Pedalling With More Enthusiasm Than Sense
VIETNAM, CAMBODIA, THAILAND
1
September – 10 September 2018
6
Days – 702 km
FLIP-BOOK
Prelude
There are many sensible ways to explore Southeast Asia. One could take buses, trains, planes, or even stay home and watch documentaries narrated by people with soothing voices. I, however, chose the least sensible option: cycling. It’s a mode of travel that guarantees intimacy with landscapes, cultures, and potholes. Mostly potholes.
This chapter chronicles a stretch of that journey — a week of headwinds, border crossings, questionable snacks, and the kind of accommodation that makes you reconsider your life choices. It is, in short, a celebration of everything that happens when you travel slowly enough for the universe to notice you and have a bit of fun at your expense.
Vietnam
Saigon to Svay Rieng, Cambodia (125 km)
After cycling with Caron from Bangkok to Saigon, I had to make a beeline to Thailand, where I planned to meet my friend, Linda, as she was coming to Asia to cycle Myanmar.
Leaving Saigon on a Sunday morning, I had naïvely assumed the city would be taking a collective nap, allowing me to glide out gracefully. Instead, I found myself in a full-contact sport with motorbikes, buses, and pedestrians who seemed to regard traffic signs as decorative suggestions rather than binding law. I quickly adopted the local technique of ignoring everything except survival, which worked surprisingly well.
Eventually, Saigon shrank in my rear-view mirror, and I celebrated with one last ferry ride across a river. The romance of the moment was short-lived, however, as the opposite bank greeted me with a path so rough it felt like cycling across a field of Lego bricks. This charming detour spat me out at the Vietnam–Cambodia border, where I braced myself for the usual “special fee” negotiations. To my astonishment, the officials charged me only the official $30 visa fee—no extras “for their children,” “for the boss,” or “for the electricity bill.” I nearly fainted from the sheer honesty of it all.
With roughly 900 km ahead and only a week to cover it, I pressed on to Svay Rieng, where I found a $5 room that redefined the concept of “budget accommodation.” The mattress appeared to have been stuffed with gravel, the bathroom smelled faintly of despair, and the décor suggested the last tenant had been a goat. Still, one cannot expect the Ritz for the price of a sandwich. I consoled myself with the thought that beer and food were still within reach—and frankly, after that room, beer was not optional.
Cambodia
Svay Rieng to Phnom Penh (131 km)
Cycling out of Svay Rieng, I was immediately greeted by a headwind so determined it felt personal. Rice paddies drifted past at the speed of continental drift, and I began to suspect I might actually be pedalling backwards. Still, Cambodia has its charms, and on this day I stumbled upon the curious spectacle of flattened rice production.
The process is delightfully medieval: rice is roasted in a wok, then shoved into a wooden cylinder and pounded with a pole the size of a telephone mast. The hull is discarded, and what remains is eaten either dry (surprisingly tasty) or drowned in coconut milk, sugar, and banana. It’s essentially Rice Krispies with a tropical holiday.
Crossing the Mekong River was a revelation. The sheer volume of water rushing downstream was so vast I half expected to see Noah float past in an ark.
Arriving in Phnom Penh during peak-hour traffic and drizzle was like cycling into a blender. I eventually staggered into the Grand View Guesthouse, where I reunited with friends Matt, Dan, Chop, Phillipe, and Teresa. Several bottles of red wine later, I stumbled to my room in a state best described as “horizontal.” The next morning, I emerged with a headache so large it deserved its own postal code. Unsurprisingly, I went nowhere that day, though by evening the group had rallied enough enthusiasm for more beer.
Phnom Penh to Kampong Chhnang (108 km)
Leaving Phnom Penh, I attempted to avoid the main road, which is like trying to avoid sand at the beach. Along the way, I passed Wat Sowann Thamareach, a temple so unusual that it looked as if it had been designed by someone with a fondness for surrealist architecture. Carts laden with pottery trundled past, sold door-to-door like Avon products but heavier.
I even popped into the Vipassana Meditation Centre, where one can enrol in courses to achieve inner peace. I considered staying, but my schedule was tighter than my cycling shorts, so I pressed on.
Barely 12 km from Kampong Chhnang, dark clouds gathered ominously. I wondered if I could outrun the storm, and to my astonishment, I picked up a tailwind so strong I felt like I’d strapped a jet engine to my bicycle. Thunder roared, lightning streaked, and I flew into town just as the first raindrops fell, collapsing into a guesthouse with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.
Kampong Chhnang to Pursat (98 km)
I woke up feeling about as energetic as a boiled noodle, and the day proceeded with all the enthusiasm of a slow‑moving queue at the DMV. The road stretched ahead in a long, uninspired line, and I found myself drifting toward the market stalls for entertainment — which, in Cambodia, is always a gamble.
There were the usual trays of bugs, glistening in the sun like nature’s version of bar snacks. But then came the horror: skinned leopard cats. Yes, actual leopard cats, laid out as casually as tomatoes. These beautiful wild cats are regrettably hunted as food I stared at them in disbelief, wondering if Cambodia had collectively decided to skip straight past “endangered” and head toward “extinct.”
After that emotional rollercoaster, I was thrilled to roll into Pursat and find a room that was good enough to stay overnight. In Cambodia, “good enough” is a rating system unto itself.
The market offered heaps of fried crickets, which — in a moment of questionable judgment — inspired me to share a recipe. I understood that the first step is to refrigerate the crickets “until immobilised… to prevent your food from hopping away. This is, without question, the most polite way I’ve ever heard someone say “freeze your dinner so it stops escaping.”
Pan‑fry until crispy, season lightly, and voilà, you have a snack.
Pursat to Battambang (110 km)
This day was the cycling equivalent of being repeatedly slapped with a wet towel. A headwind blasted me with the persistence of an overeager hairdryer, and the road was in such appalling condition that it felt like riding across a corrugated roof. The road looked like it had been repaired by someone who had only ever seen asphalt in photographs.
Traffic roared past with all the courtesy of a stampede, and the lack of a shoulder meant I spent most of the day cycling in the unofficial “no‑man’s‑land” beside the road — a strip of earth that was technically not a road but was, somehow, still better than the actual road.
By the time I reached Battambang, I was ready to kiss the pavement in gratitude. Instead, I checked into Hotel Royal, which offered clean budget rooms. Clean! Budget! Two words that, when travelling, feel like winning the lottery.
Battambang to Aranyaprathet to Bangkok (130 km)
At this point, time was slipping away faster than my patience, so I pushed on to Aranyaprathet, where I abandoned the noble art of cycling and hopped on a train to Bangkok. Miraculously, taking a bicycle on the train was surprisingly easy. I half expected a bureaucratic nightmare involving forms, fees, and possibly a ceremonial blessing, but no — the train staff barely blinked.
Once in Bangkok, I pedalled to my usual guesthouse, ready for three glorious days of laundry, bike servicing, and pretending to be a responsible adult. My rushed departure from Aranyaprathet had been due to the looming Myanmar visa process. Nothing says adventure like paperwork.
Bangkok
Linda arrived after a 27‑hour flight from Fort Lauderdale, looking like she had been gently tumble‑dried. Still, after a considerable amount of chatting and beer, you both turned in. In my opinion, this is the correct way to welcome someone to Southeast Asia: hydration, conversation, and Chang beer.
Epilogue
Travel, especially by bicycle, is a strange and wonderful thing. It exposes you to landscapes, cultures, and culinary experiments you never asked for. It teaches patience, resilience, and the importance of checking your mattress for gravel.
This chapter ends in Bangkok, with laundry done, visas pending, bicycles serviced, and a friend newly arrived. Ahead lies Myanmar — a country of golden stupas, long roads, and undoubtedly more opportunities for misadventure.
But that, dear reader, is another chapter entirely.
