THAILAND: Where I Came for a Bike
Part and Left with a Condo
THAILAND (9.1)521
Kilometres – 43 Days8
April – 20 May 2017
MAP
PHOTOS
PROLOGUE
I
arrived in Thailand with no plan beyond “don’t overheat” and “try not to lose
anything important, including myself.” Bangkok greeted me with the kind of heat
that makes you reconsider your relationship with clothing, exercise, and
possibly life. I handed in my laundry, found a room with a “bathroom inside,”
and hoped the rest would sort itself out. It didn’t, of course—but it did
become interesting.
8–13
April – Bangkok
Janice
grabbed a taxi to the airport, leaving me standing in Bangkok, unsure what to do next, I made the
only logical decision available: I handed in my laundry. Bangkok was steaming —
not warm, not hot, but steaming, as though the city had been left on a low
simmer. Under such conditions, laundry becomes a major life event.
The
laundress operated out of a dark, narrow alley where sunlight had clearly given
up. She had a few machines under a makeshift shelter and enough laundry bags to
suggest she was single-handedly responsible for the hygiene of half the city.
The only free space was a tiny rectangle where she appeared to sleep, possibly
upright. When I returned, she reached into the textile mountain and produced my
laundry without hesitation. I’d been given a slip of paper with no name, no
number, and no identifying features whatsoever, so I was impressed. Apparently,
my clothing emits a distinctive aura. Comforting.
The
next day, I went in search of cheaper accommodation and found the Sleep Inn,
which was exactly as glamorous as the name suggests. The room had a fan, air‑conditioning,
a window, and a “bathroom inside,” a phrase that always raises
questions. Still, it was a bargain, and I’ve stayed in worse. Much worse.
I
spent the next few days waiting for a new jockey wheel to arrive, which gave me
an excuse to do absolutely nothing. I still attempted my morning jog, though my
hamstrings had apparently unionised and were staging a protest. I stopped in a
park to stretch with the locals, who were very polite about the foreigner
grimacing beside them like a malfunctioning marionette.
A
walk to Chinatown took me through the fish market, where the produce looked
like it had been dredged from the Mariana Trench. The flower market afterwards
was a relief — cool, fragrant, and not actively threatening. The vegetable
market was equally intriguing, full of items I couldn’t identify but would
probably eat if someone chopped them finely enough.
Chinatown’s
“New Market” was only new if you consider twenty years “recent,” but it sold
everything short of live livestock. Unfortunately, the day was blistering, and
I retreated to my room via river taxi, which at least provided a breeze and the
illusion of progress.
By
evening, I decided a massage might solve my hamstring situation. It did,
briefly. Then the pain returned, presumably amused by my optimism.
Most
evenings, I searched for cafés with beer, food, and functioning Wi‑Fi. If all
three existed simultaneously, it felt like discovering a rare celestial event.
I’d sit editing photos until my patience evaporated, which didn’t take long.
In
my wanderings, I found the Holy Rosary Church, built by the Portuguese in 1786
after a dramatic fallout at the Santa Cruz Church. Apparently, even churches
have interpersonal issues. The building was lovely, though, and a peaceful
escape from the heat.
Meanwhile,
Songkran — the Thai New Year — was gearing up. The word “Songkran” comes from
the Sanskrit “Sankranti,” meaning “astrological passage,” which sounds elegant
until you’re being ambushed by a toddler with a water gun the size of a small
cannon.
On
the 13th, temples overflowed with devotees bathing Buddha statues, pouring
fragrant water, making wishes, and receiving blessings. Nearly all businesses
were closed as people returned to their hometowns to celebrate with family. It
was beautiful, spiritual, and deeply meaningful.
And
then the water fight began.
14–28
April – Bangkok – Songkran Festival
A
full-scale aquatic war broke out in the alleys. Everyone — adults, children,
and possibly a few confused pets — was armed with plastic water guns. It turns
out that if you give a grown-up a water gun, they immediately regress to age
seven. The best part of Songkran is that people are out in the streets
laughing, rather than staring at their phones like mildly depressed zombies.
It’s easily the most fun anyone can have while being repeatedly shot in the
face.
Once
Songkran ended and the city dried out, I wandered to the amulet market, where
trade revolved around tiny talismans. Monks, taxi drivers, and anyone in need
of good luck browsed the stalls. Some amulets were barely a centimetre tall.
Vendors claimed certain pieces were antique, and clients examined them through
magnifying glasses with the seriousness of jewel thieves. The market also sold
odd, vaguely voodoo-like figurines. I didn’t ask questions. Fertility seemed
the obvious theme, and I didn’t need clarification.
My
search for a good night‑photography spot was unsuccessful, so I returned to the
Gecko Bar, which had become my unofficial headquarters. There I met Silvia
(Germany), Patrick (India via England via Spain), and Jeff, an English teacher
in Myanmar. Bangkok excels at collecting people who appear to have fallen out
of entirely different storylines.
The
days passed quickly. Shortly after Songkran, Bok‑Bok Bike informed me that the
jockey wheel had arrived. While they serviced the bike, I browsed the internet
for inexpensive condos. Most were far beyond my budget, but eventually I found
one and contacted the agent. The next day, I took a bus to Jomtien to meet Benn
from Immobilien Pattaya.
The
unit was small — “rabbit hole” is generous — but close to the beach and had a
pool. The building was older, low-rise, and unpretentious. The price, however,
was the real attraction. I paid a deposit and hoped for the best.
28
April – Bangkok to Bang Saen – 80 km
Time
to leave the Big Mango. Easier said than done. In avoiding main roads, I found
myself among dubious food stalls and shrines that looked like they’d been
assembled from spare parts. April is hot and dry in Thailand, but halfway to
Bang Saen, the heavens opened. A golf driving range provided shelter, and I
waited out the storm with a few motorcyclists. It lasted longer than expected,
but eventually I continued and reached Bang Saen Beach, which was surprisingly
lovely.
29
April – Bang Saen Beach to Jomtien, Pattaya – 56 km
A
pleasant ride took me to Pattaya, where I visited the Immobilien office. We
discussed the condo, and I realised the process would take time. Buying
property in Thailand is a legal obstacle course, and I was entirely at the agency's
mercy. Not a comforting position.
I
checked into Beachspot Hostel, where the dorm had two beds, and I was the only
occupant. It was essentially a sauna with a fan, but the balcony overlooked the
beach, so I pretended it was intentional.
At
sunset, I walked to the night market, bought a beer from 7-Eleven, and sat on
the beach contemplating life, humidity, and my questionable financial
decisions.
30
April – Jomtien
My
morning jog along the long stretch of beach was delightful. A dip in the ocean
revealed the water was warm enough to poach an egg, but I wasn’t complaining. I
waddled around like a contented hippo.
I
discovered coin-operated laundry machines, which made life easier. By midday, I
retreated to my room to avoid melting.
1–6
May – Jomtien
I
didn’t want to linger in Jomtien, but the condo transfer took longer than
expected. The “condo” was really just a room, but I had my reasons: dwindling
funds, the desire for a permanent base, and the fact that Thailand still allows
foreigners to buy property (not land, but close enough).
The
unit was tenanted, which suited me fine. Immobilien helped me open a bank
account, though the internet banking password would take two weeks to arrive.
The most astonishing part was paying for the property with my bank card. I’ve
never bought real estate using the same method one uses to buy groceries.
Just
like that, I became a property owner in Thailand. Traveller to expat in one
swipe.
7
May – Jomtien
While
waiting to sign documents at the land office, I took the ferry to Koh Larn
Island with Emmy and Katae from Immobilien. It was a lovely day. Back in
Jomtien, I ate mushroom soup on the beach while watching the sunset. A simple
pleasure.
8
May – Jomtien
Apparently,
the previous day had rejuvenated me. I was up at 5:30 and jogging by 6:00,
shaving three minutes off my usual time. Still slow but satisfying. A swim and
coffee on the beach completed the morning.
9
May – Jomtien
It’s
remarkable how much one sees during a jog. Fishing boats returning from the sea.
Women selling the morning’s catch. Vendors selling noodle soup to fishermen.
Troubled souls sleeping on pavements beside empty bottles. Ladyboys returning
from a night out, high heels in hand, cigarettes dangling. Monks collecting
food.
I
passed the venue where Thailand played Afghanistan in the Asian Beach Handball
Championships. Later, I signed papers at the Land Office. I ate spicy noodle
soup (again) and did laundry in a wastepaper basket. A full day.
10–11
May – Jomtien and Surrounds
My
daily ride took me past the U-Tapao airport, the turtle conservation centre,
and through quiet backroads. About 80 km in total. I returned around 3:30,
which seemed like an excellent time for coffee and cake.
A
jogger passed me while I was staring into space, and it looked appealing. I put
on my shoes and ran 11 km instead of my usual 10. Still slow, but I felt
energetic. Perhaps coffee and cake are performance enhancers.
12–15
May – Jomtien and Surrounds
Inspired,
I repeated the cycling and running routine (minus the cake). The weather was
overcast with drizzle — perfect cycling conditions.
Most
attractions in Pattaya turned out to be fake, including the cultural village
and floating market. I did, however, find an unusual “park” around a Ban Amphoe
Reservoir with fountains, manicured gardens, temples, and stupas. From there,
the road led to Big Buddha Mountain, where Buddha’s image had been laser-carved
into the cliff face. It was 109 metres tall, 70 metres wide, and filled with
gold. Subtle.
Rain
poured down, and I returned to Jomtien for green curry.
The
next morning, I woke with a stiff neck/shoulder, despite not having swung from
any chandeliers. I skipped jogging and walked along the ocean instead. Boats
were adorned with colourful ribbons and garlands to honour Mae Yanang, the
goddess of travel. I considered decorating my bicycle similarly. My neck
improved slightly, though lifting a beer remained a challenge.
16
May – Jomtien
Impatient,
I cycled to the bank to enquire about the password. They informed me there was
another form to sign. Naturally. I refused to wait another week, so I cycled to
the property agent and handed over my bank details for rental payments.
Finally,
I was ready to leave Jomtien. I returned to the dorm, did laundry, and packed
up.
17
May – Jomtien to Rayong – 80 km
A
storm hit during the night. By morning, the streets looked like a typhoon had
passed through. I set off anyway and made it five kilometres before taking
shelter. It felt good to be back on the bike among roadside stands and chasing
dogs (words I never expected to say).
The
weather worsened as I approached Rayong. The wind reached storm strength, and I
clung to the handlebars while dodging flying corrugated iron, plastic tables,
and chairs. Camping was out of the question. The Mee Dee Hotel saved me.
18
May – Rayong to Kung Wiman Beach – 101 km
The
weather improved marginally. People were busy clearing debris. The ride was
humid but scenic, with a bicycle path along the coast. It was durian season,
and vendors sold surprisingly tasty durian crisps.
I
reached Kung Wiman Beach, where a temple offered camping. The tent instantly
became a sauna, but the mosquitoes were enthusiastic, so I crawled in anyway.
19
May – Kung Wiman Beach to Trat – 98 km
The
heat encouraged an early departure. The weather was miserable, and rain poured
for most of the ride. A woman on a scooter stopped to give me a raincoat — very
kind. I wore it despite finding raincoats too hot. I stopped only once, to look
at mud sculptures. Sopping wet, I reached Trat and found Pop Guesthouse, which
was friendly and affordable.
20
May – Trat, Thailand to Koh Kong, Cambodia – 106 km
Rain
delayed my departure. When it eased, I cycled to the border. The route was
scenic, with mountains and coastline, though too wet to enjoy properly.
The
border crossing was routine. I entered Cambodia and continued to Koh Kong, the
first town on the other side of the river.
I
found an inexpensive room, changed into dry clothes, and went in search of a
SIM card and food. English was scarce, but restaurants had pictures, which
saved me from having to mime poultry.
EPILOGUE
By
the time I pedalled out of Thailand, I’d survived storms, bureaucracy, durian
crisps, and the purchase of a condo I still wasn’t entirely convinced I meant
to buy. The border crossing into Cambodia felt almost calm by comparison—just
stamps, rain, and the familiar sensation of not fully understanding what anyone
was saying. I rolled into Koh Kong, soaked and hungry, and attempted to order
dinner with hand gestures that probably alarmed the staff. Thailand had left me
sun‑bleached,
waterlogged, and unexpectedly responsible for real estate. Cambodia, I
suspected, would bring its own brand of confusion. I pedalled on anyway.
