074 CYCLING MALAYSIA (2) - WAITING FOR A NEW PASSPORT

The Great Malaysian Loop

Diving, Dodging Monkeys and Defying Bureaucracy

MALAYSIA (2)
3,205 Kilometres - 66 Days
8 June – 11 September 2015

MAP
PHOTOS
PDF
VOICEOVER

FLIP-BOOK

  

Prelude

Malaysia wasn’t part of any grand plan. It was simply where I happened to be when life, bureaucracy, and a missing passport conspired to keep me still. Yet the country had other ideas. It swept me up in its humid embrace, fed me roti canai at irresponsible hours, introduced me to monkeys with questionable morals, and offered roads so quiet I could hear my own thoughts — and occasionally my own swearing. What began as a place to wait became a place to wander, to linger, to get lost, and to be found again. Malaysia, in all its smoky sunsets, coastal shortcuts, and unexpected kindness, turned out to be the perfect detour.

 

 

Crossing Borders & Chasing Roti (105 km)

After a breezy 55 km pedal, I rolled up to the Thailand–Malaysia border expecting bureaucracy, queues, and at least one official who looked like he’d rather be fishing. Instead, I was waved through with a 90‑day stay as casually as if they were handing out coupons. I nearly hugged the immigration officer.

Sixty kilometres later, I reached Alor Setar — gateway to Langkawi, apparently, though I was only looking for a bed and possibly something fried. Malaysia, I quickly discovered, is one of those countries that seems to have been designed by a committee of people who really like food. Malay, Chinese, Indian — all happily mingling in a fragrant, sizzling culinary utopia.

The night market next to my guesthouse was a sensory riot. Spices perfumed the air, hot plates hissed like angry cats, and roti canai cost RM1 each. I ate more than one. I regret nothing.

 

Ferrying into Food Paradise (100 km)

The ride to Butterworth was a gentle glide past rice paddies, temples, and mosques — the sort of scenery that makes you feel like you’re starring in a slow‑paced travel documentary narrated by David Attenborough.

From Butterworth, I boarded the ferry to Penang, sharing the deck with pedestrians, cars, and motorbikes that looked like they’d been welded together during the 1980s. Minutes later, we docked in Georgetown, the famed Pearl of the Orient.

I found a crappy but blessedly air‑conditioned room with a window — luxury by my standards. Georgetown’s streets were a living museum: rickshaws pedalling past Chinese shophouses, lanterns swaying overhead, and food vendors everywhere. I inhaled a plate of Nasi Goreng before my backpack even hit the floor.

 

Street Art Safari in Georgetown

Georgetown may be a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but it’s also a fully functioning town where people live, work, and honk at you. Rickshaws ferried tourists through chaotic lanes lined with British Raj architecture, retro pubs, and Chinese shophouses.

I spent the day hunting for street art with the enthusiasm of a treasure‑obsessed pirate. The murals were scattered all over town, turning the day into a delightful scavenger hunt. Every time I found one, I felt absurdly triumphant — as if I’d discovered it personally and should probably be awarded a medal.

 

Love Lane & More Wandering

I wasn’t done with Georgetown, so I stayed another day. My wanderings took me past joss stick makers, goldsmiths, garland makers, and food vendors who seemed determined to test the limits of human stomach capacity.

I drifted through Little India, Little China, and the old clan jetties before returning to my abode on Love Lane — a name that suggests romance but mostly delivers backpackers, scooters, and the occasional confused tourist.

 

Rain, Ferries & Tiger Beer (55 km)

I wasn’t in the mood to cycle, but I wasn’t in the mood to stay either — a classic traveller’s dilemma. I dragged myself to the ferry and headed back to the mainland.

Moments after departure, the sky unleashed one of Southeast Asia’s signature downpours — the kind that makes motorcycles pull over en masse like a synchronised swimming team. I joined them, waiting for the deluge to pass. A few kilometres later, the heavens opened again. At that point, the only sensible thing to do was find shelter, order a tall Tiger beer, and watch the weather from a porch like a woman who had absolutely no intention of getting wet again.

 

The Wettest Town Lives Up to Its Name (44 km)

Taiping is famous for being the wettest town in the region. Even in June — allegedly the “dry” month — it receives 159 mm of rain. I arrived soaked, dripping all over the hotel’s shiny tiles like a malfunctioning fountain.

The rain never stopped. I spent the rest of the day indoors, eating and listening to the storm batter the windows. Taiping: come for the scenery, stay because you physically cannot leave.

 

A Pleasant Surprise (95 km)

Breakfast was McDonald’s (don’t judge), followed by a 95 km ride to Lumut, gateway to Pangkor Island. The rain had finally given up, leaving behind cooler air and humidity thick enough to swim through.

Lumut surprised me. It was charming, calm, and pleasant enough to tempt me into staying the night instead of hopping straight onto the ferry. Sometimes the best travel decisions are made out of sheer laziness.

 

Monkeys & Bad Influence in Lumut

I started the day with shopping at the mall, then read a photography magazine at Starbucks — a dangerously expensive pastime, as it immediately made me want a new lens.

On the way back, I stopped at the Mangrove Park to photograph monkeys. While I was busy composing the perfect shot, the little thieves stole my water bottle straight off the bike. I shook my fist at them, but I swear they laughed from the treetops. Malaysia’s wildlife: adorable, agile, and morally questionable.

 

Waiting for a Passport & Settling in Lumut

I was dragging my heels because I was waiting for my new passport. Malaysia was one of the few countries that allowed a 90‑day stay, and if you needed more time, you could simply pop into Singapore and return for another three months. Bureaucracy with a side of convenience.

Lumut turned out to be an excellent place to wait. It had ocean views, was near Seri Manjung, had plenty of restaurants, and had a steady stream of tourists heading to Pangkor Island. I found a lovely studio apartment with a balcony and a massive pool — which was entirely mine thanks to Ramadan keeping things quiet.

The staff were wonderfully accommodating: they gave me balcony furniture, did my laundry, and even lent me a laptop with a big screen. If waiting for a passport was supposed to be stressful, Lumut clearly hadn’t received the memo.

 

Lumut: The Fitness Experiment

I decided to become one of those people who jog in tropical humidity and pretend it’s enjoyable. This required running shoes and swimming goggles, which I dutifully acquired. The jogging part, however, was less successful. My legs moved at the speed of continental drift, and I wasn’t sure I possessed the patience required to become “running fit.” Still, I swam afterwards, which felt far more sensible for someone living in a sauna.

 

Lumut: Monkeys, Museums & Mild Cabin Fever

I adore the tropics, but renting an apartment for an entire month turned out to be a touch excessive. Before reaching the halfway mark, I was already itching to leave. Even the monkeys sensed my restlessness and tried to steal my shopping, forcing me to dodge them like a contestant in a bizarre game show.

In search of excitement, I cycled to Marine Island for scuba diving, only to find the shop closed. So, I went to the mall instead, where I treated myself to a facial and then visited the Rahmat Maritime Museum — a navy battleship turned tourist attraction. It was surprisingly fun, though I suspect the facial did more for my morale.

 

Lumut: Island Hopping

Pangkor and Pangkor Laut sit just three miles offshore, dotted with fishing villages and traditional Malay houses. The ferry costs only 10 MYR, which is practically free, so I joined the crowds of backpackers and domestic tourists to explore the islands. They were charming, colourful, and full of life — the perfect antidote to my Lumut-induced boredom.

 

The Passport Plot Twist

Months after applying for a new passport, the saga took a dramatic turn. A call to the Bangkok Embassy revealed I had to pay double the original fee because I’d lost the passport — a detail no one had bothered to mention. Worse, I had to pay in person. Bureaucracy truly is stranger than fiction.

I threw a few things into a backpack and hopped on a bus to Bangkok, muttering darkly about administrative surprises.

 

Bangkok and the Familiar Pannier

Twenty-four hours later, I arrived in one of my favourite cities. Peachy Guesthouse was still cheap as chips, so I checked in. Near the rubbish bin, I spotted a familiar-looking pannier — Ernest’s, my old cycling buddy from the Americas. It appeared he had stayed there recently and, like me, his panniers were also falling apart. Some friendships are built on shared suffering.

 

Bureaucracy & Headless Goddesses

I caught a water taxi to the Embassy, thrilled to be using public transport like a proper city dweller. After paying the fee, I wandered through Bangkok’s malls before heading to the National Museum.

A special exhibition celebrated HRH Princess Maha Chakri Sirindhorn’s 60th birthday: Feminine Deities of Buddhism, Hinduism and Indigenous Cults. Most of the statues were headless, which made me wonder whether they were unpopular or simply victims of poor storage.

 

Backpackerville & Muay Thai Magic

Bangkok is dangerously easy to stay in. Khao San Road was its usual circus of backpackers, vendors, and questionable life choices. You could get pierced, tattooed, dreadlocked, or buy fake IDs and photographer’s passes — the latter being temptingly mischievous.

I shopped for jewellery and clothes, watched an outdoor cultural show, and then headed to see Muay Thai. It’s a sport where knees, elbows, shins, hands, and feet all seem to be fair game. The fighters were impressively built, which was reason enough for me to watch.

Eventually, it was time to return to Malaysia. I chose the train — far nicer than the bus. I loved the tray tables with tablecloths, the beds magically made at night, and the hypnotic clickety-clack of the wheels. It felt like travelling in a long-lost era.

 

Lumut: Home Again

Returning to Lumut felt oddly like coming home. The staff greeted me with the usual Malaysian warmth: “Hi, hello. Did you enjoy your holiday? Have you eaten?” In Malaysia, food is both a greeting and a lifestyle.

 

Back on the Road (107 km)

My final day in Lumut arrived, and I was thrilled to pack up and resume my journey. Cycling the same country twice can be monotonous, but Malaysia always offers new corners to explore — and I had no choice but to wait for the passport.

I reached Sungai Besar and found inexpensive accommodation. It was Eid, and families celebrated Hari Raya Aidilfitri in coordinated outfits. Men wore loose shirts and trousers; women wore elegant silk ensembles. The matching colours symbolised unity, and the whole town shimmered like a walking Pantone chart.

 

The Stomach Bug Day (25 km)

A stomach bug hit me hard, and I limped into Sekinchan with survival, not sightseeing, on my mind. Accommodation was pricier due to Eid festivities, and while the festival focused on forgiveness, most people seemed far more interested in eating — which, frankly, I admired.

 

Rain & Relief (80 km)

I waited for the weather to clear, but the drizzle persisted most of the day. Still, it was better than the previous day’s emergency bush runs. The overcast skies made for comfortable riding, though the traffic was hectic. Thankfully, a smaller path ran parallel to the main road, saving me from becoming a hood ornament.

 

Warmshowers Royal Treatment

From Klang, I headed inland to visit Peter Yoong — fellow cyclist, Warmshowers host, and all‑round legend I’d met months earlier in Thailand. The ride was easy, thanks to a dedicated motorbike lane complete with its own road signs, which made me feel like a VIP on two wheels.

Peter’s family welcomed me like a long‑lost relative, and he even had a cold beer waiting. I knew instantly I’d chosen the right host.

The next morning, we visited the market, and then Peter casually baked three pies. Three. Pies. I wasn’t sure if Warmshowers had a Michelin category, but Peter deserved one. By evening, another cyclist, Ivan, arrived, and Peter drove us to Kuala Lumpur so we could photograph the Petronas Towers like proper tourists.

 

The Secret Coastal Shortcut (115 km)

Peter suggested a coastal shortcut to Port Dickson, and it turned out to be a brilliant idea. The route was quiet and scenic, winding through oil palm plantations until it reached a river, where a tiny ferry shuttled people across. On the opposite bank, Lukut awaited — peaceful, understated, and perfect for a night’s rest.

 

Rooftop Living & Bonsai Wonders (100 km)

The ride to Malacca was classic Malaysia: big rivers, swampy greenery, and lush landscapes that looked like they’d been painted by someone who really likes the colour green.

My Warmshowers host, Howard, ran a small guesthouse where cyclists could sleep on the rooftop terrace for free. He offered complimentary coffee and tea, which made him instantly heroic in my eyes.

I had my bike serviced, wandered through old Malacca’s UNESCO‑listed streets, and stayed an extra day because Malacca is the kind of place that gently insists you linger. I joined a free walking tour, had my camera cleaned, and stumbled upon a bonsai show. I know nothing about bonsais, but these were magnificent — tiny trees with more personality than some people I’ve met.

 

Rain Delay Malacca (88 km)

Not much happened except rain. I took shelter, waited it out, and continued on. Some days are simply wet and uneventful.

 

The Abacus Hotel (77 km)

I rode to Pontian Kecil, stopping for water and snacks as usual. I’d planned to stay with a Warmshowers host, but a misunderstanding sent me searching for a hotel instead.

The hotel staff used an abacus to check me in. An actual abacus. It was oddly charming — a reminder that the world is full of delightful surprises, especially when you least expect them.

 

Traffic, Rain & Curry Salvation (105 km)

The day was spent on busy main roads, which was about as enjoyable as cycling through a swarm of angry bees. Rain arrived, but thankfully didn’t last long. By the time I reached Kota Tinggi, I’d had enough of traffic and checked into a hotel. A food court next door served curry noodle soup, which restored my faith in humanity.

 

Undulating Roads & Embassy News (105 km)

The route to the East Coast rolled gently through oil palm plantations. In Mersing, the Embassy Hotel offered the best value in town, so I booked two nights.

I phoned the South African Embassy in Bangkok, and — miracle of miracles — my passport application was finally on the Home Affairs system. I dared to hope the saga might eventually end. The rest of the day was spent doing typical rest‑day chores.

 

Smoke, Swiftlets & Storms (96 km)

Route 3 led me past forest clearing operations — a depressing sight made worse by fires used to speed up the destruction. A little further on stood a massive brick aviary for swiftlets, whose edible nests sell for thousands of dollars per kilogram. It’s a strange world when bird spit is worth more than gold.

I stayed in basic chalets along the river, but the air was thick with smoke. I mentally planned what to grab if evacuation became necessary. Thankfully, a thunderstorm rolled in and cleared the air. I exhaled deeply — crisis averted.

 

Bamboo Rice & Night Market Temptation (111 km)

Roadside stands sold lemang — sticky rice baked in bamboo — and I was grateful for my habit of taking photos, because sometimes I think nothing happened until I look back and realise the day was full of small wonders. Someone once said, 'Travellers see more than they remember and remember more than they see.' Very true.

Kuantan was larger than expected. The backpackers’ hostel had no bicycle storage, so I chose a guesthouse opposite the night market. I hadn’t eaten all day, so shopping hungry was a terrible idea — I wanted everything.

The next morning, I tried to fix my laptop’s touchpad and instead broke the entire thing. Off to the computer shop I went.

 

Freedom & No Beer (97 km)

I laughed out loud leaving Kuantan — the joy of moving on can be overwhelming, especially on a downhill. Although there were interesting sights along the way, I didn’t feel like stopping and rode straight to Kerteh.

Conservative Kerteh had few attractions. Not even beer. But it had a bed, and that was enough.

 

Fishing Villages & 3D Art (117 km)

Another pleasant ride past fishing villages and wide rivers reminded me I was deep in the tropics. The Seaview Hotel had no sea view but did have a ground‑floor room for the bike, which was far more important.

Chinatown offered good food and colourful streets. The next morning, I dropped off my laundry and returned to explore the 3D street art — so realistic it was hard to tell where reality ended and paint began. Markets overflowed with unfamiliar smells and mysterious merchandise. Kuala Terengganu was a feast for the senses.

 

Headwinds & Hunger (109 km)

The 109 km to Kuala Besut took most of the day thanks to a mild but persistent headwind — the kind that feels polite at first but slowly erodes your will to live. The road hugged the coast, flat as a pancake, with small islands dotting the horizon like decorative sprinkles. The Perhentian Islands beckoned.

By the time I reached Kuala Besut, food stalls materialised like a mirage. I hadn’t eaten all day, so I descended on them with the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered eating.

 

Perhentian Islands: Diving, Snorkelling & Warm Seas

The guesthouse owner kindly stored my bicycle while I hopped on a ferry to the Perhentians. I got off at Long Beach, where budget accommodation and cheap diving awaited. Oh La La offered a decent deal, so I booked a dive and spent the rest of the day snorkelling in water so clear it felt like swimming in blue glass.

The next morning, we headed to a pinnacle 20 minutes offshore. Visibility wasn’t perfect, but the reef was alive with marine creatures doing whatever marine creatures do. That evening, I joined other divers for dinner on the beach — the kind of meal that tastes better simply because you’re barefoot.

The following day’s dive took us to a cave. The water was so warm I wore only a T‑shirt, which felt wonderfully rebellious. We returned just in time for me to catch the ferry back to the mainland.

 

The Boob Snatcher (112 km)

Some days are stranger than others, shortly after leaving Kuala Besut, a motorbike pulled up beside me. With lightning speed, the rider reached out, grabbed my boob, and sped off. I unleashed a torrent of profanity and gave him the middle finger. He likely didn’t understand “Jou ma se moer!” but it made me feel better.

Later, a kind man stopped and offered me a lift to Terengganu, insisting it was too far to cycle — even though only 50 km remained. I declined, thanked him, and pedalled on with my faith in humanity partially restored.

I reached Terengganu in good time, picked up fried noodles and beer in Chinatown, and returned to the Seaview Hotel without the sea view.

 

Odd Shoes & Bad Rooms (94 km)

The route was lined with stalls selling satay‑skewered chicken wrapped in banana leaves and grilled over smoky charcoal. At one stall, I realised I was wearing mismatched shoes — impressive, considering I only owned two pairs.

A stiff breeze slowed me down, and halfway to Dungun the rain came down in sheets. Dungun had several beachfront accommodations, all expensive, so I chose the cheapest. Big mistake. It was the worst place I stayed in Malaysia. On days like this, I remind myself I’m not buying the place — I only need to survive it until morning.

 

Ghost Town by the Sea (86 km)

Cherating was once a popular R&R stop for travellers heading to the Perhentians. Now it had a ghostly air of decline — charming, but quiet enough to hear your own thoughts echo. Accommodation was plentiful and cheap, so I stayed an extra day, did laundry, and lounged about like a cat.

 

Rivers & Decisions (90 km)

Retracing my steps wasn’t thrilling, but Pekan was interesting. The Sungai Pahang — the longest river in Peninsular Malaysia — flows into the South China Sea here, and the town is lined with traditional Chinese shophouses.

At my guesthouse, I debated where to go once my passport arrived. The monsoon was approaching, India’s was ending, and Bangladesh — still uncycled — was calling my name.

 

Pekan to Rompin (94 km)

A pleasant ride along the ocean brought news from the Bangkok Embassy: my passport had supposedly been sent to Bangkok instead of Cape Town and was already in the diplomatic bag. I was sceptical. If true, I could collect it or have it couriered, provided Thai border control allows me entry with a nearly full passport.

 

Coffee Stops & Laptop Death (66 km)

Mersing was close, so I skipped breakfast and enjoyed a scenic coastal ride full of coffee stops and ocean views. The Embassy Hotel was an easy choice: hot water, air‑con, TV.

My laptop finally gave up. The screen shook like it was possessed. I suspected its days were numbered.

 

Trucks & Tragedy (90 km)

The next day the road was narrow, trucks were plentiful, and oil palm plantations stretched endlessly. A patch of natural forest offered relief — until I saw a distressed monkey pacing beside her dead baby, likely hit by a vehicle. It was heartbreaking, and I carried the image with me for the rest of the day.

 

Language Lessons (108 km)

Still no passport news. Sigh. The route to Muar was uneventful, but the town was larger than expected. I chatted with the receptionist, impressed to learn Malaysians often speak up to six languages — Malay, English, Cantonese, Mandarin, and various dialects. My brain felt lazy in comparison.

 

Beach Camping Bliss (126 km)

I pushed on to Port Dickson, having cycled this stretch before. I pitched my tent under trees on the beach, with a view over the ocean. I watched the sunset, then wandered to a nearby restaurant. It was one of those perfect travel evenings.

 

Storm Survival (90 km)

I woke to a massive storm. I had to brace the tentpole with all my strength to keep the tent from collapsing. Rain hammered down, waves crashed alarmingly close, and when the storm passed, seafoam sat inches from my tent. Too close for comfort.

Sopping wet, I cycled to Puchong to stay with Peter until my passport arrived.

 

Hungry Ghosts & Laptop Resurrection

I spent my days chatting with Peter and his family. Carolina from Brazil was also staying there, helping with the garden through HelpX — a programme where travellers work in exchange for accommodation. She was energetic, kind, and endlessly helpful.

My passport was still in South Africa, but arrangements were finally made to send it to Malaysia. My laptop, miraculously, came back to life.

It was the Hungry Ghost Festival — when the gates of hell open and hungry spirits roam the earth. People left food and paper money outside, and temples burned elaborate paper houses, cars, phones, and shoes so ghosts wouldn’t go barefoot. If overeating, drinking, gambling, and smoking lead to ghosthood, I’m doomed.

 

Puchong: A New Hindu Temple

Peter drove us to a newly built Hindu temple that was still being painted. Hindu temples are breathtaking — elaborate, colourful, and full of symbolism. Artisans had been brought from India to complete the work.

Swami Vivekananda taught that temples are merely supports for reaching the divine. I liked that — a reminder that spirituality doesn’t need a building, just intention.

 

The Haunted House Expedition

Peter and I went searching for Puchong’s infamous haunted house. Legend says a wealthy businessman went bankrupt and his family died mysteriously — suicide, murder, or something worse, depending on who tells the story.

Bomohs (witch doctors) allegedly use the house for rituals. People claim to see lights flickering despite no electricity, hear children screaming, and spot shadowy figures. Pontianaks — female vampire ghosts — are said to live there.

We found the house. No ghosts. Just thousands of mosquitoes behaving like possessed demons. We fled.

 

Passport Arrival & New Plans

At long last, my passport arrived. I was thrilled to move on. India and Bangladesh were top choices, and applying for visas in Kuala Lumpur made sense — except the Bangladesh Embassy only issued visas to Malays.

I decided to cycle north to Bangkok and apply for an Indian visa there. Onward, at last.

 

Coastal Quiet & Lizard Company (110 km)

Leaving Peter and his family was bittersweet, but the road was calling. Peter suggested a smaller coastal path — a brilliant idea. It was peaceful, scenic, and blissfully free of traffic. Just me, the beach, a few monkeys plotting petty theft, and the occasional monitor lizard lumbering across the path like a prehistoric crossing guard. My kind of cycling.

 

Roti, Regret & Rising Haze (127 km)

Breakfast was roti canai, which was perfect until the chillies staged a coup. Ten kilometres later, I made an emergency Gaviscon stop, cursing my own optimism.

I re-joined the tiny coastal path from the previous day, weaving past fishing hamlets and resorts perched on stilts over the water. Palm plantations stretched endlessly until I reached a river — mercifully equipped with a ferry.

The smoke haze worsened. Newspapers blamed forest burning, factories, vehicles, and open fires. I blamed all of them. The air tasted like a barbecue gone wrong. I pushed on to Sitiawan, hoping tomorrow would be clearer.

 

Night Zoo Adventures

A drizzle accompanied me to Taiping, but never enough to stop me. I arrived starving, having skipped breakfast, and immediately hunted down food.

Taiping’s Night Zoo was open, so I wandered through dimly lit paths that felt like walking under a full moon. The forest smelled damp and alive. Grunts, stomps, and chewing echoed around me. I wondered what I’d do if a crocodile lunged out — then a deer bounced from behind a bush and nearly stopped my heart. Night zoos: highly recommended, mildly terrifying.

 

Back to the Pearl (101 km)

After a quick breakfast, I followed minor paths north. Malaysia is so modern that you sometimes forget it’s tropical — until you cross rivers jam‑packed with fishing boats in every shape imaginable.

Butterworth spat me out at the ferry terminal. Despite the bridge, the ferry was still wildly popular with cars and motorbikes. I boarded and felt privileged to return to Penang — land of street art, street food, and endless charm.

I needed a three‑month Thai visa (RM150) because land borders only allow a two-week stay. I planned to apply for Indian and Bangladesh visas in Bangkok, so the three‑month option made sense. I handed my passport to a visa agent and hoped for the best.

 

Penang: Blog Battles

While waiting for the visa, I had a relaxing day — until I tried accessing my old blog. Despite knowing the password, email, and username, I couldn’t get in because I no longer had access to the ancient phone number linked to it. Technology: the gift that keeps on giving.

I started a new blog instead. The last update had been in the Philippines in 2013, so I had some catching up to do. It took another seven years before I finally deleted the old one.

 

Penang: Hungry Ghosts & Hot Keyboards

I collected my passport at midday and continued updating the blog. A stroll around town revealed Penang in full Hungry Ghost Festival mode — giant joss sticks, food stands, and live performances everywhere.

Different neighbourhoods celebrated at different times, so some areas were winding down while others were just getting started. Penang was buzzing.

 

Penang: Rain & Motorbike Nomads

Rain poured relentlessly, so I stayed put at Love Lane Inn. I met fascinating travellers — at least five of them on motorbikes. A French guy rode an Australian “Postie”; an Indian man and a French couple had their own bikes; and an Australian bought and sold local motorbikes as he travelled, avoiding border fees. We drank beer and swapped stories while the rain drummed on the roof.

 

The Missing Ferry (110 km)

I finally left via a secondary path. Drizzle came and went, but nothing dramatic. In Pantai Merdeka, I searched for the ferry across the river — but it had vanished. Even after asking around, no one could help. So I returned to the main road and continued to Gurun, which at least had food and a bed.

 

Bureaucracy & Blue Skies (105 km)

The day was perfect for cycling — blue skies, fresh air, and rice paddies flooded from recent rain, glowing green under the sun. A small path ran alongside the main road, making the ride easy and scenic.

The border crossing, however, was less charming. I now had two passports (old and new), which confused the officers. They also demanded cash and a return ticket. I cycled to the bank, withdrew money, and returned. After explaining I was travelling by bicycle, they mercifully waived the ticket requirement.

By then it was late, so I stayed in Sadao — officially back in Thailand, ready for the next chapter.

 

With my new passport finally in hand — guarded as fiercely as a dragon guards treasure — I pedalled north toward Thailand, hoping the universe had finished toying with my paperwork. The coastal haze thinned, the rice paddies brightened, and the familiar rhythm of the road returned as I crossed back into the Land of Smiles. Ahead lay Bangkok, visas, and the promise of new borders. Beyond that waited Myanmar: golden stupas, quiet mornings, and roads that would test both my legs and my patience. And this time, I vowed, I’d keep a firm grip on my passport… preferably with both hands.

 

Epilogue

In the end, Malaysia let me go the same way it held me: gently, chaotically, and with a final flourish of paperwork. I pedalled north with a new passport, a revived laptop, and the lingering smell of satay in my panniers. The Hungry Ghost Festival faded behind me, the coastal haze thinned, and the monkeys no doubt plotted their next theft. What remained was the quiet certainty that detours often make the best chapters — and that sometimes the road you never meant to take becomes the one you remember most. Ahead lay Thailand, Myanmar, India… but Malaysia had already left its mark, somewhere between the ferries, the food stalls, and the long, laughing kilometres.

073 CYCLING THAILAND (5) - WAITING FOR A NEW PASSPORT

Through Heat, Rain, and Kind Roads:

Rolling South to the Border

73 THAILAND (5)

866 Kilometres – 12 Days
25 May – 7 June 2015

MAP

PHOTOS

VOICEOVER

 

Prelude

Thailand greeted me not as a clean slate, but as a familiar chapter reopened—one written in steam‑heavy air, unpredictable skies, and roads that demanded equal parts patience and resolve. This was my fifth time crossing into the kingdom, yet familiarity did not lessen the challenge. From dripping border crossings and rain‑soaked highways to frantic city traffic and blissfully empty coastal lanes, Thailand unfolded as a land of contrasts.

 

 

25 May - Koh Kong, Cambodia to Trat, Thailand (108 km)

The Cambodian immigration office was just a stone's throw away, a mere 10 kilometres across a stunning River. Before I knew it, I was navigating through the bustling Thai border control. The sky poured as if it were trying to quench the earth after a long dry spell, signalling the end of the dry season. Despite the relentless rain, I pushed myself through 100 kilometres to Trat, a charming little town with a handful of basic guesthouses. This day marked a significant milestone—my fifth entry into Thailand, leaving behind the vibrant landscapes of Cambodia.

 

26 May - Trat to Klaeng – (136 km)

Emerging from my windowless room the next morning, I found that the rain had not let up. With each drop, I could feel the humidity creeping back into the air, making the ride to Klaeng a challenge. As I pedalled along, I passed by intriguing spots that beckoned for exploration, but the relentless downpour pushed me to keep moving. Every day has its tales, and on this soggy adventure, I wished for restrooms more often! Let’s say, I was immensely relieved to finally roll into Klaeng and find a place to crash—time to wash those cycling pants! If you were ever considering envying my adventure, believe me, today was not that day!

 

27 May - Klaeng to Chon Buri (108 km)

Thank heavens, the rain finally let up, and the typical hot, humid weather returned, making the 100-odd kilometres to Chon Buri a bit more pleasant. Just moments before I arrived in Chon Buri, I witnessed a truck overturn right in front of me. It was a sobering reminder of how quickly things can go wrong. Miraculously, the driver walked away unscathed. Yet, just down the road, another accident unfolded between a scooter and a car. These harrowing scenes made me acutely aware of how vulnerable we cyclists can be on the road. I’d often naively assumed that traffic rules remained constant across borders, but it turns out each country has its own interpretation. Even with a well-defined shoulder, it wasn’t a designated bike lane, and I kept my bike as close to the edge as possible. Staying safe truly felt like a team effort today!

 

28 - 29 May - Chon Buri to Samut Prakan (85 km)

Soon enough, I found a welcome opportunity to veer off the hectic highway onto a peaceful coastal road, breathing in the salt-scented air. I planned to find a place to stay on the outskirts of Bangkok so that I could pop into the city the next day. A new front pannier was desperately needed—my old one was barely holding on with duct tape and prayers, slowly costing me my belongings. With a two-week limit at land borders, making it to Malaysia seemed nearly impossible, so I opted to take a taxi into Bangkok to get my panniers and return swiftly.

However, finding a budget room on the city’s outskirts turned into a real mission. While the streets were lined with hotels, most had price tags that made my wallet wince. In the end, I settled for a quirky love motel, complete with a convenient chair that made me chuckle. Reflecting on it now, I think biking into Bangkok to snag those panniers would have been the better call. But, hey, every misstep is a part of the grand adventure!

 

29 May - Samut Prakan to Oena Resort, Khet Bang Khun Thian (40 Km)

The next morning, I hopped into a taxi, my excitement bubbling over as I headed into the bustling heart of the city. My mission? To hunt down some much-needed panniers—only available in pairs, of course. I also picked up a new lens cap after tragically losing mine on an escapade during the Cambodian boat trip (a story for another day). By the time I returned to the motel, the midday sun was blazing, but I was unprepared for what lay ahead. Navigating the northern tip of the Gulf of Thailand, I found myself trapped in the maddening city traffic, inching along amidst honks and heat. Frustrated and weary, I decided to call it a day, hoping that the morning would bring clearer skies and clearer roads.

 

30 May - Oena Resort to Samut Songkhram (85 km)

Samut Songkhram wasn't in my original plans, but sometimes detours lead to the best adventures. I headed straight for the famous Railway Market, and what a spectacle it was! At first glance, it appeared to be a typical market, alive with vibrant colours and cheerful vendors. But look down, and you’re walking on the very train tracks themselves! Each time a train was scheduled to pass, the stallholders sprang into action, quickly packing up their goods to make way. Unfortunately, no train came that day—maintenance issues kept it at bay.

But the day was far from dull! With it being the weekend, I ventured to the Amphawa Floating market, where the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. It felt like a well-kept secret among locals, with not a single Westerner in sight. The food? Divine! Freshly cooked delicacies were served straight from the boats, and at only 50 Baht, I couldn’t resist the tempting canal tour. Fellow visitors graciously shared insights about the temples we visited, bringing the Thai culture to life for me. By the time we returned, the market was a lively hive of activity, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon.

 

31 May - Samut Songkhram to Cha-Am (95 km)

Having cycled this route between Bangkok and Malaysia twice before, I still relished every moment of this scenic coastal journey. The road was as flat as a pancake, flanked by bustling salt farms and charming fishing villages. Plus, I was thrilled to have a dedicated bike lane all to myself. When I finally rolled into Cha-Am, the weather threw me a curveball, clouds darkening the sky. It seemed like a perfect excuse to find a cosy room and hunker down for a bit.

 

1 June - Cha-Am

Cha-Am was so delightful that I decided to linger an extra day. I savoured a long stroll along the coast, followed by a short yet invigorating jog. With time on my hands, I tackled some much-needed housekeeping, and in a spontaneous moment of self-care, I treated myself to a mani-pedi at the local hairdresser. Pure bliss!

 

2-3 June - Cha-Am to Prachuap Khiri Khan (125 km)

Leaving Cha-Am, I cruised on a flat and easy ride, stopping to savour roadside stalls filled with tropical fruits and delicious fishy snacks. Just before reaching Prachuap, the skies unleashed their fury, drenching me despite my best efforts to speed through. Thankfully, once I arrived in Prachuap, finding accommodation was a breeze—there were plenty of options!

 

4 June - Prachuap Kiri Khan to Bang Saphan (Nipa Beach Bungalows) (93 km)

I took my sweet time on the way to Bang Saphan, the route winding through breathtaking scenery that felt like a painter’s canvas. After months of solitary travel, I finally encountered another kindred spirit on two wheels—an Italian cyclist on a remarkable journey to Italy from Cambodia, whom I couldn’t help but think was going the wrong way! Thailand’s beautiful beaches were a sight to behold; wide stretches of powdery white sand beckoned, all blissfully empty. Quiet resorts nestled behind canopies of bougainvillaea and frangipani flowers lined the coast, complete with hammocks lazily swaying between palm trees. When I stumbled upon Nipa Beach Bungalows right across from the beach, I knew I had found my oasis for the night. What a perfect way to end the day!

 

5-6 June - Bang Saphan – Sea Beach Bungalows (99 Km)

The ride from Bang Saphan was nothing short of breathtaking, weaving through hills that seemed to dance under the golden sun. My destination was Chumphon, the pressure of visa time looming overhead like a storm cloud, pushing me to leave the country sooner rather than later.

Just before I reached Chumphon, I discovered Wua Laen, a coastal village boasting a beach that looked like a slice of paradise. The beachside bungalows immediately caught my eye, and as fate would have it, another cyclist named Peter Yoong, a cheerful guy from Malaysia, arrived just as I was considering a stay. Together, we secured rooms at Sea Beach Bungalows.

While we chatted on the charming little veranda, in walked an Italian cyclist I’d met earlier in the day—though he initially didn’t recognise me in my "civilian" clothes (we shared a good laugh over that!).

That evening, the three of us set out for dinner, creating a delightful atmosphere filled with laughter and the camaraderie of fellow cyclists. Peter, a Warmshowers host, generously invited me to crash at his place once I reached Malaysia. Little did I know that this meeting would spark a friendship that would last for years.

The next morning greeted me with glorious weather, and despite knowing it would put my border timeline at risk, I decided to linger a bit longer in this slice of bliss. After a stroll and a refreshing swim, I savoured the simple joys of travel before digging into breakfast.

 

7-8 June - Hat Yai, Thailand to Alor Setar, Malaysia (105 Km)

With a bit of reluctance, I accepted that cycling wasn’t an option to cross into Malaysia this time. Instead, I hopped on a bus to the border, without a twinge of guilt since I’d ridden this stretch before. A scenic 30-kilometre ride led me to the bustling bus terminal in Chumphon, where the buses to Hat Yai awaited.

Upon reaching Hat Yai, an easy-going 55-kilometre bike ride took me right to the border. Navigating immigration was a breeze, and I thought to myself, “If only all borders could be this seamless!” I stepped into Malaysia with a grin, eagerly welcomed by a generous 90-day visa—now that’s the kind of entry I could get used to!

After rolling another 60 kilometres, I found myself in Alor Setar, the gateway to Langkawi. While I had no plans to visit the island, I certainly needed a comfortable place to lay my head for the night.

No place is without its quirks, but some countries sweep you off your feet, and Malaysia was truly enchanting. The food scene, a vibrant tapestry of Malay, Chinese, and Indian influences, had me swooning. I stumbled upon a room only steps away from the night market—talk about lucky! With Roti Canai priced at just RM1, I indulged in a few too many, leaving the table utterly satisfied. There’s nothing like savouring delicious food while surrounded by the vibrancy of a night market—it was an experience I wouldn't soon forget.

 

Epilogue

As Thailand slipped quietly behind me, I carried more than tired legs and stamped pages. I carried small, lasting impressions: markets that transformed at the sound of a train, roads flanked by salt fields and fishing boats, beaches so empty they felt borrowed from a dream, and chance encounters that turned strangers into companions.

This stretch reminded me that travel is rarely about perfect timing or flawless plans. It’s about adapting when the rain refuses to stop, laughing at inconvenient detours, lingering when a place feels right, and knowing when it’s time to move on. Thailand once again proved to be a place where the road tests you—but also looks after you, just enough.

With a final push toward the border and the promise of new flavours, landscapes, and stories ahead, I rolled onward—grateful for the miles behind me and quietly excited for what waited beyond the next line on the map.

 

072 CYCLE TOURING CAMBODIA (2) - WAITING FOR A NEW PASSPORT

Ancient Wonders and Everyday Life

CAMBODIA (2)

929 Kilometres – 21 Days
3 May – 25 May 2015

MAP

PHOTOS

FLIP-BOOK

PDF

VOICEOVER

 

THAILAND AND CAMBODIA:

Between Kingdoms: My Reluctant Journey Through Thailand and Cambodia

  

Prelude

 

Now and then, the journey throws in a gentle reminder that you are not, in fact, in control. This particular chapter began with a perfectly reasonable plan: Cycle through Myanmar to India. Simple. Efficient. Almost professional.

Naturally, it fell apart almost immediately.

Instead of smooth progress, there were a lost passport, deadlines, two-week visa limits, embassy queues, and the creeping suspicion that I had seriously underestimated how long anything takes in real life. Throw in a bit of tropical heat and some highly questionable decision-making, and things were off to a solidly chaotic start.

What followed was less a well-executed route and more a loosely connected series of events involving cycling at odd hours, improvising solutions to self-created problems, and occasionally wondering why I thought any of this was a good idea.

 

 

THAILAND

Racing Time and Chasing a Passport

 

 

Mae Sot to Bangkok: The Bus, the Mud & the 3 a.m. Goblins (31 km)

My main priority was reaching the South African Embassy in Bangkok to apply for a new passport — a process I suspected would be neither swift nor emotionally nourishing. Thailand, in its infinite administrative wisdom, only granted two-week stays at land borders at the time, so I had to move fast. I packed up, pedalled to the bus station, and discovered the next bus was at 18:50. Naturally.

With hours to kill, I wandered around Mae Sot until the heat convinced me that wandering was a terrible idea and that hotels existed for a reason.

The bus ride was comfortable enough that I drifted off, only to be spat out at the Bangkok bus terminal at the ungodly hour of 3 a.m. The station was 10–15 kilometres out of town, surrounded by roadworks and mud — the sort of mud that looks suspiciously like it’s hiding something sinister, like open utility holes or portals to other dimensions.

Cycling into Bangkok at 3 a.m. sounds romantic until you realise there are no streetlights and the only people awake are the homeless, the drunk, and the genuinely bizarre. I realised, with some concern, that I fit at least one of those categories.

 

Bureaucracy, Ice Cream & Existential Horror

The Embassy was a hive of form-filling, fee-paying, and general adulting — things I hadn’t done in ages and didn’t miss. Men in suits strode around making deals, clutching briefcases, and speaking urgently into phones. Their body language alone made my stomach turn. I walked past licking an ice cream, thinking, “Been there, done that,” and feeling deeply grateful for my iron horse and tent. (Though I reserve the right to retract that statement on the next mountain pass.)

Then came the news: the new passport would take five months.

Five. Months.

Since my current passport had only two empty pages left, and I suddenly had the gestation period of a baby to kill, I decided to explore Southeast Asia again. There are worse ways to wait for paperwork.

Escaping Bangkok took nearly an entire day. The city is like a giant, sticky spiderweb: once you’re in, you can leave, but only after a prolonged struggle and some swearing.

 

Bangkok to Chachoengsao: The Great Escape (85 km)

I finally broke free of Bangkok’s gravitational pull and headed east. The ride was hot, sticky, and full of the usual Thai roadside curiosities — but at least I was moving again.

 

Chachoengsao to Sa Kaeo: Rain, Coffee & the Calculator Lady (125 km)

The day was blisteringly hot until clouds gathered and unleashed a storm. I sheltered at a roadside restaurant where the lady spoke no English, and I spoke no Thai. Still, we communicated perfectly through the universal language of pointing at a menu and nodding.

Later, I stopped at a building that looked vaguely hotel-ish. The receptionist didn’t speak English either, but she wielded a calculator with the confidence of a Wall Street broker. She typed the room rate, I nodded, and the deal was done. International diplomacy should be conducted this way.

 

CAMBODIA

Ancient Wonders and Everyday Life

 

The Border Market Gauntlet (107 km)

The Po Pet border crossing was less a border and more a chaotic marketplace with immigration hidden somewhere inside like a bureaucratic treasure hunt. Leaving Thailand’s relative organisation and stepping into Cambodia felt like switching from a tidy library to a carnival run by enthusiastic toddlers.

But I was in, passportless and free, pedalling east toward Siem Reap.

 

Saophoan to Siem Reap: Dust, Heat & Decompression Needs (107 km)

The road was mostly good except for a resurfacing section that produced dust thick enough to qualify as a weather event. I wore a buff over my face and pretended I was a desert explorer instead of a sweaty cyclist in Cambodia.

The temperature hovered around 40°C. I occasionally soaked my shirt to cool down, but it dried in minutes. I felt like a diver needing decompression — except instead of nitrogen, I was saturated with heat and needed an air-conditioned room to “de heat.”

Siem Reap seemed chaotic and over-commercialised compared to the countryside. Water cost 500 riel in rural areas but up to 4000 riel in town. I suspect the extra 3500 riel was a “tourist confusion tax.”

Ivy Guesthouse had fan rooms, but the fans were decorative. At 11 o’clock, the weather bureau claimed it was 30°C, but it felt like 35°C. I went out exploring because it was cooler outside than inside my room — never a good sign.

 

Siem Reap: Angkor Thom & the 216 Faces of Judgement

I found better accommodation and bought a three-day Angkor ticket. My first stop was Angkor Thom, whose entrance gates are flanked by 54 demons and 54 gods locked in an eternal tug of war. Inside, 54 towers display 216 enormous faces of Avalokiteshvara, who looks suspiciously like the king. If I had 216 giant stone faces carved in my likeness, I’d probably feel quite powerful too.

 

Siem Reap: Sunrise, Hobbits & Tomb Raider

I woke at 5 a.m. for sunrise, which was unimpressive — a recurring theme. Ta Prohm was stunning, though full of renovation scaffolding. I half expected to see Lara Croft or a hobbit wandering around.

 

Siem Reap: Ruins, Heat & Strategic Retreats

With my three-day ticket, I explored in the mornings and retreated to my air-conditioned room during the day like a sensible mammal. The ruins were magnificent; the heat was not.

 

Siem Reap to Kampong Kdei: Bamboo Rice & Ancient Bridges (61 km)

After three days off the bike, I expected to be energetic. Instead, I felt like a deflated balloon. The route passed stilted houses where people lived, ate, socialised, and relaxed in hammocks beneath their homes — a lifestyle I fully support.

Vendors sold bamboo rice cooked in bamboo stalks over open fires. Delicious.

Then I stumbled upon an ancient bridge built between 1181 and 1220 AD — 86 metres long, 16 metres wide, with 21 arches, 20 columns, and a 9-headed Naga balustrade. It was still in use, which is more than can be said for many modern bridges.

The guesthouse beside it offered a $6 room with a fan, a squat toilet, a mandi, and the obligatory toothbrush, soap, and a communal hair comb. I cannot imagine who uses a communal comb, but judging by the blackness of the teeth, it’s a popular item.

 

Kampong Kdei to Kampong Thom: Falang! Falang! (90 km)

I left early and enjoyed the cool morning air. Schoolchildren filled the road, even though it was Saturday. Every few minutes, someone shouted “Falang!” and children materialised from behind banana plants like excited meerkats.

Wedding marquees in pink and yellow dotted the roadside. I peeked inside more than once. Curiosity is a powerful force.

 

Kampong Thom: Temple Hunting in the Forest

Rumour had it that pre-Angkorian temples were hidden in the forest 30 km away. A tuk tuk took me there, and I spent hours following trails and stumbling upon ancient ruins like a very sweaty archaeologist. More than 100 structures are scattered through the woods. The area was once called Isanapura, capital of Chena in the early 7th century. Fascinating stuff.

 

Kampong Thom to Kampong Cham: Rubber Trees, Snakes & the Mother River (113 km)

I passed roadside workshops carving Buddha statues in clouds of dust that surely violated every health guideline ever written.

Rubber plantations lined the road. I learned how latex is harvested and decided not to rest in the shade after cycling over a snake earlier.

Kampong Cham was charming, perched on the Mekong. I found a riverside room, bought a beer, and watched the Mother River flow past. I stayed another day, eating everything in sight and feeling gloriously content.

 

Kampong Cham to Phnom Penh: The Vanishing Sunrise & The Springy Bridge (107 km)

I woke early to catch the sunrise, took one photo, and watched all the colours vanish as if someone had unplugged the sky. Sunrises and I were clearly not on speaking terms.

Cycling along the Mekong sounded romantic — Google Maps disagreed, insisting no road existed. But the Mekong is 4,350 kilometres long, and I refused to believe an entire riverbank was uninhabited. So I went anyway.

My first stop was the bamboo bridge, a marvel of engineering that could hold a car but still felt like riding across a giant xylophone. Soon the path dissolved into sand, then into a dusty track, then into something that barely qualified as a suggestion. Villagers stared at me as though I had arrived from Mars. Children yelled “Hello, farang!” with the enthusiasm of a welcoming committee.

Thirty kilometres from Phnom Penh, the trail spat me out onto a brand new highway. Civilisation! Air conditioning! Guesthouses with bar fridges! The Royal Guesthouse offered all of these for $13, so I stayed five days. I had no plan for those five days, but not packing up felt like a luxury spa treatment.

I went to a traditional Cambodian dance show, which reminded me how much I missed theatre — and how terrible I was at photographing fast-moving dancers in low light.

Then came the Killing Fields and S 21. Depressing, unavoidable, and deeply sobering. Cambodia’s history is a brutal reminder of how a mighty empire can collapse into unimaginable horror. The school turned torture centre looked heartbreakingly ordinary. I left with a heavy heart.

 

Phnom Penh to Traeng Trayueng: The Pannier Incident (90 km)

Leaving Phnom Penh at 8 a.m. on a Monday during roadworks was like trying to escape a collapsing circus tent. Cambodians drive on both sides of the road, sometimes simultaneously. A motorbike collided with me head-on, ripping my front pannier. Duct tape held it together for the rest of the trip, giving me the look of a cyclist held together by hope and adhesives.

Route 4 was narrow, rough, and windy — the kind of wind that cools you down while also ensuring you never arrive anywhere quickly. Ninety kilometres later, the Chanreah Guesthouse appeared like a mirage.

Across the road, a restaurant served curry noodle soup so delicious I immediately returned for a second bowl. The guesthouse owner had built a massive shed with volleyball courts and snooker tables for village kids — free of charge: no alcohol sales, no fees, just kindness. Cambodia’s resilience was quietly astonishing.

 

Traeng Trayueng to Veal Rinh: Hills & Hesitation (93 km)

The landscape grew hillier as I approached the Cardamom Mountains. I arrived in Veal Rinh and decided I absolutely did not want to cycle an extra 50 km to Sihanoukville that day. A guesthouse appeared. Decision made.

 

Veal Rinh to Sihanoukville: The Pool & The Failed Diving (53 km)

The next morning I cycled the short distance to Sihanoukville and checked into the Reef Resort — bungalow, swimming pool, great deal. I intended to stay briefly. I stayed longer. The diving was disappointing, so I abandoned all ambition and floated in the pool like a contented manatee.

 

Sihanoukville to Koh Kong (By Bus): The Lazy Pannier Escape

Rain hammered down. My pannier was still broken. I had done nothing to fix it during my lazy pool days. The duct tape had peeled off. Instead of repairing it, I hopped on a bus to Koh Kong, which solved nothing except my desire not to cycle in the rain.

In Koh Kong, I attempted to fix the pannier. It was beyond repair. Everything went into a waterproof bag. I Googled “Ortlieb shop Bangkok” and made a plan.

 

Koh Kong: The Jungle, The Waterfall & The Coconut Man

Rather than cross into Thailand, I took a river trip. The boat puttered upriver for an hour and a half, then we hiked through dense forest behind a guide armed with a machete. The waterfall was lovely, the swim refreshing, and the humidity intense.

Halfway back, our guide climbed a tree like a cheerful jungle ninja and returned with coconuts. He chopped them open and made straws out of reeds. It was one of those moments that makes you think, “I will never be this competent.”

 

THAILAND, AGAIN

Fifth entry into Thailand. Passport still pending. Duct tape still involved.

 

 

Koh Kong to Trat: Rain, Rain, Rain (108 km)

The Cambodian immigration office was 10 km away; Thailand’s was just beyond. Rain poured all day. I cycled 100 km to Trat anyway, soaked but triumphant. Cambodia was behind me; Thailand welcomed me for the fifth time.

 

Trat to Klaeng: The Day of No Toilets (136 km)

Rain continued. The temperature dropped, making cycling pleasant — except for the urgent need for toilets, which were tragically absent. I will spare the details, but reaching Klaeng felt like a spiritual victory. I washed my cycling pants with the reverence of a religious ritual.

 

27 May — Klaeng to Chon Buri: Accidents Everywhere (108 km)

The rain stopped. The heat returned. A truck overturned seconds ahead of me. Later, a scooter collided with a car. I was reminded of a cycle tourist killed in Turkey and became acutely aware of my vulnerability. I hugged the road shoulder like it was a long-lost friend.

 

Chon Buri to Samut Prakan: The Love Motel Chair (85 km)

I escaped the highway and followed a minor coastal road. I needed a new pannier urgently — duct tape was no longer enough. But finding a budget room on Bangkok’s outskirts was impossible. Eventually, I settled for a love motel, complete with a suspiciously convenient chair. I chose not to think too hard about it.

 

Samut Prakan to Oena Resort: Panniers & Traffic Hell 40 km

I took a taxi into Bangkok, bought new panniers (sold only in pairs), and replaced my lost lens cap. Returning to the motel after midday, I cycled into the worst traffic imaginable. I surrendered and stopped for the day.

 

Oena Resort to Samut Songkhram: The Railway Market Without Trains (85 km)

I detoured to the Maeklong Railway Market — the famous one where trains pass through the stalls. Except no trains came. Repairs. The market remained charming, though slightly less dramatic.

The weekend floating market was wonderful — packed with locals, not a Westerner in sight. Food was served from boats, and for 50 baht I took a canal tour. Fellow visitors translated temple explanations with great enthusiasm. By 6 o’clock, the market was buzzing.

 

Samut Songkhram to Cha Am: Salt Farms & Bike Lanes (95 km)

The coastal route was flat, scenic, and familiar from previous trips. Salt farms, fishing villages, and a designated bike lane made for a pleasant ride. Rain arrived just as I reached Cha Am — perfect timing to find a room.

 

Cha Am: A Mani Pedi Kind of Day

Cha Am was lovely, so I stayed another day. I walked, jogged, did laundry, and visited a hairdresser for a mani pedi. A cyclist must maintain standards.

 

Cha Am to Prachuap Khiri Khan: The Soaking 125 km

The ride out of Cha Am was flat, easy, and lined with roadside stalls selling fruit and fishy snacks of questionable origin. Everything was pleasant until the weather abruptly decided it had had enough of my optimism. The sky turned black, the wind picked up, and despite pedalling like a caffeinated hamster, I was soaked long before reaching Prachuap.

Fortunately, Prachuap had accommodation everywhere — the kind of town where you could throw a stone and hit three guesthouses and a man offering you a room above his cousin’s shop.

 

Prachuap to Bang Saphan (Nipa Beach Bungalows): The Italian Going the Wrong Way (93 km)

The route south was beautiful — long stretches of white sand, palm trees, hammocks, and resorts hidden behind bougainvillaea and frangipani. It was the sort of coastline that makes you wonder why anyone lives inland.

After months of solo travel, I finally met another cyclist: an Italian man cycling from Cambodia to Italy. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was going the wrong way. He seemed cheerful enough, though, so perhaps he knew something I didn’t.

Nipa Beach Bungalows appeared across from the beach like a sign from the universe saying, “Stop here.” I obeyed.

 

Bang Saphan to Sea Beach Bungalows: The Cyclist Convention (99 km)

The ride was stunning but hillier, and I was racing the clock — my visa time was up, and Thailand does not negotiate with cyclists. I needed to leave the country soon.

Just before Chumphon, I stumbled upon Wua Laen, a coastal village with a gorgeous beach and beachside bungalows. I stopped to enquire, and another cyclist arrived from the south. Peter Yoong from Malaysia — friendly, warm, and instantly likeable. We both rented rooms at Sea Beach Bungalows.

While we were chatting on the veranda, the Italian cyclist arrived, too. He didn’t recognise me at first — apparently I looked different with clothes on. Travel friendships are built on moments like these.

That evening, the three of us ate together and joined other cyclists for a lively night. Peter, a Warmshowers host, invited me to stay with him once I reached Malaysia — the beginning of a friendship that would last years.

The next morning was glorious. I knew staying another day meant I wouldn’t reach the border in time, but the beach was too lovely to leave. I walked, swam, and enjoyed the morning like someone who had completely forgotten about immigration laws.

 

Hat Yai to Alor Setar (Malaysia): The Bus, The Border & The Paradise of Roti (105 km)

I had no choice but to take a bus to the border — I’d cycled that stretch before, so I didn’t feel guilty. A 30 km ride took me to Chumphon’s bus terminal, where buses ran to Hat Yai. From Hat Yai, a 55 km ride led to the border.

Immigration was blissfully smooth. I wish all borders were like this — no fuss, no drama, and a 90-day stay handed over automatically. Malaysia instantly won points.

Another 60 km brought me to Alor Setar, gateway to Langkawi (though I had no intention of going there). I just needed a room.

Malaysia may not be perfect, but it is dangerously close to paradise. The food alone — Malay, Chinese, Indian — could convert the most cynical traveller. I unknowingly booked a room next to the night market and was spoilt for choice. Roti canai cost RM1 each. I ate more than one. Possibly more than three. I retired with a very full belly and a deep sense of contentment.

 

Epilogue

 

By the end of it all, a few things were clear.

The passport was still processing at the speed of continental drift, the pannier had officially given up on life, and any illusion of being a well-organised traveller had been thoroughly dismantled.

What remained was a collection of moments that, at the time, ranged from mildly uncomfortable to deeply questionable—but in hindsight, were exactly the kind of stories you end up keeping.

But in between all that, there was also good stuff: quiet stretches of road, unexpected encounters, generous people, and the kind of freedom that only exists when you’ve fully committed to not knowing what comes next.

Cambodia lingered the longest—not just for the heat, but for its history and the resilience of its people. Thailand, as always, was equal parts comfort and chaos. And Malaysia, waiting at the edge, promised something simple and important: good food and a bit of a reset.

071 CYCLING THAILAND (4) - APPLYING FOR A NEW PASSPORT

Racing Time and Chasing a Passport

71 THAILAND (4)
 338 Kilometres - 7 Days
26 April - 3 May 2015

MAP

PHOTOS

 VOICEOVER

Between Kingdoms: My Reluctant Journey Through Thailand and Cambodia

 

 

Prelude

 

Every now and then, the journey throws in a gentle reminder that you are not, in fact, in control. This particular chapter began with a perfectly reasonable plan: Cycle through Myanmar to India. Simple. Efficient. Almost professional.

Naturally, it fell apart almost immediately.

Instead of smooth progress, there were a lost passport, deadlines, two-week visa limits, embassy queues, and the creeping suspicion that I had seriously underestimated how long anything takes in real life. Throw in a bit of tropical heat and some highly questionable decision-making, and things were off to a solidly chaotic start.

What followed was less a well-executed route and more a loosely connected series of events involving cycling at odd hours, improvising solutions to self-created problems, and occasionally wondering why I thought any of this was a good idea.

Somewhere along the line, Cambodia entered the picture—bringing with it temples, heat intense enough to melt ambition, and a history impossible to ignore.

In short, the plan didn’t survive. But, as it turns out, that’s often when things get interesting.

 

 

 

26–27 April – Mae Sot to Bangkok (By Bus, with Questionable Life Choices)

After losing my passport in Myanmar—a minor inconvenience unless you enjoy borders refusing to let you pass—I miraculously rediscovered my old passport buried at the bottom of a pannier. Like most important things in life, it had been there all along, quietly minding its own business.

It even had two blank pages left. Two. I was practically rich.

My mission was clear: get to Bangkok and apply for a new passport before my current one officially retired from active duty. At the time, Thailand allowed a two-week stay at land borders, which meant I was not operating under a very relaxed, completely manageable, not-at-all-stressful deadline.

Naturally, I sprang into action… and immediately hit my first obstacle: the next bus only left at 18:50.

With nothing else to do except wait and sweat, I left my bike at the hotel and went on a short exploration of Mae Sot. By “exploration,” I mean I lasted about ten minutes in the heat before retreating indoors like a sensible person who had made several poor decisions leading up to that moment.

The bus ride itself was surprisingly pleasant. I dozed off and woke up at 3 a.m., which is never a reassuring time to wake up anywhere, least of all on the outskirts of Bangkok.

The bus station was about 10–15 kilometres outside the city, surrounded by roadworks and puddles that looked like they might contain either water… or the end of my journey. It had rained the night before, and I found myself cycling through mud in near darkness, carefully avoiding anything that looked even slightly suspicious—which, unfortunately, was everything.

At that hour, Bangkok was eerily quiet. The streets were occupied by a strange mix of the homeless, the drunk, and the mildly unhinged.

It didn’t take long to realise I fitted in beautifully.

 

28–30 April – Bangkok (Paperwork and Existential Reflections)

The next few days were spent rushing around the embassy, filling out forms and handing over money—an experience I hadn’t missed nearly as much as I thought I might.

It felt like a brief return to my old life, except this time I was wearing cycling shorts and carrying everything I owned in bags that smelled faintly of damp socks.

While waiting, I noticed men in suits marching purposefully past, talking into phones, making deals, and generally looking important. Their tone, posture, and seriousness triggered something deep inside me—a faint memory of deadlines, meetings, and PowerPoint presentations.

I stood there, eating an ice cream, watching them, thinking:
“Been there, done that… and I definitely prefer this.”

Of course, that feeling might change somewhere up the next mountain pass, but for now, homelessness with a bicycle felt like an upgrade.

 

1 May – Bangkok to Chachoengsao (85 km of Regret and Traffic)

Good news: the new passport will be ordered and sent to Bangkok.

Bad news: It took five months and I only had two weeks in Thailand.

Clearly, the only logical solution was to pretend this wasn’t a problem and continue cycling around Southeast Asia.

Getting out of Bangkok took almost the entire day, which felt more like a gentle departure than a slow escape. The city seemed reluctant to let me go, throwing traffic, heat, and general chaos in my path.

Eventually, I broke free—slightly traumatised, but free.

 

2 May – Chachoengsao to Sa Kaeo (125 km of Heat, Rain, and Coffee Diplomacy)

Another day, another attempt to slowly cook myself alive.

Thankfully, clouds rolled in around midday, followed by rain—sweet, glorious rain. I pulled over at a roadside restaurant, where communication was limited to pointing, smiling, and hoping for the best.

Miraculously, this strategy produced a decent cup of coffee.

We may not have shared a language, but we shared something more important: a mutual understanding that coffee was non-negotiable.

I waited out the storm, stretched the coffee experience as long as socially acceptable, and continued on to Sa Kaeo, where a signless “hotel” and a calculator-based pricing system secured me a room. International communication, at its finest.

 

3 May – Sa Kaeo, Thailand to Cambodia (107 km and a Gentle Introduction to Chaos)

The Po Pet border marked a noticeable shift: leaving Thailand’s relatively organised environment and stepping straight into Cambodia’s more… improvisational approach to structure.

The crossing itself doubled as a full-blown market, requiring me to navigate what felt like an obstacle course of stalls, noise, and general confusion before reaching immigration.

It was chaotic, loud, and slightly overwhelming.

In other words, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. 

At this point, any lingering illusion that this journey was under control had quietly slipped away somewhere between the muddy potholes of Bangkok and a roadside coffee stop in the Thai countryside.

From here on, things would only get hotter, dustier, and significantly less predictable.

Perfect.