones, preferably, so I’d have a story—but saw none. Not even a mildly irritated one.

The weather was boiling, the kind of heat that makes you question your life choices, but thankfully the road was dotted with small shops selling water. When I finally spotted a cheap‑looking guesthouse, I staggered inside and enjoyed the relative coolness of a room that was only slightly cooler than the outdoors.

 

Heartburn & Ancient Ruins (80km)

Breakfast consisted of leftover spicy fried rice, which promptly declared war on my oesophagus. I never learn.

Shortly before Arugam Bay, I veered off to the Magul Maha Vihara Ruins—a 5th‑century BC site tucked into dense forest. Built by King Dhatusena, it was most likely part of a royal compound, though today it mostly serves as a place where tourists wander around trying to look knowledgeable.

Sri Lanka (or Lanka, as locals call it) is a street‑food paradise. I popped into roadside stalls for prawn vadai—best eaten straight from the pan while still crunchy—and dipped in sambal, chutney, or curd. At night, the streets came alive with kothu stalls. Kothu is made by chopping roti, vegetables, meat, eggs, and unidentifiable sauces with two metal blades in a rhythmic clanging that sounds like someone trying to play the drums with kitchen utensils. The result is delicious.

Arugam Bay itself was a swing‑in‑a‑hammock kind of place. I swam in the lukewarm Indian Ocean and ate chickpeas with chilli, coconut, and curry leaves—a perfect snack.

 

Batticaloa — Blistering Heat & Dutch Forts (115 km)

The next day was long, blisteringly hot, and the kind of ride where you begin to suspect the sun has a personal vendetta. I crawled into Batticaloa and found a basic room with a fan that moved air in the same way a depressed butterfly might.

A walk across the bridge revealed food and an ATM—two things I desperately needed. The following day I explored the Old Dutch Fort and other historical sites before retreating to my not‑so‑cool digs to melt quietly.

 

The Pied Piper of Sri Lanka(115km)

The road hugged the coast past rice paddies and tiny settlements. Every child with a bicycle decided to follow me, giggling, as though I were leading a parade. I felt like the Pied Piper.

Colourful Hindu temples dotted the way, each more ornate than the last. The heat was oppressive, the humidity worse, and by the time I reached Mutur I was ready to collapse—even though Trinco was only 30 kilometres further.

My guesthouse had clearly never hosted a foreign tourist. Other occupants came to observe this unusual event. The owner arrived later to check whether I was still alive, then sent his “house boy” to fetch me fried rice from a restaurant. It was oddly touching.

 

Relaxing in Uppuveli (40km)

The ride to Trincomalee—Trinco to everyone except mapmakers—was flat and scenic, past China Bay with its colourful fishing boats. Trinco itself didn’t grab me, but six kilometres further the beach village of Uppuveli rolled into view like a pleasant surprise.

The Aqua Hotel sounded fancy but wasn’t. It was, however, a solid backpacker joint with a bar, a pool, and tables right on the beach. The kind of place where one could easily stay for days. I had no intention of doing so, but naturally stayed an extra day.

There wasn’t much to do besides chill or walk along the beach past rows of fishing boats and fishermen hauling in nets. The area had been hit hard by war and the 2004 tsunami, and many houses looked as though they couldn’t withstand a strong breeze, let alone another disaster.

The hotel’s internet allowed me to research my next move. I came up with no brilliant ideas except that returning to Thailand and cycling to Myanmar seemed feasible. Bangkok was rumoured to be the easiest place to obtain a Myanmar visa. I hoped the rumour would remain true long enough for me to get there.

 

Yoga, Tailwinds & Ancient Cities (120km)

After an early morning yoga session—my attempt at being a balanced human—I hopped on the bike and headed toward Anuradhapura. The road was mercifully flat with a slight tailwind, a rare and glorious combination.

Finding accommodation took some pedalling, but bicycle‑riding touts roamed the streets looking for lost tourists. I usually avoid them, but this time they proved useful, pointing me toward reasonably priced digs hidden in an alleyway.

Anuradhapura was meant to be a one‑night stop, but the city was overflowing with ancient relics. I spent the next day exploring the sacred city, built around a cutting of Buddha’s fig tree brought by Sanghamitta, a Buddhist nun, in the third century.

The Kingdom of Anuradhapura flourished for 1,300 years before being invaded in 993. Today it’s a sprawling complex of archaeological wonders, ruins, and monkeys who behave as though they own the place.

The Jetavanaramaya Stupa was astonishing. Built in the third century, it once stood 120 metres tall and contained more than 90 million bricks. A British guidebook from the early 1900s calculated that those bricks could build a three‑metre‑high wall from London to Edinburgh. I’m not sure why anyone would want to do that, but it’s an impressive statistic.

The sacred Bodhi tree, said to be the oldest plant in the world with a known planting date, was… scrawny. Much like the Mona Lisa, I expected something grand. Instead, I found a tree that looked as though it needed encouragement.

 

Puttalam — The Guesthouse I Absolutely Didn’t Need (80km)

The ride to Puttalam on the west coast was uneventful—pleasant, even. Shortly before reaching the A3 highway toward Colombo, a budget‑looking abode caught my eye. There was absolutely no reason to stay there. None. But I did anyway, mostly to drag my Sri Lankan ride out for one more day, like someone refusing to leave a party even after the host has started washing dishes.

I rinsed my cycling clothes, took a short walk to the shops, found food, and congratulated myself on my commitment to procrastination.

 

Fruit Stalls & Flying Juice (105km)

The road south was lined with colourful fruit stalls, each offering a refreshing drink and a brief escape from the sweltering heat. Watching these drinks being prepared was a performance worthy of a small stage and an enthusiastic audience.

First, the vendor sliced an orange or lime in half and squeezed it into a glass. Then came a pinch of salt, water, and crushed ice. Next, in a flourish that would impress a Las Vegas magician, the vendor switched the drink between glass and jug, tossing it through the air with alarming precision. The juice travelled a good metre, landing neatly in the pitcher every time. I half expected applause.

Temples appeared along the way, each decorated with peafowl—Sri Lanka’s favourite temple accessory. The birds gave the temples a festive, slightly flamboyant feel, as though they were perpetually ready for a parade.

The day stretched longer than expected, not that it mattered. I had no intention of reaching Colombo. A hundred kilometres in, the sky opened and rain came bucketing down. I pedalled to the nearest hotel, dripping like a disgruntled sponge.

 

Colombo Terror & a Timely Downpour (50km)

The next morning I rode into Colombo, where the traffic behaved like a large, chaotic family reunion—everyone shouting, no one listening, and tuk‑tuks darting around like hyperactive toddlers. It took all my concentration to stay alive.

I reached the Clock Inn hostel minutes before another tropical downpour. Fortunately, they had kept my bike box, sparing me the ordeal of hunting down a new one. I packed the bicycle, rearranged the panniers into one large bag, and visited a hairdresser who made me look almost normal.

 

Bangkok — Backpackerville & Deep‑Fried Scorpions

With a flight to Bangkok booked, I arranged a taxi and soon found myself airborne. A few hours later, the plane touched down in Bangkok, which looked exactly as I remembered it—chaotic, colourful, and slightly surreal.

I headed straight to Backpackerville, where one can stroll past ornate temples and buy deep‑fried scorpions on a stick. It’s the kind of place where you can have a spiritual awakening and a questionable snack within the same five minutes.

 

Epilogue

Leaving Sri Lanka felt a little like waking from a vivid dream—one filled with coconut water, temple bells, tropical downpours, and the constant hum of life unfolding in every direction. I packed my bike, rearranged my panniers, and stepped back into the world of airports and onward plans, carrying with me the scent of frangipani and the memory of roads where children pedalled behind me like a giggling entourage. Sri Lanka had been generous, bewildering, and endlessly alive. As my flight lifted toward Bangkok, I realised I wasn’t done chasing places that made me feel that way. Not yet.