Attempting Adulthood
(Briefly)
Attempting Adulthood
(Briefly)
Thailand
(10)
1,779
Km – 58 Days
20
June – 18 August 2017
PHOTOS
Prologue
There comes a moment
in every long-term traveller’s life when they think, perhaps I should stop
living like a snail with a passport. Mine arrived somewhere between Cambodia
and Thailand, when I realised, I had bought a condo—an actual, stationary unit
with walls, a door, and the theoretical possibility of a sock drawer.
This chapter
chronicles the brief period in which I tried to be a responsible adult, failed
spectacularly, and fled back to the open road—where at least the chaos makes
sense.
June 20 – Poi Pet,
Cambodia to Sa Kaeo, Thailand (85 km)
Poi Pet greeted me with its usual
charm: dust, noise, and traffic behaving like it had been raised by wolves. I
threaded my way through carts, queues, and motorbikes until immigration waved
me to the front, possibly out of pity.
Once in Thailand, I withdrew rent
money using my Thai card and felt like a financial prodigy. Then, with no plan
whatsoever, I chased a dramatic limestone pinnacle because it looked like the
sort of place that might contain enlightenment—or at least a monk.
I climbed a staircase steep enough to
qualify as a spiritual test and was rewarded with a blessing. Camping there was
tempting, but the monkeys were eyeing my panniers like they were planning a
coordinated raid. I retreated to Sa Kaeo, where the main attractions were a Big
C and a KFC. Accommodation signs were all in Thai script, so I relied on
intuition and blind optimism.
June 21 – Sa Kaeo to
Plaeng Yao (110 km)
The next day’s ride was uneventful,
which felt suspicious. Hard out of Sa
Kaeo I met two Chinese cyclists napping in a bus shelter; our conversation was
a masterpiece of mutual confusion.
Eventually, I escaped to smaller roads
where temples appeared like spiritual pop‑ups and fruit vendors offered
mysterious produce that turned out to be delicious.
The Rich Inn in Ban Plaeng Yao looked
nothing like an inn, but inside it was a tiny oasis with air‑con and hot water.
I did laundry in the wastepaper bin and stared at the walls. A glamorous life.
June 22 – Ban Plaeng
Yao to Jomtien (123 km)
Rural Thailand delivered its usual
magic: old men guarding single cows as if they were national treasures, women
tending rice paddies with enviable grace, and temples gleaming in the sun.
I bought a 10‑baht flower garland “for
good luck” and hung it proudly on my handlebar bag.
Rolling into Pattaya, I collected the
key to my new condo—my first home in a decade. It needed work, but it was mine.
A sanctuary! A nest! A place to leave things without locking them to a bicycle!
June 23 – July 31 –
Jomtien
I plunged into cleaning and discovered
that my previous tenant had left behind enough belongings to stock a small
thrift shop. Seven garbage bags later, I had unearthed:
- six lip balm holders
- several lipstick tubes
- receipts dating back to the Ming Dynasty
- shoeboxes containing… more shoeboxes
My body ached more than after a 100‑km
ride.
I bought new bedding, towels, and two
of everything—except wine glasses, because one must have standards. I even
organised my documents into a file, which made me feel like a functioning
adult.
Pattaya, however, was… Pattaya. A city
where 10 a.m. is considered a perfectly acceptable time for a drunk foreign man
to cling to a bar counter while a Thai girl pretends to find him charming.
Jogging made me look like an alien.
I cycled to a viewpoint for sunset,
but the sky refused to cooperate. A storm rolled in, and I sprinted home like a
Tour de France rider escaping paparazzi.
August 1 – Pattaya
to Prok Fa (102 km)
Escaping Pattaya after a month and a
half felt less like “leaving a city” and more like “fleeing the scene of a
mildly questionable life choice.” I pedalled away without so much as a
nostalgic glance, propelled by the looming deadline of crossing into China and
the faint fear that if I stayed any longer, the neon lights might start
addressing me by name.
The countryside welcomed me like a
cool cloth on a fevered forehead. Temples appeared in serene clusters, coconut
plantations swayed innocently, and pineapple fields stretched out like nature’s
apology for everything Pattaya had just put me through. It was blissful, quiet,
and—most importantly—devoid of nightlife that required a tetanus shot.
A temple on a hill lured me in. The
monks handed me the key to the shrine—apparently trusting sweaty strangers with
sacred spaces is normal here. I climbed, admired the view, locked up, and
continued.
By late afternoon, I found a lively
village with a market and a sign for accommodation. Down a dirt track was a
modest room that felt like a palace after Pattaya.
August 2 – Prok Fa
to Khlong Hat (111 km)
The owner gave me coffee and
bananas—breakfast of champions—and I set off along rural roads near the
Cardamom Mountains. Rubber plantations, chilli fields, and pineapples lined the
route.
I hoped to see elephants but only
found their dung, which was impressive in its own right.
Locals insisted on feeding me at every
water stop. I didn’t resist.
In Khlong Hat, the police let me camp
at their station, fed me, and showed me the bucket‑and‑scoop shower system. I
ended the day with a giant crispy crepe filled with sweet goodness. Bliss.
August 3 – Khlong
Hat to Aranyaprathet (85 km)
I chased a sign promising caves 4 km
away. At 4 km, there were no caves. At 7 km, still no caves. Eventually, I
found a sign pointing uphill. The path was so overgrown it felt like nature was
trying to hide the viewpoint from me.
I climbed until my water ran low, then
retreated. The caves were dark and spooky, so I skipped them as I had no
flashlight.
Prasat Khao Noi, a 6th-century Khmer
sanctuary, was a delight—until the sky dumped rain on me. I hid, waited, and
continued to Aranyaprathet, where the Aran Garden Hotel had no garden but did
have prison‑green floors.
Dinner was noodle soup from a mobile
stall while my laundry spun somewhere in the background.
August 4 –
Aranyaprathet to Non Din Daeng (108 km)
I escaped town and immediately found
tiny lanes leading to Prasat Sadok Kok Thom, an 11th‑century temple guarded
only by an old man and his water buffalo. My kind of tourist attraction.
Rice fields, buffalo, temples, and
Friday markets filled the day. Locals whispered “farang, farang” as if spotting
a rare bird.
I reached Non Din Daeng, found yet
another temple ruin, and decided I was temporarily templed‑out.
August 5 – Non Din
Daeng to Khao Kradong Forest Park (111 km)
After a good night’s sleep I felt
energised and I visited the ruins of Nong Hong Sanctuary (deserted except for
cows), then Prasat Muang Tam, which was spectacular and deserved far more
visitors than just me.
A truck driver gifted me water and
cola—proof that angels sometimes drive pickup trucks.
After biking 110 km Khao Kradong
Forest Park surprised me with food carts, trails, and camping. I pitched my
tent just before the rain arrived, feeling smug and accomplished.
August 6 – Khao
Kradong Forest Park to Surin (50 km)
Woken by roosters, I packed up and
headed east. Central Thailand’s fertile plains and Khmer history made for a
beautiful ride.
Surin appeared unexpectedly, and I
checked into “My Hotel,” which was conveniently opposite the station. Rain kept
me indoors the next day, which was perfect for catching up on work.
August 8 – Surin to
Uthumphon Phisai (125 km)
Just two kilometres out of Surin, I
found a rural path that delivered a perfect day: green rice paddies, friendly
people, and only one backtrack required.
I visited a silk village, then Prasat
Chom Phra, a 12th-century Mahayana Buddhist medical station. Locals gifted me
water, fruit, and a sweet bun—fuel for the final kilometres.
I chased signs to more ruins, but
after 13 km of nothing, I gave up, as I had already cycled 125km. I searched
for accommodation and went to Tesco Lotus. Food solves everything.
August 9 – Uthumphon
Phisai to Phibun (130 km)
The highway dominated the day—boring,
hot, and uninspiring. I arrived in Phibun exhausted and ready for bed.
August 10 – Phibun
to Pha Taem National Park (65 km)
A short but eventful day. I followed
the Mun River to the Pak Mun Dam, which was dramatically overflowing.
A cash mix-up forced me to detour to
Khong Chiam, where I admired the Two‑Colour River Viewpoint—blue and brown
waters swirling like a giant latte.
Later, a cable-pulled boat ferried me
across the river, assisted by a helpful local who clearly doubted my ability to
load a bicycle without drowning.
I found PK Riverside Resort and camped
under trees beside the Mekong. For 100 baht, it was paradise.
August 11 – Pha Taem
National Park to Khemmarat (117 km)
I drank coffee by the river, watched
boats glide past, and considered abandoning cycling to become a riverside
hermit.
The day was full of rolling hills—fun
in the morning, hateful by afternoon. The 3,000 Stones rock formations were
surreal and worth every curse word uttered on the climbs.
Khemmarat welcomed me with food stalls
and an air-conditioned room. Heaven.
August 12 –
Khemmarat to Mukdahan (85 km)
A day of mild inclines and maximum
fatigue. I crawled into Mukdahan, ate everything in sight, and collapsed.
August 13 – Mukdahan
to Sakhon Nakhon (122 km)
I tried to cross the Friendship Bridge
into Laos, but bicycles were banned. I sighed dramatically and continued on the
Thai side of the river.
A dirt track through rubber
plantations restored my mood. Villagers fed me again—Thailand is basically one
long buffet.
I reached Sakhon Nakhon, discovered a
night market, bought two meals, and managed to eat only one. A personal
tragedy.
August 14 – Sakhon
Nakhon to Sawang Daen Din (90 km)
Floods had turned parts of the region
into lakes. Villagers fished in the streets. Rivers roared under bridges.
I sheltered at police stations, rode
farm tracks, and eventually reached Sawang Daen Din, where I found a 250 baht
room with air con. Luxury!
August 15 – Sawang
Daen Din to Nong Khai (125 km)
Flood damage made the roads
unpredictable. Workers repaired them while farmers dried dyed grasses on the
tarmac.
A flat tyre slowed me down, but the
villages I passed were full of life—charcoal makers, fishermen, vendors, cattle
herders.
I raced a storm to Nong Khai and
reached Mut Mee Guesthouse just as the sky exploded. My 200‑baht room was basic
but spotless. Perfect.
.
Epilogue
My brief attempt at
domesticity had ended exactly as expected: with me fleeing a condo full of
newly purchased cutlery and running headlong back into the arms of the open
road.
Some people settle
down. Some people build homes. And some people—my people—buy a sleeper sofa,
admire it for a week, and then abandon it for a tent pitched beside the Mekong.
Thailand had
reminded me of who I was: a wanderer with a bicycle, a sense of humour, and a
talent for arriving everywhere just after closing time.
