A Visa Quest that Turned into a
1,635-Kilometre, 29-Day,
Unintentional Bicycle Adventure
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LAOS (8) & THAILAND (16) - Emiel
1,635 Kilometres - 30 Days
10 May – 8 June 2018
THAILAND
(15.3), LAOS (8), THAILAND (16)
Prelude
It began innocently
enough: a short ride, a sensible idea, the sort of plan that sounds entirely
reasonable when discussed over beer. From there, things progressed in the usual
manner: trains were boarded with bicycles that clearly objected, rules were
encountered and quietly ignored, and a visa process unfolded that suggested
bureaucracy is less a system and more a personality trait.
What followed was a steady
sequence of heat, rain, villages, rivers, minor logistical misjudgements, and
an impressive ability to turn “a short ride” into something considerably
longer. There were good decisions, questionable ones, and several that only
made sense at the time.
There were also beers.
These played a central role in morale, recovery, and, occasionally,
planning—though not always in that order.
THAILAND (15.3)
Settling Down Briefly (and Failing at It)
Bangkok – Maps, Memories
and a Farewell
On
Janice’s last day in Bangkok, we embarked on what can only be described as a slightly
doomed mission to find the perfect precision tool for her art. After combing
through shops, stalls, and what I suspect was someone’s living room, we found
absolutely nothing.
But
the universe, clearly feeling guilty, handed me a prize: a beautifully detailed
map of Thailand and Southeast Asia. I had been searching for one for ages, so
naturally, I was unreasonably excited over a piece of paper.
Then
Janice casually upped the emotional stakes by gifting me a camera backpack. A
good one. The kind that says, “You matter, and also please take better photos.”
I felt equal parts touched and awkward—like when someone sings happy birthday
to you in public. I wore it proudly all day, because if you don’t parade your
gifts around, did they even happen?
That
evening, Janice and Chris hopped into a taxi to the airport, marking the end of
their epic cycling journey. Meanwhile, I stayed behind, already plotting my
next questionable ride.
Bangkok
is dangerously addictive. You think you’ll stay a few days, and suddenly it’s
been a week, and you’re seriously considering opening a street food stall.
After
farewelling my friends, I cycled to Bok-Bok Bike, the holy temple of touring
bikes. I may have spent more time there than necessary, pretending to “inspect”
things I had no intention of buying. I do things like that in bike shops.
Eventually,
I retreated to my “emergency bunker” in Jomtien—essentially my personal
recovery zone after too much adventure and not enough rest.
Jomtien - When ‘Let’s Cycle to the Border’ Sounds Like a
Reasonable Plan
After
ten years on the road, having a condo without a checkout date felt unsettling…
like I’d forgotten to leave. I kept expecting someone to knock and say, “Ma'am,
it's check-out time.”
But
as always, the itch returned. During a casual conversation with Emiel—who
coincidentally needed a visa run—I suggested we cycle to the border. He agreed
far too quickly, which in hindsight should have been a warning sign (he later
admitted he was under the impression we would only cycle part of the route).
Plans
shifted (as they always do), and instead of cycling to Laos, we decided to take
a train there and cycle back as Emiel was out of visa time. Genius. Flawless
logic.
Pattaya to Nong Khai - Beer, Bunks, and Breaking the Rules Like
Nervous Teenagers
When
D-day arrived, we cycled a heroic six kilometres to Pattaya station—enough to
justify how many snacks we brought.
Loading
our bikes onto the train was… an experience. Imagine two people trying to fit
oversized metal contraptions through a doorway clearly designed for
normal-sized humans. We blocked entire carriages, and the conductor basically
had to perform an Olympic vault just to get past us.
At
Bangkok station, things got even better. Emiel’s bike was halfway out the door.
At one point, I considered giving it a gentle push and claiming insurance.
Then
we discovered the next train didn’t allow bicycles. Of course it didn’t. Why
would it?
Eventually,
we found another train on which our bikes would arrive two hours after we did. Not
ideal, but by then, we had given up expecting logic.
We
settled into sleeper bunks, opened our beers, and promptly learned that alcohol
was forbidden. Naturally, we dealt with this like mature adults: by hiding
behind curtains and drinking like teenagers, avoiding a teacher.
Delayed Bikes, Buddha Park and Crossing Borders
We
arrived in Nong Khai (the border town) to discover our bikes were late. Great
start.
Not
wanting to waste time, we explored the town and visited Buddha Park—a surreal collection
of statues that look like someone dreamt them after eating too much spicy food.
Returning
to the station, I found my bike with a broken gear cable. The odometer
suggested it had gone for a solo adventure while we were out.
After
sorting the mess, we crossed into Laos and cycled into Vientiane under what can
only be described as a personal relationship with the sun. Thankfully, the
guesthouse had air-conditioning, which felt like stepping into heaven.
Vientiane
– Food, Heat, and Mild Confusion
Evenings
became our salvation. Riverside strolls, massive portions of food, and the kind
of relaxed atmosphere that makes you forget you’ve spent the day melting.
We
later visited the COPE visitor centre—informative, sobering, and deeply moving.
The organisation supports people with mobility disabilities, mostly injured by
unexploded ordnance. Laos remains the most bombed country per capita in
history, yet COPE’s work has helped countless survivors reclaim their lives. To
balance the emotional weight, we searched for SIM cards—always an adventure in
itself.
At
one point, I got a flat tyre with no tools. Emiel brilliantly suggested a
tuk-tuk, clearly fearing I might suggest pushing the bike for several
kilometres.
Visa
Adventures (AKA Bureaucracy: The Sequel)
At
the Thai Consulate, I was informed my photo was “too sexy” and needed
replacing. I still don’t know whether to be offended or proud.
Between
holidays, queues, and general bureaucracy, getting that visa felt like
completing a side quest in a video game.
CYCLE TOURING LAOS (8)
-Mythical Serpents
and Questionable Markets
Vientiane
to Thabok (98 kilometres) Escaping the Capital, Entering the Heat, and
Overshooting the Plan
At
long last, the moment arrived to escape Vientiane and actually start cycling—because
up until now, we’d mainly been practising the highly technical sport of eating
and waiting for visas.
Surprisingly,
the day turned out rather pleasant. A gentle tailwind made the predicted 35°C
feel less like a punishment and more like a mild inconvenience. Before long, we
cleared the city and entered rural Laos, where kids enthusiastically shouted
“Sabaidee falang!”—which, I suspect, loosely translates to “Look! Foreigners on
bicycles again!”
Although
this stretch wasn’t exactly postcard material, it had its charm. We passed
temples, rice fields, and markets selling woven goods, as well as the
occasional broken-down truck that looked like it had given up on life several
years ago.
It
was rice-planting season, so farmers in straw hats carefully sowed seeds in
tiny fields by their homes, while kids pedalled to school and vendors sold
fish—either in plastic bags or, for reasons unknown, in individual bottles.
(Decorative? Portable pets? Emergency snacks? The mystery remains.)
At
one point, we encountered a Buddhist funeral procession marching through the
blazing heat. What started as a modest group steadily grew as villagers
casually joined in, giving it the feel of a very solemn—but suspiciously
expandable—parade.
Meanwhile,
Emiel absolutely flew on his first day. In fact, he was so enthusiastic that he
completely overshot our planned stop and only decided to stop 20 km later.
Apparently, “let’s go a bit further” is a dangerous phrase.
We
eventually ended up in Thabok, where accommodation was simple, clean, and—most
importantly—right across from a restaurant serving food and beer. Priorities:
perfectly aligned.
Thabok
to Pakkading (100 kilometres) Rivers, Buffalo Philosophers, and the Three-Step
Evening Routine
We
left Thabok accompanied by what I can only describe as “two-wheeled tractors
with ambitions.” These contraptions pulled wooden carts full of cheerful ladies
in conical hats, looking far more relaxed about transport than we were.
The
landscape gradually became greener and more lush as we crossed river after
river feeding into the mighty Mekong. Water buffalo lounged about like retired
businessmen, and canoes lined the banks as if patiently waiting for something
exciting to happen.
Every
now and again, the road hugged the river, then wandered inland like it had
changed its mind, only to reconnect again later. Along the way, roadside stalls
offered dried fish, smoked fish, and possibly fish that had been through some
kind of emotional journey—all neatly wrapped in banana leaves.
Children
acted as early warning systems: one shout of “falang!” and the entire village
would appear, waving enthusiastically. However, if you dared to stop for a
photo, they’d scatter instantly, as if you’d just turned into a tax collector.
By
the time we reached Pakkading, we had settled into our routine:
Find
accommodation
Locate
cold beer
Make
the beer disappear at an alarming rate
Pakkading
to Vieng Kham (45 kilometres) The Yuri Gagarin Bridge, Water Serpents, and a
Mercifully Short Ride
A
shorter day, which meant our legs got a break—and more importantly, Emiel’s
backside received much-needed mercy.
We
crossed the Pakkading River via a Russian-built bridge dedicated to Yuri
Gagarin, the first human in space. A fitting tribute, really—cycling in this
heat sometimes feels like entering another atmosphere altogether.
This
bridge also came with a local tradition: truck drivers light a cigarette before
crossing and toss it into the river to appease a mythical water serpent. We
considered it, but decided our contribution to the serpent would be not falling
into the river ourselves.
The
road was lively, shared with everything from buses and trucks to goats, carts,
and children riding motorbikes in configurations that defy physics.
Snack
options were plentiful—watermelon was peeled and sliced roadside for pocket
change, which frankly felt like the best deal of the entire trip.
Our
accommodation for the night wasn’t exactly luxurious (let’s call it
“authentically rustic”), but it worked. The beds were arranged in such a way
that your feet didn’t face the door—because apparently, that’s unlucky.
Comfort, clearly, takes second place to supernatural etiquette.
Vieng
Kham to Hinboun (53 kilometres) Breakfast Confusion, River Crossings, and the
Art of Not Melting
Breakfast
brought one of the classic challenges of travel: ordering food without speaking
the language.
We
ended up with one shared plate of rice, pork, and eggs—perfectly logical in
Southeast Asia, where meals are communal. However, we responded stubbornly and
ordered a second plate, much to everyone’s confusion.
Well-fed,
we pedalled on, crossing wide rivers and enjoying the rare sight of people
actually cleaning the riverbanks—something you don’t often see.
As
usual, kids treated us like a sporting event, cycling alongside at high speed
until one inevitably lost a flip-flop or pedal, which somehow made the entire
experience even more entertaining for everyone involved.
By
midday, the sun became unbearable, and we wisely retreated to roadside lodging
to avoid spontaneous combustion.
That
evening, we tried “Seendat”—Laotian barbecue. This involved cooking your own
food over a small dome grill with broth bubbling around it. It was part cooking
class, part social event, and part survival test.
You
grease the grill with pork fat, cook thin slices of meat, toss vegetables into
the broth, and somehow end up with a delicious meal while sweating profusely.
Highly recommended.
Hinboun
to Thahek (53 kilometres) Markets of Questionable Protein and the Great Wall of
Laos
We
started the day at a market selling… everything.
Cockroaches,
frogs, squirrels, and pieces of monitor lizard were all on display. Emiel did
not cope well. In fact, his appetite resigned immediately.
It
didn’t help that shortly afterward we encountered a soup stall where a buffalo
carcass was being cleaned while food was prepared. This was apparently too much
authenticity for breakfast.
Further
along, we encountered the “Great Wall of Laos”—a geological formation
surrounded by myths involving giants, traps, and ancient engineering projects.
In reality, it’s natural—but far less fun to explain it that way.
Reaching
Thahek, we celebrated with Beer Lao and dim sum. Emiel bravely tried a
“100-year-old egg,” which looked terrifying but tasted… surprisingly normal. A
triumph of courage over appearance.
The
following day was a rest day—aka laundry, eating, coffee, eating again, and
generally recovering from everything.
Thahek
itself was charming, with old colonial buildings and riverside views. The only
interruption to our peaceful evening was a storm that chased us indoors,
reminding us that the weather here also enjoys surprises.
Thahek
to Savannakhet (120 km) The Accidental Century Ride and the Mango-Strewn Road
South
We
set off expecting a relaxed two-day journey. Naturally, that plan collapsed.
The
road was littered with mangoes blown down by a storm—a fruity obstacle course
that kept things interesting.
Village
life along the Mekong was simple and fascinating: stilt houses, animals
underneath, and small plots of rice. People seemed both curious and delighted
to see us, often encouraging photos—quite the contrast to big city anonymity.
However,
accommodation proved elusive. None. Anywhere.
So
we kept riding. And riding. And riding some more.
Eventually,
slightly exhausted and very motivated by cold beverages, we reached
Savannakhet. The first order of business? Beer.
The
second? The night market—because clearly, cycling 120 km means you’ve earned
the right to eat everything in sight.
Savannakhet - Colonial Streets, Tiny Chairs, and the
Joy of Doing Very Little
A
well-deserved rest day.
Savannakhet
turned out to be a charming town with shady streets and colonial buildings. The
day was spent doing very little (an underrated skill), while the evening
brought lively riverside scenes—people eating, chatting, playing games, and
enjoying the sunset.
Tiny
chairs, massive portions of food, and a relaxed atmosphere—it’s safe to say we
settled in quite comfortably.
THAILAND (16)
Rain, Ruins, and the Road Back to Pattaya
Savannakhet, Laos to Don Tan (67 km) Ignoring
Instructions and Hunting for Breakfast
Our leisurely
departure was justified by the gloriously short distance to the Laos–Thailand
border. The plan—rather sensibly—was to cycle across the Friendship Bridge.
Reality, however, had other ideas.
First came a
five-kilometre detour to the immigration office, during which we heroically
attempted breakfast. The result: coffee. Just coffee. Everything else—food,
hope, and possibly dignity—was apparently lost in translation.
Stamped out of
Laos, we were informed that cyclists must cross the bridge by bus. Naturally, I
declared this outrageous nonsense. Emiel, who is normally the sensible one,
briefly misplaced that trait, and we promptly ignored the rules like two
fugitives from Bureaucracy Kingdom. Off we went, pedalling furiously across the
bridge as if paperwork might catch us.
Having successfully
smuggled ourselves into Thailand under the guise of “people on bicycles,” we
made a beeline for civilisation: 7-Eleven. There, breakfast was finally
secured, and our Thai SIM cards revived. Truly, modern miracles come in plastic
packaging.
The route south
began promisingly on a cycle path… which then vanished completely, dumping us
back onto the main highway like an afterthought. By evening, we found a
bungalow overlooking the Mekong, which drifted past with the unhurried
confidence of a river that knows it will eventually reach the sea and is in
absolutely no rush to do so.
Don Tan to Ban Kaeng Hi (75 km) Of Rain, Rice, and
Being Thoroughly Soaked
Morning drizzle
gifted us a blissfully cool ride—about as close to “cycling nirvana” as
Southeast Asia gets without air-conditioning on wheels.
We passed water
buffalo, temples, and rice paddies, with Emiel in excellent form and pulling us
along like a human tailwind. A roadside noodle soup sighting triggered
immediate emergency braking—always a sign of good priorities.
Further on, rubber
plantations told a rather gloomy story: latex hanging uncollected because it
now costs more to harvest than it’s worth. Meanwhile, farmers were busy
planting rice—an operation involving mud, patience, and the kind of
organisation that would shame most corporate meetings.
As the day
progressed, the sky gathered itself into a threatening mood and promptly proved
its point. We attempted to outrun the storm and were utterly defeated—arriving
soaked to the bone with the dignified appearance of damp laundry.
Ban Kaeng Hi
greeted us with accommodation—and a complete lack of electricity. The entire
village had gone dark, presumably in solidarity with the rain.
Hunger led us to a
small restaurant where our arrival caused immediate local fame. Within minutes,
the entire village seemingly knew: two foreigners, arrived by bicycle, staying
at the “resort” (a term used generously). Despite language barriers, food was communicated
through the international dialect of enthusiastic pointing.
Dinner appeared:
noodle soup, fried rice, and Beer Chang—because hydration matters. When rain
resumed, the owner kindly offered us a lift for the 500-metre journey back. We
declined (naturally), borrowed umbrellas instead, and returned them the next
morning.
Conclusion: rural
Thailand is absurdly lovely and dangerously charming.
Ban Kaeng Hi to Khong Chiam (95 km) Chillies,
Climbing, and a Strategic Lack of Food
After a night cool
enough to make air-conditioning unnecessary (a rare and noteworthy event worthy
of certificates), we returned to our now-familiar restaurant—partly to return
umbrellas, partly because they already knew how to feed us.
Emiel,
mysteriously, claimed not to be hungry. I took this as an opportunity to order
a fiery omelette with a quantity of chillies sufficient to alarm small mammals.
Antacid was consumed preemptively.
The ride through
Pha Taem National Park was glorious: forest, shade, hills, butterflies,
dragonflies—and just enough incline to make us question our life choices.
Predictably, when
Emiel finally got hungry, there was absolutely no food anywhere. This is a
universal law of cycling.
We arrived in Khong
Chiam starving and slightly offended by reality. After food and a shower, we
visited the meeting point of the Mun and Mekong rivers, where the two streams
flowed side by side without mixing—like relatives politely avoiding each other
at a wedding.
Khong Chiam to Ubon (85 km) A Region Indecently
Green
Welcome to Isan:
flat, vast, agricultural, and extraordinarily green. The rice paddies glowed
with such intensity that one suspects nature might be showing off.
Roadside stalls
ranged from fruit-laden abundance to what could only be described as two
pumpkins and quiet optimism.
There were also an
astonishing number of shops selling temple items—gongs, drums, and everything
one never realised was in such demand until encountering several dozen shops
dedicated to them.
Bodhi trees were
everywhere—sacred, spirit-filled, and not to be cut down without due warning.
Frankly, this seems fair. If I lived in a tree, I’d appreciate a polite
heads-up too.
Ubon welcomed us
with cheap accommodation directly opposite a night market—effectively removing
any remaining self-control over food consumption.
Ubon to Kantharalak (75 km) Traffic, Superstition,
and Deeply Judgmental Cows
A straightforward
ride—slightly too straightforward, in fact, and busier than anticipated. To
compensate, we invested in flower garlands for good luck. At 10 baht each, they
seemed like an absolute bargain for something that would (in theory) prevent
disaster.
The day required
closer attention—like diving in poor visibility. Highlights included scrawny
cows with long ears who looked quietly judgmental, as though deeply unimpressed
with our cycling technique.
Kantharalak
provided air-conditioning, affordable rooms, and a Buddhist holiday, which
meant no beer. Except in restaurants. A loophole so appreciated it nearly
deserved a toast.
Dinner ordering
became a game of “No have” until we landed on fried rice and spicy mango salad,
which—fortunately—did have.
Kantharalak to Phu Sing (70 km) Temples Built from
Beer and Other Good Decisions
Breakfast at
7-Eleven (as tradition demands) was followed by a visit to the Temple of a
Million Bottles—a structure made entirely of empty beer bottles.
Whether this is a
triumph of recycling, devotion, or sheer persistence is unclear—but it’s
impressive either way.
The ride itself was
suspiciously perfect: light traffic, easy access to food and water, and a
gentle tailwind. Suspicious because perfection tends to make one nervous.
Phu Sing offered
charming timber bungalows and the added bonus of being mildly fascinating to
locals. Two cyclists = instant entertainment.
Phu Sing to Chong Chom (80 km) Ruins, Roads, and
the Excellence of Not Planning
Leaving the
bungalows required emotional strength. After one last 7-Eleven stop, we
ventured onward through more idyllic countryside—temples, rice fields, and cows
clearly convinced they owned the roads.
We visited Prasat
Chumphon, an ancient Khmer sanctuary—completely free and blissfully empty,
aside from cows.
By evening, we
reached Chong Chom, a border market selling everything imaginable, including
many things nobody needed but someone clearly decided to buy anyway.
Chong Chom to Prasat Muang Tum (94 km) Pineapple,
Heat, and Sensible Avoidance of Culture
The road hugged the Cambodian border, passing
mushroom vendors with displays worthy of art exhibitions.
A pineapple stop
resulted in one of the sweetest pineapples imaginable—further proof that
roadside fruit stalls outperform most global supply chains.
We
slinked into Prasat Muang Tum, housing a 1000-year-old Khmer temple at around
14h00. Muang Tum is one of the temples built in Angkor style when the Khmer
empire controlled large parts of Thailand. It’s situated along an ancient road
between Angkor Thom (present-day Siem Reap in Cambodia) to Phimai in Nakhon
Ratchasima province (further North West).
Already
late but still blistering, we considered it best to visit the temples in the
morning.
Prasat Muang Tum to Non Din Daeng (41 km) Ancient
Empires and the Power of a Good Breakfast
Breakfast
was served at our abode, consisting of rice porridge with added ginger,
chillies and coriander. I absolutely loved it. The meal was served with a few
side dishes, including steamed palm cake in banana leaves and fried dough or
doughnuts.
The temple visit
was equally impressive—ancient, mysterious, and full of historical intrigue
about empires rising, shifting religions, and general instability (which,
frankly, history seems quite fond of).
Marvelling
at these magnificent ruins, took a while and after a few pics, we got underway.
Tiny Non Din Daeng was reached after a mere 40 kilometres, but it offered
comfortable-looking accommodation. Upon closer inspection, it turned out even
better than envisaged, with ground-floor, motel-style rooms, a restaurant, and
a substantial, beautiful garden.
Non Din Daeng to Aranyaprathet (87 km) Speed,
Gravity, and Questionable Confidence
Armed with fresh
garlands (safety first), we hurtled downhill at speeds that suggested we had
temporarily abandoned wisdom.
Garlands flap
magnificently at high velocity, by the way.
At the bottom,
maturity returned, and we continued to Aranyaprathet, where the “Garden Hotel”
had no garden, which felt bold but acceptable.
Aranyaprathet to Khao Chakan (76 km) Stairs, Storm
Threats, and Sleeping in Buses
With
a pannier full of clean clothes, well-rested legs, and a belly full of food, we
set out in the direction of one more ruin known as Prasat Khao Noi. Prasat Khao
Noi was inhabited around the 12th – 13th Buddhist century. Today, the ruins sit
atop a small hill roughly 80 meters high and are accessible via a stairway with
254 steps. A lintel and inscription unearthed on-site date to 637 AD, but were
most likely reused.
From
the ruins, a beautiful ride led through the countryside toward Khao Chakan. The
weather looked threatening, and even though a strong wind picked up and dark
clouds gathered, we miraculously never got wet and arrived in Khao Chakan
bone-dry. That night’s accommodation was a fascinating set-up known as the Bus
Resort, where old buses were converted into overnight accommodation – an
absolute novelty. At Khao Chakan, a near-vertical staircase led to a massive
hole in the mountain, offering views of the countryside.
Khao Chakan to Sronlai (94 km) Plenty of Elephants,
None Actually Visible
Through elephant
territory we rode, seeing none—but plenty of evidence they’d recently been
very, very present.
Sronlai
Homestay was situated on a dam and offered camping and bungalows. I opted to
camp while Emiel took a room, as he had no tent. I liked camping at the dam as
the availability of canoes made pleasant rowing at sunset. Suggesting this to
Emiel, he laughingly claimed he’d no intention of becoming sportsman of the
year and preferred having a beer. My rubber arm was easily twisted.
Sronlai to Pluk Daeng (90 km) Rolling Hills and a
Soup with Opinions
A drifting day
through farmland, featuring cashews that look permanently confused about their
own design.
Supper
was from a nearby restaurant where (quite understandably) not a word of English
was spoken. Thank goodness, the menu included pictures one could point to. When
the food arrived, it appeared that we had ordered soup in which floated a
strange-looking head, complete with eyes. We burst out laughing and ordered
fried rice. On second thought, it could’ve been eel, as it didn’t “taste like
chicken”.
Pluk Daeng to Pattaya (46 km) Back to Civilisation,
Ready or Not
A gentle drizzle
carried us into Pattaya—a startling return to civilisation after weeks of rural
calm.
We celebrated at
Glenn’s bar, marking the completion of 1,635 kilometres of cycling.
Well done, Emiel.
You survived, thrived, and provided excellent company—plus occasional
questionable support for decision-making.
