Bangkok to Mae Sot and the Myanmar border
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69 THAILAND (3)
572 Kilometres – 15 Days
16 March – 29 March 2015
VOICEOVER
FLIP-BOOK
Prelude
There
comes a moment in every long bicycle journey when you realise you’ve pedalled yourself
neatly into a corner and must now fly out of it. Mine arrived in Colombo,
where—having triumphantly circled Sri Lanka—I found myself booking a 7:20 a.m.
flight to Bangkok, a time chosen by airlines specifically to test human
resilience.
By
3:00 a.m. I was in a taxi, bleary‑eyed, clutching a bicycle box the size of a
small shed, and wondering, not for the first time, why I couldn’t have taken up
a sensible hobby like knitting.
Bangkok
promised temples, street food, and—most importantly—a Myanmar visa. I had no
idea what the next two weeks would hold, but I suspected it would involve
sweating, wheezing, and at least one encounter with an animal that wanted to
steal my lunch. I was right on all counts.
Colombo
to Bangkok: A Visa, a Skytrain, and Scorpions on Sticks
I
finished my cycle around Sri Lanka by rolling triumphantly into Colombo, where
I immediately booked a flight to Bangkok—mostly because Myanmar insisted on a
visa and Bangkok insisted on being the place to get it. My taxi collected me at
the ungodly hour of 3:00 a.m., which is the sort of time normally reserved for
bakers, burglars, and people fleeing the country.
Banglamphu—also
known as Backpackerville—was exactly as I remembered it from six years earlier:
loud, colourful, and selling everything a traveller could possibly need, plus
several things no traveller should ever need, including fake IDs and deep‑fried
scorpions on sticks. I checked into a guesthouse on Phra Athit Road, which
became my temporary home and, more importantly, my temporary laundry facility.
The
next morning I submitted my passport to the Myanmar Embassy, where it
disappeared for several days. With nothing else to do, I wandered Bangkok,
taking the Skytrain like a seasoned local who pretends to know where she’s
going. I even attempted to buy a phone charger, which in Bangkok is a quest of
heroic proportions.
I
visited temples, because in Thailand it is physically impossible not to. They
are everywhere—glittering, ornate, colourful, and apparently designed by people
who thought subtlety was a character flaw.
Naturally,
I popped into Wat Pho to see the famous Reclining Buddha, who is 46 metres
long, 15 metres high, and looks like he’s having the best nap in human history.
Unfortunately, the hall was packed with tourists, all of whom seemed determined
to stand exactly where I wanted to walk. I fled before I became a cautionary
tale.
Outside,
I passed a cart selling second‑hand false teeth. I thought: When someone sells
used dentures, you cannot accuse them of lacking entrepreneurial spirit.
A
few days later, my passport reappeared with a Myanmar visa inside, and I was
ready to pedal out of Bangkok toward Mae Sot. The border was a week away, and
the route promised temples, ruins, and the occasional monkey. I was in no
hurry.
Rice
Paddies and Ancient Glory (90 km)
Cycling
out of Bangkok was easy but slow, thanks to roadworks that appeared to be
designed by someone who hated bicycles. Eventually I escaped onto a rural canal
path, where bright green rice paddies stretched out like someone had ironed the
countryside.
Ayutthaya
welcomed me with affordable accommodation and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Founded in 1350, destroyed in 1767, and still managing to look better than most
modern cities, Ayutthaya was once one of the wealthiest places in the East.
Today it is mostly ruins, but very dignified ruins—the kind that make you feel
underdressed.
I
spent an extra day exploring temples and crumbling structures, pedalling around
like a sweaty Indiana Jones.
The
Monkey Kingdom (65 km)
Lopburi
was a short, pleasant ride away. I checked into NooM Guesthouse, which caters
to backpackers and therefore has seen things.
The
town’s main attraction is Prang Sam Yot temple, home to a troop of monkeys who
behave like they own the place—and, frankly, they do. According to Hindu‑Buddhist
beliefs, monkeys have divine connections, which means they cannot be harmed,
only tolerated. Tourists adore them. Shopkeepers do not. The monkeys steal
anything not nailed down, and possibly some things that are.
Rivers
and Rice in Bamboo (131 km)
The
day was overcast, which made cycling pleasant and gave me the illusion that I
was fitter than I actually am. I reached Nakhon Sawan, a town with few
attractions but a very convenient hotel, P.A. Place, which had ground‑floor
rooms and nearby restaurants—two things that make a cyclist weep with joy.
Nakhon
Sawan sits at the confluence of the Ping and Nan Rivers, which join to form the
mighty Chao Phraya. I admired this geographical fact briefly before collapsing
into bed.
Ruins,
Rice, and a Lost Phone (126 km)
The
partly cloudy weather continued, so I pedalled toward Kamphaeng Phet, another
UNESCO site. On the way I met Mel and Lee, an Australian‑Thai couple who had
cycle‑toured for three years and now lived in Chiang Mai. They looked fit and
cheerful, which made me suspicious.
I
bought rice cooked in bamboo from a roadside stall, and it was so delicious I
briefly considered abandoning my bicycle and dedicating my life to bamboo‑rice
appreciation.
Kamphaeng
Phet’s Three J Guesthouse had quirky rooms, which I always enjoy because they
make me feel like I’m living inside someone’s eccentric hobby.
I
spent the next day exploring 14th‑century ruins, running around like a famous
explorer—until I lost my phone. Nothing kills the romance of ancient history
faster than modern stupidity.
Eight
Years of Madness (70 km)
This
day marked my eighth year of cycle touring. In that time, I had crossed
deserts, mountains, and several questionable borders. I had eaten things that
should never be eaten and met people who restored my faith in humanity. I had
also questioned my sanity on a near‑daily basis.
Fortunately,
the ride to Tak was gentle, following the Ping River. Tak was the perfect place
to rest before tackling the mountain range ahead—the final obstacle between me
and Myanmar.
Mountains,
Wheezing, and a Very Fast Descent (90km)
I
left Tak without breakfast, assuming I’d find food along the way. This was
optimistic. The day turned into a slow, hungry slog over steep mountains. Every
time I reached what I thought was the top, another incline appeared, smirking
at me.
Cars
honked as they passed, which I assumed was a good‑luck gesture, though it might
have been encouragement, sympathy, or a warning that I looked like I was about
to keel over.
Eventually
I reached a temple perched on a hill—the unofficial sign that the worst was
over. The descent was thrillingly steep, and I hurtled into Mae Sot at nearly
60 km/h, which is faster than I travel intentionally.
Mae
Sot’s First Hotel was old, enormous, and filled with Burmese teak furniture.
Even the corridors had wooden carvings, giving the impression that the building
had been decorated by a very enthusiastic forest.
I
spent the next day doing laundry and eating enough food to alarm the staff.
Mae
Sot is a fascinating border town. I had lunch at Khrua Canadian, run by Dave
and his wife for 17 years. Dave knew everything—food, local history, politics,
gossip. If he didn’t know it, it probably wasn’t worth knowing.
Crossing
the Line (10 km)
The
Friendship Bridge was only five kilometres away. With my visa already sorted,
all I needed was a stamp and a sense of adventure.
It
never ceases to amaze me how crossing a line on a map can change everything.
Myanmar was immediately different—people, clothing, food, currency, language.
Even the air felt different, though that might have been my imagination or the
lingering scent of paan.
I
withdrew kyats from an ATM. The exchange rate was 1,000 kyats to 1 USD, so I
suddenly possessed a wallet thick enough to stun a small animal.
Men
wore longyi, many had red‑stained teeth from chewing paan, and almost everyone
wore face paint. Myanmar was clearly going to be interesting.
Epilogue
Crossing
from Mae Sot into Myanmar felt like stepping through a portal into an entirely
different universe—one with longyi, paan‑stained smiles, and an ATM that spat
out so many kyats notes I had to buy a new wallet just to cope with the bulk.
It
struck me, not for the first time, how absurdly magical borders can be. One
moment you’re in Thailand, dodging monkeys and eating bamboo rice; the next
you’re in Myanmar, surrounded by face paint, new customs, and a currency that
makes you feel briefly wealthy until you try to buy lunch.
I
pedalled away from the Friendship Bridge with my overloaded wallet, my newly
stamped passport, and the familiar sense that I had absolutely no idea what I
was doing—but was delighted to be doing it anyway.
