112-113 VIETNAM CAMBODIA (5) & THAILAND (12) - WITH TANIA – PART 2

A Journey Through Rural Wonders 

112 CAMBODIA (5) & 113 THAILAND (12) 
3 October – 17 October 2017
14 Days – 1,099 Km

MAP

PHOTOS - THAILAND (12)

PHOTOS - CAMBODIA (5)

PDF

VOICEOVER

FLIP-BOOK

 

Prelude

Some journeys announce themselves with clear plans and straight lines. This one did not. It began instead with a shared optimism that bordered on recklessness. Cambodia lay ahead — humid, unpredictable, bureaucratic, generous — followed by a narrow strip of Thailand that promised both an ending and a beginning.

 112 CAMBODIA
8 Octoober-15 October 2017
7 Days - 483Km

 

8 October – From Chau Doc to Phnom Penh, Cambodia – By Boat and Minivan

Our adventure kicked off with a surprise boat ride — the kind of surprise where you realise the ticket price was suspiciously cheap because the boat only takes you to the border. Not Phnom Penh. Not even close. But honestly, the ride was so lively and colourful that I forgave the logistical betrayal almost immediately. As we skimmed across the water, I admired houses perched on stilts like flamingos with mortgages, and fishing boats that zipped around us with the swagger of creatures who knew exactly what they were doing. Meanwhile, I clung to the seat like a Victorian aunt on her first rollercoaster.

Once we reached Phnom Penh, we dove straight into the bureaucratic circus of visa preparations. We photocopied flight tickets, bank statements, and possibly our own shadows. After surviving the paperwork gauntlet, we rewarded ourselves with the city’s lively chaos and the company of friends — Mat, Chop, and Teresa — who helped us rehydrate with cold beers. Laughter bubbled over like the foam in our glasses.

 

9 October – A Day in Phnom Penh

Bright and early, we marched to the Thai embassy, documents in hand, optimism in our hearts. The embassy, however, had other plans. It was closed. Completely closed. Their website, naturally, said nothing about this. A setback? Perhaps. A cosmic prank? Definitely.

But fate intervened in the form of the “Lucky Motorbike Shop,” which, despite sounding like a place that sells helmets shaped like cartoon animals, also functioned as a visa agent. They cheerfully offered to handle Tania’s application. A miracle! With time running short, this was a blessing wrapped in a motorbike-shaped disguise.

I opted for the 14‑day border visa, knowing I’d be back in Cambodia soon to meet my sister. Saving a page in my passport felt like a small but meaningful triumph — the kind of victory only travellers and stamp collectors truly understand.

 

10 October – A Ride to Prey Lovea – 86 km

We began the day with coffee and Mat’s company, which was as energising as the caffeine. Then we set off in search of hidden paths along the Mekong River. The ride started like a dream — peaceful, scenic, and full of curious locals who stared at us as if we were a travelling circus act.

Soon, the dream morphed into slapstick. The paths dissolved into potholes, mud, and surfaces so slippery our bikes behaved like newborn giraffes learning to walk. Every twist and turn revealed a new scene: people weaving mats, men herding cattle with enviable calm, monks in bright orange robes gliding through the chaos like spiritual traffic cones.

A second ferry carried us across the Bassac River, and by the time we crawled toward Prey Lovea around 17:00, we were ready to collapse. We briefly considered sleeping at a temple, but the siren call of a guesthouse with actual beds and walls was too strong. First, though, food — because in Cambodia, deliciousness is never far away.

 

11 October – Prey Lovea – Kampot – 127 km

“It’s Cambodia, baby!” Tania declared, her signature phrase slicing through the morning air as we pedalled out of Prey Lovea. The landscape was a patchwork of green rice fields and wooden carts overflowing with colourful odds and ends. The aromas of steamed pork buns drifted from roadside eateries, seducing us with their warm, doughy charm. Naturally, we surrendered and devoured a few.

We cycled through villages filled with chatter and laughter. Tiny kids rode their bicycles to school with the skill of circus performers, some giving lifts to friends with the casual confidence of seasoned Uber drivers. It was impossible not to smile.

 

12 October – Kampot – Sri Amble Temple – 127 km

Leaving Kampot felt like pedalling through a postcard. The river shimmered, fishing boats huddled together like gossiping aunties, and oyster farms bustled with activity. Children helped with the day’s work, monks collected alms, and we soaked it all in.

Dark clouds gathered as we reached Vinh Real, so we ducked into a cosy restaurant. The storm passed quickly — Cambodia’s weather has the emotional range of a theatre kid — and we continued toward the Thai border, still two days away.

At Sri Amble, ominous skies nudged us down a dusty path to a small community temple. We set up camp in the dining hall, which doubled as a dormitory for energetic children aged 8 to 13. Privacy? Absolutely not. Entertainment? Constant.

 

13 October – Sri Amble – Trapeang Rung – 80 km

Morning greeted us with a steaming bowl of noodle soup served in a corrugated‑iron eatery with a dirt floor. The locals watched us with fascination — women on bikes were rare, and we exchanged shy smiles as we attempted to slurp our soup with dignity. We failed, but gracefully.

The ride was short but sweaty, with gentle hills leading us into the Cardamom Mountains. Children fished with creative techniques, others tended buffalo or cattle, and the scenery made every uphill push worthwhile.

We reached Trapeang Rung for lunch, where the food was so good it felt like a reward from the universe. As rain clouds gathered, we surrendered to the lure of a brand‑new homestay. Moments later, the skies opened, unleashing a monsoon. Our timing was impeccable.

 

14 October – Trapeang Rung – Koh Kong – 63 km

Our final day in the hills began with another comforting bowl of noodle soup. The mountains tested us, but we pushed on. Halfway to Koh Kong, the heavens unleashed yet another dramatic downpour. We zipped up our rain jackets and pedalled through the Cardamom Mountains like determined, soggy warriors.

At the highest point, we flew downhill at 53 km/h, adrenaline pumping, water streaming across the road, potholes lurking like hidden traps. It was thrilling, ridiculous, and unforgettable.

We reached Koh Kong earlier than expected. Tania practically levitated with relief when she discovered her passport had arrived. With that weight lifted, we were ready to tackle the border crossing into Thailand — though the small matter of cycling 340 km to Pattaya in three days still loomed. But hey… the adventure was only getting started.

 

113 THAILAND (12)
THE FINAL STRETCH
3 Days – 358 km

 

 

15 October – Koh Kong to Trat (108Km)

Leaving Cambodia felt like closing a small, bright chapter. One last bowl of noodle soup, one last swirl of motorbikes and colour, and then across the river toward Thailand. The border crossing was almost comically quick — a stamp, a smile — and suddenly the world shifted. New country, same sun, same two bicycles carrying us forward.

We drifted through villages stitched along the coast, stopping for coffee where the sea breathed against the land. When the sky darkened, we slipped into our plastic raincoats and kept going, the drizzle soft rather than punishing. By the time we reached Trat, the clouds had parted, and the sunset felt like a welcome.

 

16 October – Trat to Klaeng (135km)

That morning, Tania surprised me: she wanted to ride alone. Not out of frustration or distance, but curiosity — a tug toward her own road. I felt a flicker of worry, then pride. We agreed to meet again in Pattaya, and I set off with a new kind of urgency. Amanda would arrive in two days, and the kilometres between us suddenly felt charged with purpose.

 

17 October – Klaeng to Pattaya (115)

 I rose before the heat, eager to move. The road was smooth, the wind gentle, and by midday I was rolling into Jomtien. The simple pleasures — dropping my panniers, washing the salt from my skin, watching laundry spin — felt like small celebrations.

Later, at the pub downstairs, a cold beer in hand, I let the anticipation of Amanda’s arrival settle into me. After days of motion, it felt good to sit still and wait.

 

Epilogue

Looking back, the days blur into a single rhythm: pedals turning, visa stamps drying, rain falling hard and stopping without apology. Cambodia gave generously — colour, chaos, kindness, soup bowls always a little too hot to eat politely — then let us go with barely a pause. Thailand welcomed us with efficiency, smoother roads, and the strange emotional weight of an approaching finish line.

My bicycle would roll again. It always does. But this stretch into Thailand marked a small, bright completion.

110 VIETNAM (3) - COFFEE, KARST CLIFFS, AND CHAOTIC TRAFFIC

Coffee, Karst Cliffs, and Chaotic Traffic

 110 VIETNAM (3) 
19 September – 30 September 2017
902 Km – 11 Days

PDF

VOICEOVER

PHOTOS

FLIP-BOOK

 

Prologue

Vietnam began, as all great adventures do, with a broken bicycle, three million dong in my pocket, and absolutely no idea what I was doing. The heat was fierce, the roads were hilly, and the motorbikes carried more bananas than any reasonable physics model should allow. Still, armed with optimism, caffeine, and a derailleur held together by sheer willpower, we pedalled into the chaos with the confidence of people who had not yet met Vietnamese traffic.

 

 

19 September – Ban Dong, Laos to Cho Cam Lo, Vietnam (90 km)

Breakfast came from a lady across the street who produced food with the speed and confidence of someone who had been feeding confused foreigners for decades. Fuelled by mystery noodles, we pedalled toward the Laos–Vietnam border, where Vietnam welcomed us with a SIM card shop and an ATM that spat out 3,000,000 VND. Nothing makes you feel like a billionaire quite like Vietnamese currency.

Barely out of Lao Bao, Tania’s chain snapped with the dramatic flair of a soap‑opera breakup. Luckily, the road back into town was downhill, allowing us to free‑wheel into civilisation like two exhausted swans gliding into harbour. The bicycle shop we found was more of a “motorbike graveyard” than a “bicycle repair facility”, but the owner was cheerful and unfazed. Then came the real plot twist: Tania’s derailleur was cracked. At this point, the bike was basically held together by optimism and cable ties.

Still, the countryside was gorgeous. Motorbikes zoomed past carrying improbable quantities of bananas — entire mobile fruit empires balanced on two wheels. We passed the Rockpile, a dramatic karst outcrop once used by the U.S. Army, now looking like a moody geological influencer posing for photos.

The heat was blistering, the hills relentless, and our speed comparable to the pace of continental drift. By the time we reached tiny Cho Cam Lo, we were ready to collapse gracefully and call it a day.

 

20 September – Cho Cam Lo to Cửa Tùng (67 km)

By morning, a “bike shop” was located nearby — a corrugated iron shed that mostly serviced motorbikes but was willing to humour us. The owner installed a new derailleur: a bottom‑of‑the‑range seven‑speed unit that looked like it had been manufactured during the Bronze Age. Still, for 120,000 VND (about the price of a soft drink), we weren’t complaining.

Unfortunately, the derailleur behaved like a toddler refusing to cooperate. The gears slipped so badly that cycling felt like performing an interpretive dance. We limped to Dong Ha, where Google Translate finally bridged the language gap and a kind man escorted us to a proper bicycle shop. They only stocked seven-speed derailleurs, too, but at least they tuned them well enough that the bike no longer screamed in protest.

From Dong Ha, we followed a rural path along a river, then along the coast. Women in conical hats collected dried fish with the efficiency of seasoned generals. Shortly before the Vinh Moc Tunnels, the beach village of Cua Tung seduced us with a guesthouse right on the ocean. Laundry, chores, and smug relaxation followed.

 

21 September – Cửa Tùng to Dong Hoi (90 km)

Sunrise arrived with theatrical speed, as if someone had flicked on the world’s biggest light switch. Breakfast was pho, eaten at tiny plastic tables clearly designed for preschoolers. The Vinh Moc Tunnels were astonishing — narrow, low, and extensive. Walking through them required a permanent crouch, making me realise that if I had to live here, I would have lived my entire life with a crick in my neck.

The highway to Dong Hoi was monotonous, but a small side path near the end redeemed the day. Dong Hoi itself was pleasant, though its history was tragic: American bombs had flattened the city, leaving only fragments of a church, a wall, a water tower, and a lone palm tree. Vietnam had every right to overcharge foreigners, and I suspected they sometimes did so with patriotic enthusiasm.

We found a room easily and wandered along the river, snapping photos and hunting for dinner.

 

22 September – Dong Hoi to Son Trach (51 km)

Ke Bang National Park beckoned — home to the world’s largest publicly accessible cave system. Son Trach was overflowing with guesthouses, and once settled at the Paradise Hotel, we headed to the river for a boat ride into Phong Nha Cave. Being rowed into a cathedral-sized cavern by a wooden boat felt like entering the underworld, except with more stalactites and fewer demons.

 

23 September – Son Trach (50 km)

Paradise Cave awaited. After a short walk, we reached a tiny entrance that looked like it could barely fit a cat. Inside, however, was a subterranean wonderland of staggering proportions. Discovered only in 2005, it was vast, silent, and otherworldly — the kind of place that makes you whisper even when no one asks you to.

 

24 September – Son Trach to Dong Le (80 km)

Caved out and slightly spoiled by geological grandeur, we pedalled along the Song Gianh River past rice fields, karst peaks, villages, and buffalo. Coffee stops were essential. Vietnamese coffee is brewed through a metal phin filter that drips at the pace of a philosophical snail. It comes with a side of ice and a view of rice paddies — a combination that makes you feel like life is fundamentally good.

We dodged cows, pigs, chickens, and entrepreneurial salesmen on motorbikes. Kids bathed in rivers, produce dried in the sun, and buffalo grazed with the serenity of creatures who have never seen email.

Dong Le, with its red‑tiled roofs, made a charming overnight stop.

 

25 September – Dong Le

Tania felt unusually tired, and rain poured down, so a rest day was declared. The villagers found us endlessly fascinating. Women at the market stared openly, poked our arms, and inspected our shopping bags with the curiosity of customs officials. Eating in public became a spectator sport.

 

26 September – Dong Le to Duc Tho (113 km)

We followed one of the old Ho Chi Minh trails — now paved, scenic, and deeply rural. Farmers ploughed with buffalo, women sold produce from wooden shacks, and logs floated downriver like lazy crocodiles before being hauled out by buffalo teams.

Grapefruit plantations appeared, their fruit hanging like oversized Christmas ornaments. Southeast Asian grapefruit is enormous, with a thick rind that could double as protective gear.

Dark clouds threatened, but only rained once, conveniently during a coffee stop. We rolled into Duc Tho caffeinated and content, found a hotel on the river, and immediately went hunting for food. Conversations were conducted via Google Translate, which did its best but occasionally produced poetic nonsense.

 

27 September – Duc Tho to Roadside Hotel (110 km)

Avoiding the highway became a heroic quest. A muddy path eventually spat us onto a brand‑new road that took us slightly off course. Rural villages looked as if they had been forgotten by time, and the coastal route was washed away in places. We passed deserted beaches, wooden fishing boats, and eateries on stilts that looked one strong breeze away from collapse.

Eventually, we surrendered to the highway — hot, dusty, noisy, and full of trucks that believed in reincarnation. A roadside hotel appeared like a mirage, and we gratefully stopped.

 

28 September – Roadside Hotel to Tam Coc (121 km)

Morning mist curled around limestone hills as we sipped coffee like philosophers contemplating the meaning of life. The highway was unavoidable, and the ride was dusty and chaotic. Roadside stands sold pipes, birds, and snake wine — the holy trinity of questionable purchases.

Lunch was noodle soup eaten under the watchful gaze of half the village. The final stretch into Tam Coc was scenic, and our $9 room felt like a bargain worth celebrating.

 

29 September – Tam Coc

Tam Coc was gorgeous. A boat ride upriver revealed the local rowing technique: feet, not hands. Rowers reclined like sunbathing royalty, steering with their toes while using their hands for more important tasks like holding umbrellas or checking their phones.

 

30 September – Tam Coc to Hanoi (130 km)

Tania’s final day of riding delivered some of the most beautiful scenery yet. Farm roads wound through rice fields and limestone cliffs. We passed grilled dog vendors, a woman pushing a pedal‑less bicycle with an absurdly long handlebar, and villages that looked like Chinese watercolours come to life.

Hoa Lu, the ancient capital, offered mossy walls, temples, and narrow alleys. Then came the unavoidable highway into Hanoi — a chaotic, honking, swarming mass of traffic. By the time we reached the Old Quarter, dusk had fallen and our nerves were frayed, but we hadn’t lost each other, which felt like a small miracle.

And so ended Tania’s ride from Bangkok to Hanoi — a 2,244 Km journey of broken derailleurs, heroic coffee, subterranean wonders, and the kind of memories that only form when two people willingly cycle through heat, chaos, and beauty together.

 

Epilogue

By the time we reached Hanoi, we had survived collapsing coast roads, malfunctioning gears, subterranean cave kingdoms, and more bowls of noodle soup than medically advisable. But we’d made it—intact, unlost, and only mildly traumatised by the highway. Vietnam had tested us, charmed us, fed us, and occasionally stared at us while we ate. And honestly? We loved every bewildering minute.

111 VIETNAM (3.1)

Trains, Traffic and Watery World of the Mekong Delta

1 October – 8 October 2017

5 Days - 258 km

 

 

3–4 October – Hanoi to Saigon – By Train – 34 Hours

With Southeast Asia still pulsing enthusiastically through her veins, Tania decided that one more month on the road was absolutely essential. I, meanwhile, had a far less negotiable appointment awaiting me in Bangkok: a date with my sister. Family commitments have a funny way of trumping extended adventure, so with less than two weeks to spare, we landed on what felt like a perfectly reasonable plan at the time.

We would take the train to Saigon, then cycle our way through the Mekong Delta, hug the Cambodian coast, and roll triumphantly into Thailand. Simple. Elegant. Foolproof. The only tiny, stress‑inducing detail was the need to obtain Thai visas in Phnom Penh — a process that required three days, very precise timing, and absolutely no accidental Friday arrivals. What could possibly go wrong?

Before launching headfirst into our cross‑border logistical puzzle, we managed one last Hanoi meetup with friends Bret and Hayley. As usual, they had an uncanny knack for finding excellent food and even better company. The evening passed in a blur of laughter, stories, and denial about how long we’d soon be sitting on a train.

The following day, we hauled ourselves and our panniers to the station. Helpful staff suggested placing all our gear into one oversized bag, which we immediately purchased and then sprinted through the station with, boarding the train just in time and congratulating ourselves like seasoned professionals.

Our four‑bunk cabin was surprisingly civilised, complete with reading lights and power points — luxuries we did not take lightly. As the hours rolled by, it gradually dawned on us that 34 hours is an extremely long time to be on a train. Fortunately, the food cart made regular appearances, and we rose to the challenge of sampling nearly everything it offered. By the time we arrived in Saigon after dark, we were tired, fed, and mildly victorious. Unfortunately, our bikes were locked away in a baggage office, so we checked into a nearby hotel, dreaming of retrieving them the next morning.

 

5 October – Saigon

Bright and early, we reclaimed our bicycles and marvelled at how smoothly the Vietnamese railway handled bulky luggage. With our two‑wheeled companions restored, we set off to explore Saigon — a city that may not overwhelm you with iconic landmarks but more than compensates with sheer energy.

Street food immediately became the day’s priority. Bánh xèo arrived first: crispy, golden, and stuffed with delicious intent. Spring rolls followed, light and fresh enough to convince us we were being healthy. Then came bánh khọt — tiny savoury pancakes that disappeared far too quickly. Somehow, we were already full and still eating.

Saigon’s real spectacle, however, was the traffic. With an estimated 7.3 million motorbikes occupying the roads at any given moment, crossing the street felt like stepping into a live‑action strategy game. Locals still casually refer to the city as “Saigon,” which rolls off the tongue far more easily than its official name, TP Ho Chi Minh City — an opinion we quickly adopted.

As evening fell, we reflected on how a city could feel both chaotic and oddly welcoming. This was only the beginning.

 

6 October – Saigon to Vinh Long – 123 km

Rested, fuelled, and slightly intimidated, we set off into Saigon’s traffic — an experience best described as willingly joining a fast‑moving swarm. Eventually, miraculously, we escaped the city’s grip and rolled into the quieter paths of the Mekong Delta.

In My Tho, we encountered a range of street food options that tested personal boundaries. Undeterred, Tania confidently ordered grilled rat straight off a rotisserie. Against all expectations, it was delicious — proof that adventure occasionally tastes better than anticipated.

The Mekong offered winding paths, lively villages, coconut sweet makers, and three ferry crossings en route to Vinh Long. Nearly every boat featured painted eyes at the bow, which are believed to guide vessels, ward off danger, or possibly judge passing cyclists. Whether symbolic or practical, they added a layer of personality to the river scenery.

 

7 October – Vinh Long to Chau Doc – 135 km

The Mekong River, originating in the Tibetan Plateau and coursing through six countries, spreads into a vast network of waterways around us. Coconut palms, banana trees, mangoes, and rambutan plantations lined our route as we pedalled through a living postcard.

Markets buzzed, rivers teemed with boats, and houses balanced on stilts above the floodplain. Threatening clouds loomed all day, yet somehow held back their rain long enough for us to fuel up on coconut juice and coffee before realising — slightly too late — that we still had 75 km to go.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, we slipped into Chau Doc. Our adventure quickly took another exciting turn when we decided to take the Mekong River ferry to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, the next day—a fitting end to a day chock-full of exploration and adventure!

 

Epilogue

The Mekong has a way of convincing you that movement is the natural state of things. Water flows, boats drift, people adapt, and somehow everything keeps working. As cyclists passing briefly through its world, we learned quickly that the river does not bend for plans, visas, or carefully plotted routes on a map. It simply carries on — and so, inevitably, did we.

 

109 CYCLE TOURING LAOS (6) - BECOMING KIP MILLIONAIRES

BECOMING KIP MILLIONAIRES

LAOS (6)

429 Km –  5 Days
13 – 18 September 2017

MAP

 PHOTOS - LAOS

VOICEOVER

 PDF

FLIPBOOK

 

Prologue

I should have known this stretch of the journey would be trouble the moment I realised I still had a functioning Lao SIM card. Nothing good ever comes from being too prepared. Within days, we’d be illegally cycling across an international bridge, becoming Kip millionaires, hiding from a typhoon that wasn’t technically ours, and discovering that guesthouse power supplies have the emotional stability of a toddler.

 

 

Khemerat, Thailand to Savannakhet, Laos (105 km) – An Illegal Crossing

The ride from Khemerat, Thailand, to Savannakhet, Laos, felt like cycling through syrup — the kind of sluggishness that whispers, “Remember those hills yesterday?” We did. We drifted lazily toward the Thai–Laos border, admiring locals who were out foraging with baskets like it was the most normal thing in the world. Meanwhile, I can barely forage through my panniers without losing something important. The Thais, however, pluck leaves from shrubs and somehow turn them into Michelin-star meals. It’s honestly rude how talented they are.

Lunch was a glorious noodle soup accompanied by a basket of greens so fresh it practically introduced itself. Every slurp tasted like a tiny celebration. Then came immigration — the usual stamps, the usual bureaucracy, and the unusual rule that cycling across the Thai–Laos Friendship Bridge is forbidden. Apparently, the bridge is for cars, pedestrians, and bus-transported cyclists, but not actual cyclists. Naturally, this made us want to cycle across it immediately.

So we did. We hopped on our bikes and shot across the bridge like two teenagers escaping boarding school. Border officials were not amused. We, however, were delighted with ourselves, laughing like fugitives who’d stolen nothing but a moment of joy.

Laos welcomed us with a $30 visa and a charming guesthouse called Savanpathana. The ATM was the real highlight: withdrawing 1,000,000 Kip made me feel like a millionaire, even though it barely bought me any snacks. And, in a rare moment of organisational triumph, I still had my old Lao SIM card — just needed a top-up. A small victory.

 

Savannakhet - A Visa, a River Stroll, and a Banana‑Leaf‑Wrapped Pig Brain

Savannakhet turned out to be full of surprises, starting with the Vietnamese consulate, which made getting a visa absurdly easy. For $45 you get 30 days; for $55 you get 90 days. Obviously, we chose the 90-day option because we are nothing if not value-driven wanderers.

We wandered the leafy old quarter along the Mekong, where time seems to have politely stopped and refused to move on. The riverbank eateries were gorgeous, though one menu item — pig’s brain wrapped in a banana leaf — reminded me that culinary bravery has limits. Mine, specifically.

 

Savannakhet - Typhoon Panic, Power Outages and Comfort Food

Rumours of a typhoon off Vietnam’s coast had us mildly panicked, despite being 300 km inland. The rain, however, behaved as if the typhoon were right outside our window. So we surrendered to an indoor day, which mostly involved eating comfort food and pretending we were being productive.

We collected our visas at 3 PM, just in time for the guesthouse's power to go out. The building plunged into darkness, just as I accidentally locked us out of our room. Perfect timing. Fortunately, guesthouses like these always have spare keys — unfortunately, they are stored in the most obscure places imaginable. After a long, comedic search in the dark, the key was found, and we were reunited with our room like long-lost lovers.

The rain continued the next day, so we stayed put, embracing the cosy gloom like two cats refusing to go outside.

 

Savannakhet to Muang Phalanxay (119 km) - Early‑Bird Tania and Late‑Bird Me.

We left Savannakhet early as Tania was ready at 5:50 AM, bright-eyed and efficient. I, on the other hand, was trapped in a vortex of last-minute packing — the kind where you keep zipping and unzipping bags because you’re convinced you’ve forgotten something important, like your passport or your dignity.

We headed east toward the Vietnamese border, rolling through peaceful countryside. Just outside Savannakhet, we found a rural path leading to Ban Bungva, where a lake shimmered prettily and restaurants perched on stilts begged us to stop for lunch. We didn’t, but we admired them like art.

Next came That Ing Hang, a stupa said to house a relic from Buddha’s spine. We took photos, feeling appropriately reverent, before continuing through landscapes so green they looked Photoshopped. Tiny villages, lively markets, and endless fields kept us entertained.

After bike about 120 km we found a rustic guesthouse for 60,000 Kip (about $7) in Muang Phalanxay. It had the essentials: a bed, a roof, and the faint hope that nothing would crawl on us in the night. For the price, we couldn’t complain.

 

Muang Phalanxay to Ban Dong (115 km) - Mud, Markets, Bare‑Bottomed Children, and Livestock With Zero Respect for Traffic Rule

Rain hammered the roof all night, and by morning the world was still soggy. We pedalled out of Muang Phalanxay through a muddy, potholed road that sliced straight through the morning market. Locals stared at us like we were rare migrating birds. Children giggled. Adults giggled. Honestly, everyone giggled. “Farangs” clearly don’t pass through often.

The day unfolded like a documentary about rural life, narrated by someone who keeps getting distracted by adorable children and livestock. Houses on stilts, woven baskets slung over shoulders, meals cooked over open fires all felt timeless. Kids herded cattle with the confidence of tiny CEOs. The smell of woodsmoke drifted everywhere.

We passed people heading to market in wooden carts, and longboats gliding upriver with the grace of creatures that have never known traffic jams. Bare-bottomed children played in the dirt, shrieking with laughter, while their parents sold bamboo slivers used to tie up rice. It was all wonderfully, beautifully real.

Lunch was another bowl of noodle soup from a roadside stall, eaten while admiring the scenery like two queens surveying their kingdom.

Arriving in Ban Dong, we navigated a cheerful chaos of chickens, goats, and black pigs who clearly believed they owned the road. We found a guesthouse conveniently located across from a food vendor — the kind of strategic placement that makes you feel the universe is on your side. A simple, satisfying end to another day of pedalling through 115 kilometres of magic.

 

Ban Dong, Laos to Cho Cam Lo, Vietnam (90 km)

Breakfast came from a lady across the street who produced food with the speed and confidence of someone who had been feeding confused foreigners for decades. Fuelled by mystery noodles, we pedalled toward the Laos–Vietnam border, where Vietnam welcomed us with a SIM card shop and an ATM that spat out 3,000,000 VND. Nothing makes you feel like a billionaire quite like Vietnamese currency.

Barely out of Lao Bao, Tania’s chain snapped with the dramatic flair of a soap‑opera breakup. Luckily, the road back into town was downhill, allowing us to free‑wheel into civilisation like two exhausted swans gliding into harbour. The bicycle shop we found was more of a “motorbike graveyard” than a “bicycle repair facility”, but the owner was cheerful and unfazed. Then came the real plot twist: Tania’s derailleur was cracked. At this point, the bike was basically held together by optimism and cable ties.

Still, the countryside was gorgeous. Motorbikes zoomed past carrying improbable quantities of bananas — entire mobile fruit empires balanced on two wheels. We passed the Rockpile, a dramatic karst outcrop once used by the U.S. Army, now looking like a moody geological influencer posing for photos.

 

Epilogue

By the time we rolled into Ban Dong—dodging pigs, goats, chickens, and the occasional existential crisis—we’d survived rainstorms, border bureaucracy, noodle‑soup dependency, and my talent for locking us out of rooms. We were muddy, mildly confused, and deeply satisfied. Laos made us millionaires, albeit only in Kip; it also gave us children who found us funnier than we deserved. One thing was clear: the road ahead would be just as chaotic, just as beautiful, and almost certainly just as damp.

106-108 CYCLE TOURING THAILAND (11) - A Change of Plans and a Quick Visa Run to Laos

A Change of Plans and a Quick Visa

 Run to Laos

Thailand (11)

635 Km – 11 Days

21 August – 11 September 2017

1,636km - 22 Days

MAP

PHOTOS

 PDF

VOICE-OVER

FLIP-BOOK

Prologue

There are moments in long-distance cycling when life presents you with a fork in the road. One path leads to China, adventure, and the smug satisfaction of having a plan. The other leads to a sudden message from a friend saying, “Actually, I am coming to Thailand,” followed by the realisation that your visa is expiring and you now need to cycle to another country before lunch.

Naturally, I chose the second path.

This chapter begins with that familiar traveller’s cocktail: excitement, mild panic, and the dawning awareness that international borders are sometimes just glorified speed bumps for people on bicycles. What follows is a tale of baguettes, bureaucracy, rainstorms, headwinds, and the kind of rural hospitality that makes you question whether you’ve accidentally joined a travelling circus.

 

 

 Nong Khai, Thailand to Vientiane, Laos (35 km)

Big news: Tania had changed her mind and was coming to Thailand after all! Suddenly, my grand plan to cycle into China evaporated like a puddle in the Bangkok sun. Instead, we were now meeting in Bangkok on September 1 for a one-month bicycle tour of Southeast Asia. A thrilling adventure for sure—though it did mean I had to abandon my China dreams and instead focus on the far more glamorous task of… renewing my Thailand visa.

Since my visa was about to expire, I did what any sensible traveller does: I pedalled to another country. The next morning, I packed at a leisurely pace (because nothing says “urgent immigration matter” like dawdling) and cycled the short distance to the Thai–Lao border. After acquiring a Laos visa with surprising ease, I rolled into Vientiane—the world’s most relaxed capital, where even the traffic seems to be on a tea break.

First order of business: money and a SIM card. I emerged from the money changer with a wallet so stuffed with Lao Kip (1 USD = 8300 LAK) that I felt like a cartoon villain about to buy a small island. Then came the SIM card—my shiny new lifeline to the world.

Hunger struck, and salvation appeared in the form of a Laotian baguette vendor. This glorious creation—lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, onions, egg, and chilli sauce—was basically a salad pretending to be a sandwich, and I loved it. Feeling fortified, I headed to the Thai consulate… which, naturally, was closed. But with two weeks to plan Tania’s visit and make my way to Bangkok, I wasn’t too bothered. Bureaucracy could wait; baguettes could not.

 

Vientiane, Laos (88 km)

Vientiane is one of those cities where wandering feels like a legitimate activity. I strolled past ancient temples, silk shops, and baguette vendors who seemed to be multiplying by the hour. The next morning, I submitted my Thailand visa application. Vientiane is famous for its easy visa runs—just an application form and two photos. I was handed a slip with the number 366, which suggested I might age significantly before being called. Instead of standing in line, I crossed the road to a restaurant, where I spent a blissful hour and a half doing absolutely nothing productive. When I returned, the queue had shrunk enough for me to collect my visa without drama.

That evening, I met up with Christian, a Warmshowers host I’ve stayed with twice before. He’s a German who has lived in Laos for six years and knows every good eatery within a 10 km radius. Staying at his cosy home felt like slipping into a warm bath—relaxing, familiar, and slightly addictive. Between the good company, good food, and good beer, I found myself happily plotting Tania’s September route with the enthusiasm of a cyclist who can’t wait to share their experiences.

 

 Vientiane, Laos to Udon Tani, Thailand (87 km)

After saying goodbye to Christian and dropping off his key at work, I cycled to the immigration checkpoint. A quick stamp later, I was back in Thailand. Moments after crossing the border, the heavens opened. Not a gentle drizzle—no, this was biblical. I sheltered under an awning until the deluge eased, then continued toward Udon Tani, surprisingly cheerful despite being soaked like a sponge.

Weeks of heavy rain had turned rural roads into mud wrestling arenas, so I stuck mostly to the main roads. The few times I ventured off-road, I found myself on charming country lanes where villagers pedalled past on their fixies like a local cycling club with zero Lycra and infinite style. The landscape was lush—ponds and dams overflowing, farmers fishing, and lotus flowers swaying dramatically in the breeze like they were auditioning for a nature documentary.

I checked into the Kings Hotel—cheap, air-conditioned, and with hot water. Luxury! As I settled in, excitement bubbled up for the journey ahead with Tania.

 

Udon Tani to Namphongkao (105 km)

The day began with me desperately hunting for minor roads, only to be repeatedly spat back onto the main highway like a rejected suitor. After 105 km of uninspiring tarmac, I stumbled into Namphongkao—a tiny village that turned out to be unexpectedly delightful. Arriving early meant I could tackle chores, including laundry. The downside of stopping early? I ate everything in sight. Apparently, boredom and hunger are identical twins.

 

Namphongkao to Kaeng Khro (120 km)

The next day’s ride was a joy—one of those days where cycling feels like flying, minus the wings and plus the sweat. I glided through small settlements, soaking up the scenery, until I reached Kaeng Khro, where I camped at the local police station. Nothing says “adventure cyclist” like pitching a tent next to law enforcement.

 

Kaeng Khro to Chatturat (85 km)

Packing up my tent the next morning turned into a spectator sport. Villagers and police gathered to watch, as if I were performing a magic trick instead of wrestling with tent poles. I felt like a hermit on display. The ride felt sluggish—headwinds will do that—but I eventually reached Chatturat and treated myself to a night at Ratchanee Place Hotel. A shower, a bed, and the ability to recharge both my devices and my soul. I hated feeling pressured to reach Bangkok, but the calendar was not on my side.

 

Chatturat to Tha Luang (128 km)

I surprised myself by leaving early. Route 201 was dull enough to make paint-drying seem thrilling, so I veered onto rougher roads. The hills were refreshing, the headwind was not. I passed a wind farm where the turbines looked deceptively small from afar—up close, they were giants.

After a glorious downhill, I rolled into Tha Luang absolutely ravenous. I inhaled two meals—green curry and stir-fried rice—plus cake, crisps, a Pepsi, and a beer. My supplies dangled precariously from my handlebars like a travelling circus act. I found the first available accommodation and spent the night feasting like a queen who had survived a famine.

 

Tha Luang to Nong Khae (110 km)

The ride was uneventful but hilly enough to keep me awake. The flat sections were mind-numbing. I considered detouring to Lopburi or Ayutthaya but had visited both too many times to justify the effort. Bangkok beckoned, and I took the simplest route.

 

Nong Khae to Bangkok (93 km)

I woke to torrential rain, which eventually eased enough for me to set off. The ride became a soggy but entertaining journey along a canal, where everyday Thai life unfolded—temples, markets, vendors selling banana hearts, and the usual organised chaos.

With 30 km to go, I left the peaceful canal and followed the railway tracks, weaving through Skytrain construction zones. Despite the mess, it was an easy ride into the Big Mango. Arriving at my old haunt felt like coming home. Bangkok—with its chaos, tourists, alleys, and irresistible food stalls—always wraps me in a warm, spicy embrace.

I had errands to run before meeting Tania for her ride to Hanoi. My bike needed a service, and I needed a few essentials. After a quick trip to Pattaya to sort out my condo, I returned to Bangkok—just in time to find Tania ready to hit the road.

 

Epilogue

By the time I rolled into Bangkok—damp, gritty, and decorated with a fine layer of canal mist—I had crossed borders, dodged storms, camped at a police station, eaten my bodyweight in green curry, and been observed by more curious villagers than a zoo exhibit.

I had also, against all odds, successfully renewed my visa.

Bangkok welcomed me back like an old friend: noisy, chaotic, fragrant, and utterly irresistible. There were errands to run, bikes to service, and snacks to inhale. Anticipation settled in: Tania was on her way, and the next chapter of the journey was about to begin.

108 THAILAND - A Country That Tried to Kill Us With Kindness
A Ride from Bangkok to Hanoi (Part 1) 

 

 

Prologue

Thailand is a land of ancient temples, neon‑green rice fields, and people so generous they will hand you fruit even when you’re already sweating pineapple juice. It is also a land where dogs howl all night, ants form military coups under your tent, and storms arrive with the subtlety of a flying brick. This section chronicles our attempt to cycle across this beautiful country while being repeatedly rescued by strangers, repeatedly humbled by hills, and repeatedly reminded that we are not, in fact, rugged adventurers—just two women who keep accidentally camping in the wrong places.

 

 

Bangkok to Phanat Nikhom (75 km) - Escaping Bangkok

After much deliberation (and several rounds of “Are we really doing this?”), we stuck to our original plan. The taxi ride out of Bangkok’s pulsing core did absolutely nothing to remove us from the chaos; it merely relocated us to a slightly different flavour of chaos. When the driver dropped us off, the city seemed to inhale deeply and swallow us whole again.

There was nothing left to do but pull on our metaphorical big‑girl panties—mine were clearly still in the wash—and brave the traffic. After what felt like a lifetime of dodging scooters, trucks, and the occasional rogue chicken, we finally escaped the urban sprawl and found a rural road so peaceful it felt like we’d slipped into a parallel universe.

Suddenly: rice paddies glowing neon green, temples painted in colours Crayola hasn’t invented yet, and skies so blue they looked photoshopped. Locals handed us cold water with the casual generosity of people who have no idea how close we were to emotional collapse. One shop owner even gifted us drinking yoghurt—because apparently Thailand is determined to outdo kindness in every other country on earth.

After 75 km, we rolled into Phanat Nikhom, home of the world’s largest woven basket—because of course it is—and a friendly lady pointed us toward accommodation near food stalls and the omnipresent 7-Eleven, Thailand’s true national treasure.

 

Phanat Nikhom to Sronlai homestay (70 km) – Fruit and Spirit Houses

Today’s ride was a love letter to rural Thailand. Wetlands, farmland, pineapples, cassava, papayas—basically a tropical fruit salad with roads. At one stand, a woman insisted on gifting us a pineapple. I nearly cried. It felt unfair that we were on holiday while she worked so hard, but she seemed delighted, so we accepted with the grace of someone who absolutely did not deserve free fruit.

We passed rubber plantations, each with its own spirit house—tiny shrines for benevolent earth spirits who, I assume, are much better at handling humidity than I am.

Seventy kilometres later, our ride ended at Sronlai homestay, a lakeside retreat with cottages and kayaks. It was so picturesque I half expected a film crew to appear and ask us to sign release forms.

 

Sronlaihomestay to Khlong Hat (87 km) - Cycling Through an Elephant Reserve

Tania was up at dawn, buzzing with energy, while I emerged from bed like a confused sloth. The ride along the dam wall was glorious, and the countryside lanes—lined with corn and sugar cane—felt like cycling through a postcard.

We passed through an elephant reserve, though the elephants apparently had the day off. Still, the lush greenery made up for the no-show. With a tailwind pushing us like an enthusiastic stage mom, we reached Khlong Hat by 3 PM and camped at the local police station. Because nothing says “adventure” like pitching your tent under the watchful eye of law enforcement.

 

Khlong Hat to Aranya Prathet (88 km) - Caves, Chickens, and a Temple with Too Many Steps

Sleeping in? Not with Tania. She dragged me out of Khlong Hat to explore nearby caves at an hour when even the sun was still yawning. The caves were slippery, dark, and absolutely not designed for people without headlamps—so naturally, we went in anyway.

We then hiked to a viewpoint with panoramas so stunning they almost made up for the near-death cave experience.

Back on the bikes, we visited Prasat Khao Noi, an ancient Khmer temple with a 7th‑century lintel that made my inner history nerd squeal. Rain began to fall as we descended the 254 steps—because of course it did.

I was excited for Prasat Muang Phai, an ancient Dvaravati city, but it turned out to be… a pile of stones. And chickens. Lots of chickens.

We ended the day after biking 88 km in Aranyaprathet, slightly damp but thoroughly enchanted.

 

Aranyaprathet to Non Din Daeng (Lam Nang Rong Dam) (105 km) - Ancient Temples and Hospitality

The ride from Aranyaprathet to Non Din Daeng was a highlight reel of surreal temples and the ancient ruins of Sdok Kok Thom, an 11th‑century Khmer temple dedicated to Shiva. The star attraction was a 1000-year-old inscribed stela describing daily life and temple duties—basically the world’s oldest HR document.

Thai kindness continued to overwhelm us: cold water, mangos, steamed rice in banana leaves. I began to suspect there was a national competition for the title of “Most Generous Human.”

We climbed the Sankamphaeng Range under a sun that seemed to have a personal vendetta. At the summit, mobile carts sold passion fruit and chilled juice—proof that the universe occasionally rewards suffering.

In the afternoon, dark clouds chased us to Lam Nang Rong Dam, where stall owners let us camp under a covered area just as the rain arrived. Dinner by the moonlit dam felt like the perfect ending to a long, sweaty, mango-filled day.

 

Lam Nang Rong Dam to Khao Kradong Forest Park (112 km) - Dogs, Ants, and the Cotton Candy Miracle

I woke to a sunrise so beautiful it almost erased the memory of the dogs howling all night, as if they were auditioning for a horror film.

We visited Prasat Nong Hong, then cycled through rice fields and villages guarded by cows with ears so long they looked like they were catching radio signals.

I bought bananas from a toothless lady selling them from an old pram—a scene so charming it should be on a postcard.

Prasat Mueang Tam was breathtaking, part of the ancient chain linking Angkor to Phimai. Abandoned for 700 years, it radiated mystery and the faint smell of historical drama.

Then came roti saimai—Thai cotton candy wrapped in sweet roti. The stall owner gifted us a whole bag, presumably because she sensed Tania was sugar-deficient.

We cycled past men in conical hats herding cows and parents ferrying children home on bicycles. It felt like stepping into a simpler, gentler world.

At Khao Kradong Forest Park, we attempted to find food carts, only for a sudden downpour to soak our tents. A kind lady offered me a blanket, restoring my faith in humanity.

Then the rains returned, the ants arrived, and chaos reigned. We fled into our tents like panicked squirrels.

 

Khao Kradong Forest Park to Surin (57 km) - Ants Stage a Coup; We Flee to Noodle Soup

“Ants are everywhere!” Tania announced, as if reporting a natural disaster. She wasn’t wrong; the ants had declared war. The staff arrived with bug spray like a SWAT team, saving us from certain doom. We packed up at record speed and escaped.

Breakfast was noodle soup, which tasted like victory. The countryside was a dream: rice fields, potholed lanes, scrawny cattle, and toothless paan-chewing ladies who smiled like they knew all the secrets of the universe.

We reached Surin and checked into the “New Hotel,” which was only “new” in the sense that it still existed. But at 180 THB, it was a bargain. Street food stalls popped up outside, turning the evening into a delicious festival.

 

Surin - A Day of Food and Bike Parts

Surin was a paradise of cheap food and excellent bicycle shops. Breakfast was cold white noodles in curry sauce with fresh greens—simple, perfect, and probably illegal in some countries for being too delicious.

I found several bike shops with high-quality parts and bought an odometer and an inner tube.

Dinner under the stars at 10 p.m., in shorts and T-shirts, surrounded by street vendors, felt like the kind of moment you store in your heart for later.

 

Surin – Uthumphon Phisai (100 km) - Heatstroke, Fried Fish, and the Abandoned Glass Temple Plan

I had planned to visit the glass temple, but the main road was so uninspiring it felt like cycling through a spreadsheet. So we detoured through villages where locals looked at us like we were rare migrating birds.

We stopped for snacks, craving corn and pineapple, but were instead given sticky rice and tiny fried fish—unexpected, but delicious.

We visited ancient ruins, then the heat hit Tania like a frying pan. We found refuge in a guesthouse opposite Tesco Lotus, where the air conditioning revived her like a wilted plant given water.

 

Uthumphon Phisai to Phibun (130 km) - Gongs, Baskets, and the Longest Road in Thailand

Today’s ride was long but not particularly dramatic—just quirky roadside stands selling bamboo furniture and woven baskets, luminous rice paddies, and craftsmen making gongs with the intensity of people who take their percussion seriously.

The main roads were a slog, but we pushed through to Phibun, where we camped at a Buddhist temple. Peaceful, serene, and blessedly flat.

 

Phibun to PK Resort (60 km) - Sunsets, Storms, and the Great Tent‑Holding Olympics

We crossed the Mun River and followed it toward the Pak Mun Dam, heading for Khong Chiam, a tiny village where the Mekong and Mun Rivers meet. It was charming enough to make us consider early retirement.

At Pha Team National Park, we camped by the Mekong. The sunset turned the sky into a dramatic painting—orange, brown, and slightly ominous.

Then the wind arrived. Then the rain. Then the apocalypse.

I yelled at Tania to hold the tent poles while the storm tried to relocate us to Laos.

The resort owner braved the deluge to rescue us and offered shelter in the conference room. I have never been so grateful for concrete walls.

 

PK Resort to Khemerat (115 km) - Hills Too Steep for Dogs and a Temple Sleepover

“Wow, at least the wind has calmed down,” Tania said, still wide-eyed from the night’s trauma.

We climbed gently to the main road, then followed rolling hills shaded by lush greenery. Tania joked that the hills were so steep that even the dogs refused to chase us.

We detoured to a “scenic viewpoint” that was… not. But we took photos anyway, because that’s what travellers do.

In Khemerat, we were allowed to camp at the temple, then politely relocated to the women’s room.

Hungry and exhausted, we set out in search of fried noodles, ready for whatever adventures tomorrow would bring.

 

 

Epilogue

By the end of our Thailand ride, we had learned many things:

Ants are not to be underestimated.

Storms do not care about your camping plans.

Thai people will save you even when you don’t deserve it.

And Tania will always, always wake up before you.

We left Thailand sunburned, overfed, and with hearts full of gratitude—and tents that will never be the same again.