A Change of Plans and a Quick Visa
Run to Laos
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Thailand
(11)635
Km – 11 Days21
August – 11 September 20171,636km - 22 Days
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
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.
