117 - 118 CYCLE TOURING - THAILAND TO MALAYSIA

 Where the Plan Was Optimistic, the Noodle Soup Infinite and the Beer Cold

Thailand (13.1) & Malaysia (5)

1,234 Km – 31 Days
3 December 2017 – 2 January 2018

 

MAP

PHOTOS

PDF

FLIP-BOOK

VOICEOVER

Thailand (13.1) 

 

Prelude (Thailand)

Thailand was never meant to be a challenge; it was meant to be an introduction. It offered reassurance in the form of familiar chaos, easy food, forgiving roads, and an unspoken agreement that things would probably work out—even if no one bothered to explain how.

Thailand was exactly that—generous with lessons, forgiving of mistakes, and always ready with a cold beer at the end of the day.

 

 

Linda's Arrival

Linda arrived in Thailand on 3 December for our grand plan to cycle all the way to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia—because obviously that seemed like a perfectly sensible idea at the time. After a 36‑hour flight from Fort Lauderdale, followed by a two‑hour bus ride from the airport, she must have been utterly exhausted, although she was remarkably good at hiding it. The evening was spent sitting on the balcony, drinking a few beers, and I had the unmistakable feeling that we were going to get along like a house on fire—fuelled largely by hops.

 

Acclimatisation in and Around Jomtien

Up early, a short jog along the beachfront followed by a quick dip in the pool woke us up and convinced us we were still young, fit, and enthusiastic—if only briefly. The bicycle looked as if it had been custom‑made for Linda, which was reassuring at this early stage. A short cycle took us to some outlying temples and up to Big Buddha Hill. On the way back, we popped in at the floating market, thereby concluding a rather lovely day. By evening, we packed our panniers and prepared for our ride to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia—roughly 2,000 kilometres away. No pressure.

 

And so it begins - Pattaya to Samut Songkram – by taxi

As arranged the previous night, a taxi picked us up at 10:00 sharp and whisked us 200 kilometres north to Samut Songkram. This manoeuvre neatly avoided a long, congested and soul‑sapping cycle through the urban sprawl of Bangkok, which felt like a tactical masterstroke, especially given our limited time and desire to still like cycling.

Samut Songkram is home to the famous Maeklong Railway Market, where stallholders have entered into a long‑term agreement with passing trains to politely move out of the way. As the train approached, produce, awnings and nerves were swiftly shifted just far enough to avoid catastrophe. The train crawled through at snail’s pace, and once it had passed, the entire market snapped back into position with impressive efficiency—as if nothing unusual had happened. This process, we were told, repeats multiple times a day without anyone batting an eyelid.

The town is also famous for its street food. As soon as the sun dipped, mobile food carts appeared along the main road, offering an endless variety of dishes and testing one’s willpower. Coincidentally, it was the King’s birthday, so it was a public holiday, and the local temple was packed with worshippers. Incense smoke hung thick in the air as devotees shook cups of Chi Sticks (Kau Cim), asking questions of fate and waiting until one stick fell out to deliver its verdict—rather like a spiritual lottery, only smokier.

 

6 December – Samut Songkram to Hua Hin – 130 km

After a quick breakfast at Hometown Hostel, we said goodbye to the lovely owners and fellow cyclists. Sebastian from Switzerland was unwell and decided to stay put for another day, while Dave from Borneo was heading south toward Kuala Lumpur. As often happens during the wet season, parts of town were flooded due to high tide on the Chao Phraya River, meaning we added a casual ten kilometres to an already long day by cycling around submerged streets. Still, it was a pleasant amble through rural areas once clear of town.

Not long after leaving, we came across Romeo from Germany, another cyclist bound for Kuala Lumpur. He wasn’t in any particular hurry, so we rode together until he turned off toward Phetchaburi. The coastal road rolled past salt farms, rice paddies, Buddha statues and rivers packed with fishing boats. Friendly locals waved and called greetings from houses perched on stilts. Less cheerfully, signs of heavy rain from earlier in the week were apparent—houses without stilts were clearly having a rough time of it.

The day turned out to be a very long one for a first proper ride. Nevertheless, Linda performed magnificently, and we eventually crawled into Hua Hin in the late afternoon. Bird Guesthouse—an old, rickety wooden structure perched on stilts over the water—became home for the night. We wasted no time grabbing a beer and sat on the deck watching the tide roll in. Dave soon popped by, and beers were consumed as stories, plans and the general optimism of bicycle touring were exchanged.

 

7 December – Hua Hin to Sam Roi Yot National Park – 57 km

Dave joined us in the morning as we set off toward Sam Roi Yot National Park. Finding a dedicated bicycle path leading out of Hua Hin came as a most welcome surprise. Our first stop was Rajabhakti Park, a historical theme park honouring past Thai kings. After that, we sauntered along the coast, crossing rivers filled with brightly coloured fishing boats. A helpful tailwind made cycling easy, and we stopped regularly for coconut juice and to explore various intriguing caves.

Climbing a small hill revealed even more caves and a splendid view over the surrounding countryside.

With plans to visit Phraya Nakhon Cave the following morning, we tracked down a guesthouse in Ban Bang Pu. It was somewhat pricey at 900 baht, but considerably more reasonable when divided between the three of us. Quite content with this arrangement, we spent the evening on the deck watching fishing boats bob in the river while sampling a few Chang beers.

 

8 December – Sam Roi Yot National Park to Prachuap Khiri Khan – 60 km

A short ride brought us to boats ferrying people around the headland to Laem Sala Beach. Thanks to our early start, we were the first to arrive. From there, a short but steep hike led up to Phraya Nakhon Cave. Peering through the cave’s opening to see the temple inside was nothing short of spectacular. A hole in the ceiling let in a shaft of sunlight, illuminating the structure and creating a scene that felt almost deliberately cinematic—and providing an excellent photo opportunity.

Back on the bikes, we followed a pleasant route close to the sea, eventually reaching Prachuap Khiri Khan, where we settled into the popular Maggie’s Homestay.

 

9 December – Prachuap Khiri Khan to Bang Saphan Beach – 95 km

The following day proved challenging. Something I’d eaten the night before clearly disagreed with me, and I spent much of the night enthusiastically alternating between diarrhoea and vomiting. Without a helpful tailwind, the day would have been truly miserable.

Low on energy, we rolled into Bang Saphan Beach around 17:00 and waited for my friend Peter Yoong to arrive. Unfortunately for him, Peter was cycling in the opposite direction—straight into a headwind—which had made his day long and arduous. Still, it was great to see him, and we shared dinner while comparing tales of hardship.

 

10 December – Bang Saphan to Hat Thung Wua Laen – 90 km

A beautiful sunrise greeted us, and after breakfast with Peter, we all went our separate ways. Linda and I felt considerably better, though still not at full strength. The ride to Hat Thung Wua Laen was an easy one, following the coast past oil palm, rubber and pineapple plantations. Frequent coconut and watermelon vendors only added to an already enjoyable day, and the road rolled past fishing hamlets and beachside eateries that made stopping frequently very tempting.

Hat Thung Wua Laen appeared in good time, offering seaside bungalows just across the road from the ocean. Dinner was taken at a beachside restaurant, where the food was excellent and the setting even better.

 

11 December – Hat Thung Wua Laen to Kraburi – 82 km

Watching the sun rise over the beach is hard to beat as a start to the day. Our first stop was in Chumphon to locate a replacement screw for Linda’s phone holder—essential modern expedition equipment. From there, we waved goodbye to the Gulf of Thailand and crossed over the hills toward the Andaman Sea, stopping along the way for steamed dumplings from a roadside stall.

After passing over the central cordillera—now reduced to something more hill‑like—we stopped at the Kra Isthmus, the narrowest part of the Malay Peninsula at just 44 kilometres wide. Being a relatively short day, we rolled into Kraburi early, where a delightful little A‑frame bungalow promptly reeled us in.

 

12 December – Kraburi to Ranong – 58 km

We chatted at length with the chalet owner before cycling off in search of breakfast. Fortunately, in Thailand, one is never far from a good bowl of noodle soup, and this proved no exception. Our route passed through Kra Buri National Park, which was scenic if a little hilly. Sugarcane purchased from a roadside vendor fuelled us over climbs and thrilling downhill stretches.

We crossed rivers lined with wooden houses clinging precariously to the banks, passed waterfalls offering sweeping views, and finally stopped at a temple guarded by fierce‑looking yakshas—traditional protectors against evil spirits and a common sight at Thai temples.

We arrived early in Ranong and checked into the Kiwi Orchid Guesthouse, located conveniently beside the bus station and main road, ensuring a lively soundtrack. A bonus was the availability of a washing machine and the option of cheap visa runs to Myanmar—useful, as I had only four days left on my Thai visa.

 

13 December – Ranong

We spent a well-deserved rest day in Ranong, tackling the adulting grind head-on. Initially, I had planned a visa run, full of anticipation, only to have it fall through like a house of cards. Not to be deterred, I pivoted to a visa extension—let me tell you, it felt like choosing between a fancy dinner out or a home-cooked meal; the main difference was just the price tag.

The rest of the day settled into the comforting rhythm of a classic rest day: I tackled a mountain of laundry that seemed to multiply overnight, rearranged my panniers like a game of Tetris to ensure I was road-ready, and did a little mental gymnastics to convince myself that all these chores counted as part of my recovery. It may not have been the adventurous day I envisioned, but there’s something satisfying about caring for the little things that keep the journey going strong.

 

14 December – Ranong to Bang Ben Beach – 57 km

Shortly after breakfast, we cycled out of Ranong, passing what felt like hundreds of temples in quick succession. It’s often said that around 95% of Thailand’s population is Buddhist, and judging by the number of Buddha statues lining the route, this statistic felt entirely believable. The area was so densely forested that the only hill with a grassy top had become a tourist attraction—naturally complete with a temple.

Not far along, a turn‑off led us into Laem Son National Park and onward to Bang Ben Beach. The beach lay ten kilometres off the main road, reached by a track winding through mangrove swamps where water buffalo casually soaked in muddy ponds. Of particular interest were Sanskrit swastikas painted on fishing boxes. In this context, the symbol means “good fortune” and is sacred in Hinduism and Buddhism—sadly, forever misunderstood elsewhere thanks to one extremely poor rebrand.

At the Bang Ben Beach pier, fishing boats lay awkwardly stranded, waiting patiently for the tide to return. A chalet at Wasana Resort became our home for the night, and with our early arrival, the remainder of the afternoon was spent exactly as it should be: sitting back with a beer and doing very little indeed.

 

15 December – Bang Ben Beach to Kura Buri – 91 km

Breakfast was taken at Wasana Resort while chatting with Bo, a friendly Dutchman who had married his Thai wife nearly thirty years earlier. Together, they ran the resort, and it would be remiss not to mention that her cooking was genuinely excellent. The road south from Bang Ben remained lined with thick jungle. As we progressed, mosques and women wearing hijabs became more frequent—a visible reminder that southern Thailand has a distinctly different cultural mix.

A sign advertising a waterfall prompted an investigation, which proved worthwhile, revealing a peaceful, shaded oasis. Back on our iron horses, we continued to Lang Thung Nang Pier, home to countless colourful fishing boats. The villagers here have always lived from the sea, and clearly still do. Before the final push to Kura Buri, we demolished bowls of namkhaeng sai—a Thai dessert of shaved ice with chewy, jelly‑like toppings lurking at the bottom.

On the road again, Linda suddenly disappeared ahead. Like a horse that had smelt the stable, she flew over the hills, leaving me largely to admire her rear wheel from afar.

 

16 December – Kura Buri to Khaolak – 95 km

As touring often reminds you, no two days are alike. We began by crossing hills draped in never‑ending rubber plantations and passed through at least three national parks. One provided an excuse to poke around mangrove swamps at low tide, always good for stirring the imagination regarding what exactly might be lurking beneath the mud.

We also passed communities drying betel nut—widely chewed throughout Southeast Asia in a manner loosely comparable to tobacco. The ride took us past the Chaomae Kuan‑Im Shrine, a place with a long and fascinating history, followed by noodle soup stops and a visit to an elephant farm. Nearing Khaolak, the skies opened dramatically. We pulled on plastic raincoats, yanked our caps low, and pressed on through the downpour, arriving thoroughly damp but still upright.

 

17 December – Khaolak to Phuket – 105 km

The day quickly became dominated by bicycle issues. A mysterious creaking noise emanated from my bike, prompting an enthusiastic application of WD‑40 to anything remotely mechanical. Sadly, this achieved absolutely nothing. Unsure of the cause, we prudently stuck to the main road rather than our usual preference for quieter side tracks.

Midway through the day, we crossed the Sarasin Bridge—the original 660‑metre span connecting Phuket to the mainland. Built in 1951, it also carries a tragic history involving two young lovers in 1973. Though Phuket is technically an island, it’s not exactly small, and from the bridge there were still 50 kilometres to Patong.

Late in the day, we discovered “U Can Bicycle Shop,” which immediately inspired hope. The staff replaced the bottom bracket. The noise remained. Pedals were changed. Still creaking. Finally, the verdict was delivered: the rear rack. I secretly suspected the rear hub, but wisely refrained from arguing with a bicycle mechanic. The owner was deeply sceptical of our chances of reaching Patong, predicting steep hills and likely defeat. The hills were indeed steep—but none quite steep enough to force us off the bikes. Despite the shop’s doubts, we rolled quietly smug into Patong just as the sun set.

 

18 December – Patong, Phuket

Linda and I split duties for the day. I headed into Phuket town in search of a Canon repair centre, only to be informed that camera repairs required a two‑week wait. I returned to Patong somewhat crestfallen, where Linda had enjoyed a far more successful outing.

Patong is a world‑class party beach, offering a bottomless supply of food, alcohol, go‑go bars, and ping‑pong shows. We exercised restraint, had a beer, grabbed food, and retreated to the safety of our room. Truth be told, we simply couldn’t summon enthusiasm for overpriced meals and tacky souvenirs. Cycle touring rather spoils you—once you’ve experienced the quieter, real side of Thailand, places like Patong lose some of their charm. Still, it’s undeniably remarkable. As Lonely Planet enthusiastically observes, Patong is a sensory overload of rotisserie sunburns, wild nightlife, and unmistakable chaos.

 

19 December – Patong to Phi Phi Island – by ferry

From Phuket, the plan was to continue to Krabi via Phi Phi Island and onward toward Malaysia. Any ferry journey that distributes seasickness tablets at boarding—and includes signs politely requesting that passengers not vomit—is unlikely to be smooth. An unusually strong wind churned the sea, and the ferry rolled violently. Tablets failed for some passengers, but mercifully, we arrived on Phi Phi Island intact, bicycles included.

Accommodation was plentiful on the tiny island, though not especially cheap. A room was secured, after which we adjusted priorities: we rented a kayak and paddled to Monkey Beach, then later climbed to the viewpoint to watch the sunset alongside a sizeable crowd of fellow travellers. The evening ended with buckets of booze, easy conversation, and all the cheerful excess typical of holiday islands.

 

20 December – Phi Phi Island

Linda went scuba diving while I opted for the equally heroic task of updating my journal and photos. Another thoroughly excellent day in paradise.

 

21 December – Phi Phi Island to Krabi – by ferry

Eventually, it was time to leave Phi Phi Island. We caught the 10:30 ferry back to the mainland and cycled a short distance to Mr Clean Guesthouse in Krabi, where prices returned to something resembling sanity.

Later, we wandered to the riverfront to negotiate a boat trip into the mangroves. A two‑hour tour, including a cave visit, was agreed upon for a modest fee. In the evening, I tracked down a bike shop to make the necessary adjustments and was pleased to find one that was both friendly and competent.

 

22 December – Krabi

After discussing our plans, Linda chose to spend another day in Krabi to go climbing. I filled the day with practicalities: gear adjustments, photo sorting, and logging notes. Later, I tackled the 1,200 steps up to Tiger Cave Temple. Sadly, the hazy weather limited the view, and the monkeys were as aggressive as they were opportunistic.

 

23 December – Krabi to Trang – 130 km

A strong tailwind turned the ride into something approaching flight. Combined with overcast skies and light drizzle, conditions were near‑perfect. We barely stopped—aside from a temple visit, waterfall break, and rapid noodle stop. Whatever was in the soup, Linda absorbed it rapidly and vanished down the road like a bat out of hell.

Trang appeared sooner than expected. Every available bed in town was filled with cyclists, as a major bike event was scheduled for the following day.

 

24 December – Trang to La Ngu – 98 km

Once again, the weather cooperated beautifully: drizzle at first, sunshine later, and a supportive tailwind all day. We passed tropical rivers, unusual shrines, lively markets, and plenty of opportunities for Linda to stop for noodle soup and fried bananas.

The region was riddled with caves, one of which featured an alluring swimming hole. Sadly, Stegodon Sea Cave—explorable only by kayak—required advance booking, so we pressed on through the extraordinary landscapes of the Satun Geopark. In La Ngu, Linda found a lovely room at Dahla Resort. After showers, we attempted to find dinner.

La Ngu isn’t touristy, English wasn’t commonly spoken, and menus were exclusively in Thai. Eventually, fried rice emerged as the safest and most successful option.

 

Epilogue (Thailand)

By the time we reached the southern edge of Thailand, something fundamental had shifted. We no longer spoke about the journey in terms of distance remaining, but in days lived. Thailand had quietly done its work: it had tested our legs, softened our expectations, and replaced doubt with routine confidence.

The mishaps—illness, flooded roads, mechanical mysteries—had become stories rather than obstacles. Fellow cyclists drifted in and out of our lives. Towns blurred gently together. And somewhere between Pattaya and the Malaysian border, the act of cycling south stopped feeling like a plan and became simply what we did now.

 

 

 

Malaysia (5) Islands, Cities, and the Beginning of the End

86 km – 9 Days

 

 

Prelude (Malaysia)

Malaysia arrived without drama. There were no interrogations at immigration, no sudden shifts in tone—only a stamp in the passport, a massive eagle statue, and an island that felt relaxed, colourful, and faintly amused by our arrival. If Thailand had taught us how to travel together, Malaysia invited us to notice what we had become while doing it.

Here, distances shortened and logistics took centre stage. Ferries replaced roads, cities replaced villages, and the ticking clock of return flights hovered politely in the background. The riding remained, but it no longer defined the days. Instead, food, history, and conversation took larger roles, and the journey began to feel less like forward motion and more like reflection in motion.

 

 

Malaysia: The Short Way to a Sensible Finish

 

 

25–26 December – La Ngu, Thailand to Langkawi, Malaysia – 86 km

An early start saw us pedalling toward the all‑important first stop of the day: 7‑Eleven, for a breakfast that required no translation. From there, we headed to Satun to catch the ferry to Langkawi. According to the internet, the ferry departed at 14:30. In reality, ferry times in this part of the world are more like friendly suggestions. Our early start allowed plenty of time to dawdle and, once in Satun, enjoy what would be our final bowl of Thai noodle soup for a while.

Immigration at Satun pier was one of the most laid‑back operations we’d encountered—no rushing, plenty of smiles, and ample time to change money, buy tickets, and generally wonder why border crossings elsewhere ever felt stressful. Eventually, the ferry departed for Langkawi, Malaysia, right on its own schedule.

Arrival in Langkawi was painless: a stamp in the passport granted a generous three‑month stay, and we paused for the obligatory photo at the enormous eagle statue before cycling over the hills to Cenang Beach—also known, in my head at least, as Backpackerville.

 

Langkawi

The following day was blissfully relaxed. I went for a short jog, replenished myself with a substantial portion of roti canai, and marvelled at the abundance of tourist trinkets on offer. Linda returned triumphantly with a bottle of South African red wine—an unexpectedly sophisticated find—which we enjoyed on the beach while watching the sun sink into the Strait of Malacca. A fine end to Christmas Day, all things considered.

 

27 December – Langkawi to Penang – by ferry

After some discussion, the ferry to Penang seemed the best option. We were in no hurry, operating firmly in low‑gear holiday mode, with ample time to cycle the 23 kilometres to the ferry port. Penang’s position in the Strait of Malacca made it a historic stopover on the old trade routes between Europe, the Middle East, India and China. Sailing schedules depended entirely on monsoon winds, which is probably why the island became such a cultural melting pot—ships had no choice but to linger.

Today, that legacy translates into outstanding food. Food carts lined the streets, offering Malay, Indian and Chinese cuisine in such abundance that decision‑making became the hardest task of the day. One dish truly better than the last.

Once accommodation was secured and panniers discarded, Linda and I wandered off in search of Penang’s famous street art. I sorted out a new Thailand visa, ate until movement slowed noticeably, and later met Linda at the Reggae Bar. Afterwards, we squeezed onto tiny plastic stools in one of the back lanes, drinking cheap beer alongside fellow travellers—an excellent environment for swapping stories and quietly congratulating oneself for being exactly where one wanted to be.

 

28–29 December – Penang

Exploration filled the next two days. Linda took advantage of the hop‑on hop‑off bus, while I investigated onward transport to Kuala Lumpur, where we planned to see in the New Year. Trains did not welcome bicycles, and buses fell into the reassuringly vague category of maybe. I purchased two bus tickets and decided optimism was the correct strategy.

Penang’s architectural heritage is genuinely impressive, and it’s easy to see why Georgetown earned its UNESCO World Heritage status. My morning run took me past wooden Chinese shophouses, ornate temples, Little India’s food stalls, Fort Cornwallis, the Sri Mariamman Temple (built in 1883), and the Clan Jetties dating back to 1882—all before breakfast.

Later, a hotel move prompted a laundry session and a surprisingly difficult hunt for a travel water heater. My old one had finally surrendered, and despite best efforts, a replacement would have to wait until Thailand.

 

30 December – Penang to Kuala Lumpur – by bus

We pedalled to the bus station in the morning, where the driver kindly allowed our bikes aboard—for a small additional fee. A short ride later, we arrived in Kuala Lumpur and immediately went in search of the hotel we’d booked online. It turned out to be… aspirational. Fortunately, the owner allowed us to cancel, and we soon found a far better place near Old Market Square, which made exploring the city on foot pleasantly straightforward.

 

31 December – Kuala Lumpur

The day began with a short run, followed by a walk with Linda to KL Tower and the Petronas Towers—still my favourite tall buildings, if one is allowed favourites. By nightfall, they were beautifully illuminated, as was Masjid Jamek mosque. Entry required donning bright red cloaks, which added a festive—or possibly ceremonial—touch.

Malaysia’s multicultural makeup was on full display: stunning mosques, Hindu temples and Chinese shrines all coexisting within walking distance. New Year’s Eve itself was ushered in with beers at the historic Colosseum Café (established in 1921), followed by a visit to the Reggae Bar for a more contemporary celebration.

 

1 January – Kuala Lumpur

While Linda explored the city via a hop-on, hop-off bus, I devoted my day to figuring out how to ship her bicycle back to Pattaya. Being New Year’s Day, essentially every helpful establishment was closed. I located a bike shop—also closed—and reluctantly accepted that this problem belonged to tomorrow.

 

2 January – Kuala Lumpur

Kuala Lumpur marked the end of Linda’s cycling adventure. She took a taxi to the airport for her return flight to Fort Lauderdale, while I fortified myself with idli and roti canai. A trip to the post office delivered excellent news: bicycles could indeed be sent by post. Box it, pay for it, and it will be collected and sent to Thailand. Sometimes bureaucracy actually works.

 

3 January – Kuala Lumpur to Selangor – 87 km

With Linda gone, there was little reason to linger. I delivered her bike to a shop for boxing, left payment for transport and shipping, and hoped the arrangement would unfold smoothly. It didn’t. Departing Kuala Lumpur, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself on a dedicated cycle path that led me out of the city—an unexpectedly graceful farewell.

 

Epilogue (Malaysia)

It felt appropriate that the journey wound down in Kuala Lumpur—a city that didn’t ask much of us beyond curiosity. The bikes were boxed, plans turned practical, and Linda’s departure arrived with calm acceptance rather than regret. There were no dramatic endings, just the quiet understanding that this particular road had reached its natural conclusion.

When I eventually rolled out of Kuala Lumpur alone, guided unexpectedly by a cycle path, it felt less like an ending and more like an acknowledgement. The road would continue, as it always does. But this chapter—defined by companionship, momentum, and laughter—was complete.

112-113 VIETNAM CAMBODIA (5) & THAILAND (12) - WITH TANIA – PART 2

A Journey Through Rural Wonders 

112 CAMBODIA (5) & 113 THAILAND (12) 
3 October – 17 October 2017
14 Days – 1,099 Km

MAP

PHOTOS - THAILAND (12)

PHOTOS - CAMBODIA (5)

PDF

VOICEOVER

FLIP-BOOK

 

Prelude

Some journeys announce themselves with clear plans and straight lines. This one did not. It began instead with a shared optimism that bordered on recklessness. Cambodia lay ahead — humid, unpredictable, bureaucratic, generous — followed by a narrow strip of Thailand that promised both an ending and a beginning.

 112 CAMBODIA
8 Octoober-15 October 2017
7 Days - 483Km

 

8 October – From Chau Doc to Phnom Penh, Cambodia – By Boat and Minivan

Our adventure kicked off with a surprise boat ride — the kind of surprise where you realise the ticket price was suspiciously cheap because the boat only takes you to the border. Not Phnom Penh. Not even close. But honestly, the ride was so lively and colourful that I forgave the logistical betrayal almost immediately. As we skimmed across the water, I admired houses perched on stilts like flamingos with mortgages, and fishing boats that zipped around us with the swagger of creatures who knew exactly what they were doing. Meanwhile, I clung to the seat like a Victorian aunt on her first rollercoaster.

Once we reached Phnom Penh, we dove straight into the bureaucratic circus of visa preparations. We photocopied flight tickets, bank statements, and possibly our own shadows. After surviving the paperwork gauntlet, we rewarded ourselves with the city’s lively chaos and the company of friends — Mat, Chop, and Teresa — who helped us rehydrate with cold beers. Laughter bubbled over like the foam in our glasses.

 

9 October – A Day in Phnom Penh

Bright and early, we marched to the Thai embassy, documents in hand, optimism in our hearts. The embassy, however, had other plans. It was closed. Completely closed. Their website, naturally, said nothing about this. A setback? Perhaps. A cosmic prank? Definitely.

But fate intervened in the form of the “Lucky Motorbike Shop,” which, despite sounding like a place that sells helmets shaped like cartoon animals, also functioned as a visa agent. They cheerfully offered to handle Tania’s application. A miracle! With time running short, this was a blessing wrapped in a motorbike-shaped disguise.

I opted for the 14‑day border visa, knowing I’d be back in Cambodia soon to meet my sister. Saving a page in my passport felt like a small but meaningful triumph — the kind of victory only travellers and stamp collectors truly understand.

 

10 October – A Ride to Prey Lovea – 86 km

We began the day with coffee and Mat’s company, which was as energising as the caffeine. Then we set off in search of hidden paths along the Mekong River. The ride started like a dream — peaceful, scenic, and full of curious locals who stared at us as if we were a travelling circus act.

Soon, the dream morphed into slapstick. The paths dissolved into potholes, mud, and surfaces so slippery our bikes behaved like newborn giraffes learning to walk. Every twist and turn revealed a new scene: people weaving mats, men herding cattle with enviable calm, monks in bright orange robes gliding through the chaos like spiritual traffic cones.

A second ferry carried us across the Bassac River, and by the time we crawled toward Prey Lovea around 17:00, we were ready to collapse. We briefly considered sleeping at a temple, but the siren call of a guesthouse with actual beds and walls was too strong. First, though, food — because in Cambodia, deliciousness is never far away.

 

11 October – Prey Lovea – Kampot – 127 km

“It’s Cambodia, baby!” Tania declared, her signature phrase slicing through the morning air as we pedalled out of Prey Lovea. The landscape was a patchwork of green rice fields and wooden carts overflowing with colourful odds and ends. The aromas of steamed pork buns drifted from roadside eateries, seducing us with their warm, doughy charm. Naturally, we surrendered and devoured a few.

We cycled through villages filled with chatter and laughter. Tiny kids rode their bicycles to school with the skill of circus performers, some giving lifts to friends with the casual confidence of seasoned Uber drivers. It was impossible not to smile.

 

12 October – Kampot – Sri Amble Temple – 127 km

Leaving Kampot felt like pedalling through a postcard. The river shimmered, fishing boats huddled together like gossiping aunties, and oyster farms bustled with activity. Children helped with the day’s work, monks collected alms, and we soaked it all in.

Dark clouds gathered as we reached Vinh Real, so we ducked into a cosy restaurant. The storm passed quickly — Cambodia’s weather has the emotional range of a theatre kid — and we continued toward the Thai border, still two days away.

At Sri Amble, ominous skies nudged us down a dusty path to a small community temple. We set up camp in the dining hall, which doubled as a dormitory for energetic children aged 8 to 13. Privacy? Absolutely not. Entertainment? Constant.

 

13 October – Sri Amble – Trapeang Rung – 80 km

Morning greeted us with a steaming bowl of noodle soup served in a corrugated‑iron eatery with a dirt floor. The locals watched us with fascination — women on bikes were rare, and we exchanged shy smiles as we attempted to slurp our soup with dignity. We failed, but gracefully.

The ride was short but sweaty, with gentle hills leading us into the Cardamom Mountains. Children fished with creative techniques, others tended buffalo or cattle, and the scenery made every uphill push worthwhile.

We reached Trapeang Rung for lunch, where the food was so good it felt like a reward from the universe. As rain clouds gathered, we surrendered to the lure of a brand‑new homestay. Moments later, the skies opened, unleashing a monsoon. Our timing was impeccable.

 

14 October – Trapeang Rung – Koh Kong – 63 km

Our final day in the hills began with another comforting bowl of noodle soup. The mountains tested us, but we pushed on. Halfway to Koh Kong, the heavens unleashed yet another dramatic downpour. We zipped up our rain jackets and pedalled through the Cardamom Mountains like determined, soggy warriors.

At the highest point, we flew downhill at 53 km/h, adrenaline pumping, water streaming across the road, potholes lurking like hidden traps. It was thrilling, ridiculous, and unforgettable.

We reached Koh Kong earlier than expected. Tania practically levitated with relief when she discovered her passport had arrived. With that weight lifted, we were ready to tackle the border crossing into Thailand — though the small matter of cycling 340 km to Pattaya in three days still loomed. But hey… the adventure was only getting started.

 

113 THAILAND (12)
THE FINAL STRETCH
3 Days – 358 km

 

 

15 October – Koh Kong to Trat (108Km)

Leaving Cambodia felt like closing a small, bright chapter. One last bowl of noodle soup, one last swirl of motorbikes and colour, and then across the river toward Thailand. The border crossing was almost comically quick — a stamp, a smile — and suddenly the world shifted. New country, same sun, same two bicycles carrying us forward.

We drifted through villages stitched along the coast, stopping for coffee where the sea breathed against the land. When the sky darkened, we slipped into our plastic raincoats and kept going, the drizzle soft rather than punishing. By the time we reached Trat, the clouds had parted, and the sunset felt like a welcome.

 

16 October – Trat to Klaeng (135km)

That morning, Tania surprised me: she wanted to ride alone. Not out of frustration or distance, but curiosity — a tug toward her own road. I felt a flicker of worry, then pride. We agreed to meet again in Pattaya, and I set off with a new kind of urgency. Amanda would arrive in two days, and the kilometres between us suddenly felt charged with purpose.

 

17 October – Klaeng to Pattaya (115)

 I rose before the heat, eager to move. The road was smooth, the wind gentle, and by midday I was rolling into Jomtien. The simple pleasures — dropping my panniers, washing the salt from my skin, watching laundry spin — felt like small celebrations.

Later, at the pub downstairs, a cold beer in hand, I let the anticipation of Amanda’s arrival settle into me. After days of motion, it felt good to sit still and wait.

 

Epilogue

Looking back, the days blur into a single rhythm: pedals turning, visa stamps drying, rain falling hard and stopping without apology. Cambodia gave generously — colour, chaos, kindness, soup bowls always a little too hot to eat politely — then let us go with barely a pause. Thailand welcomed us with efficiency, smoother roads, and the strange emotional weight of an approaching finish line.

My bicycle would roll again. It always does. But this stretch into Thailand marked a small, bright completion.

110 VIETNAM (3) - COFFEE, KARST CLIFFS, AND CHAOTIC TRAFFIC

Coffee, Karst Cliffs, and Chaotic Traffic

 110 VIETNAM (3) 
19 September – 30 September 2017
902 Km – 11 Days

PDF

VOICEOVER

PHOTOS

FLIP-BOOK

 

Prologue

Vietnam began, as all great adventures do, with a broken bicycle, three million dong in my pocket, and absolutely no idea what I was doing. The heat was fierce, the roads were hilly, and the motorbikes carried more bananas than any reasonable physics model should allow. Still, armed with optimism, caffeine, and a derailleur held together by sheer willpower, we pedalled into the chaos with the confidence of people who had not yet met Vietnamese traffic.

 

 

19 September – Ban Dong, Laos to Cho Cam Lo, Vietnam (90 km)

Breakfast came from a lady across the street who produced food with the speed and confidence of someone who had been feeding confused foreigners for decades. Fuelled by mystery noodles, we pedalled toward the Laos–Vietnam border, where Vietnam welcomed us with a SIM card shop and an ATM that spat out 3,000,000 VND. Nothing makes you feel like a billionaire quite like Vietnamese currency.

Barely out of Lao Bao, Tania’s chain snapped with the dramatic flair of a soap‑opera breakup. Luckily, the road back into town was downhill, allowing us to free‑wheel into civilisation like two exhausted swans gliding into harbour. The bicycle shop we found was more of a “motorbike graveyard” than a “bicycle repair facility”, but the owner was cheerful and unfazed. Then came the real plot twist: Tania’s derailleur was cracked. At this point, the bike was basically held together by optimism and cable ties.

Still, the countryside was gorgeous. Motorbikes zoomed past carrying improbable quantities of bananas — entire mobile fruit empires balanced on two wheels. We passed the Rockpile, a dramatic karst outcrop once used by the U.S. Army, now looking like a moody geological influencer posing for photos.

The heat was blistering, the hills relentless, and our speed comparable to the pace of continental drift. By the time we reached tiny Cho Cam Lo, we were ready to collapse gracefully and call it a day.

 

20 September – Cho Cam Lo to Cửa Tùng (67 km)

By morning, a “bike shop” was located nearby — a corrugated iron shed that mostly serviced motorbikes but was willing to humour us. The owner installed a new derailleur: a bottom‑of‑the‑range seven‑speed unit that looked like it had been manufactured during the Bronze Age. Still, for 120,000 VND (about the price of a soft drink), we weren’t complaining.

Unfortunately, the derailleur behaved like a toddler refusing to cooperate. The gears slipped so badly that cycling felt like performing an interpretive dance. We limped to Dong Ha, where Google Translate finally bridged the language gap and a kind man escorted us to a proper bicycle shop. They only stocked seven-speed derailleurs, too, but at least they tuned them well enough that the bike no longer screamed in protest.

From Dong Ha, we followed a rural path along a river, then along the coast. Women in conical hats collected dried fish with the efficiency of seasoned generals. Shortly before the Vinh Moc Tunnels, the beach village of Cua Tung seduced us with a guesthouse right on the ocean. Laundry, chores, and smug relaxation followed.

 

21 September – Cửa Tùng to Dong Hoi (90 km)

Sunrise arrived with theatrical speed, as if someone had flicked on the world’s biggest light switch. Breakfast was pho, eaten at tiny plastic tables clearly designed for preschoolers. The Vinh Moc Tunnels were astonishing — narrow, low, and extensive. Walking through them required a permanent crouch, making me realise that if I had to live here, I would have lived my entire life with a crick in my neck.

The highway to Dong Hoi was monotonous, but a small side path near the end redeemed the day. Dong Hoi itself was pleasant, though its history was tragic: American bombs had flattened the city, leaving only fragments of a church, a wall, a water tower, and a lone palm tree. Vietnam had every right to overcharge foreigners, and I suspected they sometimes did so with patriotic enthusiasm.

We found a room easily and wandered along the river, snapping photos and hunting for dinner.

 

22 September – Dong Hoi to Son Trach (51 km)

Ke Bang National Park beckoned — home to the world’s largest publicly accessible cave system. Son Trach was overflowing with guesthouses, and once settled at the Paradise Hotel, we headed to the river for a boat ride into Phong Nha Cave. Being rowed into a cathedral-sized cavern by a wooden boat felt like entering the underworld, except with more stalactites and fewer demons.

 

23 September – Son Trach (50 km)

Paradise Cave awaited. After a short walk, we reached a tiny entrance that looked like it could barely fit a cat. Inside, however, was a subterranean wonderland of staggering proportions. Discovered only in 2005, it was vast, silent, and otherworldly — the kind of place that makes you whisper even when no one asks you to.

 

24 September – Son Trach to Dong Le (80 km)

Caved out and slightly spoiled by geological grandeur, we pedalled along the Song Gianh River past rice fields, karst peaks, villages, and buffalo. Coffee stops were essential. Vietnamese coffee is brewed through a metal phin filter that drips at the pace of a philosophical snail. It comes with a side of ice and a view of rice paddies — a combination that makes you feel like life is fundamentally good.

We dodged cows, pigs, chickens, and entrepreneurial salesmen on motorbikes. Kids bathed in rivers, produce dried in the sun, and buffalo grazed with the serenity of creatures who have never seen email.

Dong Le, with its red‑tiled roofs, made a charming overnight stop.

 

25 September – Dong Le

Tania felt unusually tired, and rain poured down, so a rest day was declared. The villagers found us endlessly fascinating. Women at the market stared openly, poked our arms, and inspected our shopping bags with the curiosity of customs officials. Eating in public became a spectator sport.

 

26 September – Dong Le to Duc Tho (113 km)

We followed one of the old Ho Chi Minh trails — now paved, scenic, and deeply rural. Farmers ploughed with buffalo, women sold produce from wooden shacks, and logs floated downriver like lazy crocodiles before being hauled out by buffalo teams.

Grapefruit plantations appeared, their fruit hanging like oversized Christmas ornaments. Southeast Asian grapefruit is enormous, with a thick rind that could double as protective gear.

Dark clouds threatened, but only rained once, conveniently during a coffee stop. We rolled into Duc Tho caffeinated and content, found a hotel on the river, and immediately went hunting for food. Conversations were conducted via Google Translate, which did its best but occasionally produced poetic nonsense.

 

27 September – Duc Tho to Roadside Hotel (110 km)

Avoiding the highway became a heroic quest. A muddy path eventually spat us onto a brand‑new road that took us slightly off course. Rural villages looked as if they had been forgotten by time, and the coastal route was washed away in places. We passed deserted beaches, wooden fishing boats, and eateries on stilts that looked one strong breeze away from collapse.

Eventually, we surrendered to the highway — hot, dusty, noisy, and full of trucks that believed in reincarnation. A roadside hotel appeared like a mirage, and we gratefully stopped.

 

28 September – Roadside Hotel to Tam Coc (121 km)

Morning mist curled around limestone hills as we sipped coffee like philosophers contemplating the meaning of life. The highway was unavoidable, and the ride was dusty and chaotic. Roadside stands sold pipes, birds, and snake wine — the holy trinity of questionable purchases.

Lunch was noodle soup eaten under the watchful gaze of half the village. The final stretch into Tam Coc was scenic, and our $9 room felt like a bargain worth celebrating.

 

29 September – Tam Coc

Tam Coc was gorgeous. A boat ride upriver revealed the local rowing technique: feet, not hands. Rowers reclined like sunbathing royalty, steering with their toes while using their hands for more important tasks like holding umbrellas or checking their phones.

 

30 September – Tam Coc to Hanoi (130 km)

Tania’s final day of riding delivered some of the most beautiful scenery yet. Farm roads wound through rice fields and limestone cliffs. We passed grilled dog vendors, a woman pushing a pedal‑less bicycle with an absurdly long handlebar, and villages that looked like Chinese watercolours come to life.

Hoa Lu, the ancient capital, offered mossy walls, temples, and narrow alleys. Then came the unavoidable highway into Hanoi — a chaotic, honking, swarming mass of traffic. By the time we reached the Old Quarter, dusk had fallen and our nerves were frayed, but we hadn’t lost each other, which felt like a small miracle.

And so ended Tania’s ride from Bangkok to Hanoi — a 2,244 Km journey of broken derailleurs, heroic coffee, subterranean wonders, and the kind of memories that only form when two people willingly cycle through heat, chaos, and beauty together.

 

Epilogue

By the time we reached Hanoi, we had survived collapsing coast roads, malfunctioning gears, subterranean cave kingdoms, and more bowls of noodle soup than medically advisable. But we’d made it—intact, unlost, and only mildly traumatised by the highway. Vietnam had tested us, charmed us, fed us, and occasionally stared at us while we ate. And honestly? We loved every bewildering minute.

111 VIETNAM (3.1)

Trains, Traffic and Watery World of the Mekong Delta

1 October – 8 October 2017

5 Days - 258 km

 

 

3–4 October – Hanoi to Saigon – By Train – 34 Hours

With Southeast Asia still pulsing enthusiastically through her veins, Tania decided that one more month on the road was absolutely essential. I, meanwhile, had a far less negotiable appointment awaiting me in Bangkok: a date with my sister. Family commitments have a funny way of trumping extended adventure, so with less than two weeks to spare, we landed on what felt like a perfectly reasonable plan at the time.

We would take the train to Saigon, then cycle our way through the Mekong Delta, hug the Cambodian coast, and roll triumphantly into Thailand. Simple. Elegant. Foolproof. The only tiny, stress‑inducing detail was the need to obtain Thai visas in Phnom Penh — a process that required three days, very precise timing, and absolutely no accidental Friday arrivals. What could possibly go wrong?

Before launching headfirst into our cross‑border logistical puzzle, we managed one last Hanoi meetup with friends Bret and Hayley. As usual, they had an uncanny knack for finding excellent food and even better company. The evening passed in a blur of laughter, stories, and denial about how long we’d soon be sitting on a train.

The following day, we hauled ourselves and our panniers to the station. Helpful staff suggested placing all our gear into one oversized bag, which we immediately purchased and then sprinted through the station with, boarding the train just in time and congratulating ourselves like seasoned professionals.

Our four‑bunk cabin was surprisingly civilised, complete with reading lights and power points — luxuries we did not take lightly. As the hours rolled by, it gradually dawned on us that 34 hours is an extremely long time to be on a train. Fortunately, the food cart made regular appearances, and we rose to the challenge of sampling nearly everything it offered. By the time we arrived in Saigon after dark, we were tired, fed, and mildly victorious. Unfortunately, our bikes were locked away in a baggage office, so we checked into a nearby hotel, dreaming of retrieving them the next morning.

 

5 October – Saigon

Bright and early, we reclaimed our bicycles and marvelled at how smoothly the Vietnamese railway handled bulky luggage. With our two‑wheeled companions restored, we set off to explore Saigon — a city that may not overwhelm you with iconic landmarks but more than compensates with sheer energy.

Street food immediately became the day’s priority. Bánh xèo arrived first: crispy, golden, and stuffed with delicious intent. Spring rolls followed, light and fresh enough to convince us we were being healthy. Then came bánh khọt — tiny savoury pancakes that disappeared far too quickly. Somehow, we were already full and still eating.

Saigon’s real spectacle, however, was the traffic. With an estimated 7.3 million motorbikes occupying the roads at any given moment, crossing the street felt like stepping into a live‑action strategy game. Locals still casually refer to the city as “Saigon,” which rolls off the tongue far more easily than its official name, TP Ho Chi Minh City — an opinion we quickly adopted.

As evening fell, we reflected on how a city could feel both chaotic and oddly welcoming. This was only the beginning.

 

6 October – Saigon to Vinh Long – 123 km

Rested, fuelled, and slightly intimidated, we set off into Saigon’s traffic — an experience best described as willingly joining a fast‑moving swarm. Eventually, miraculously, we escaped the city’s grip and rolled into the quieter paths of the Mekong Delta.

In My Tho, we encountered a range of street food options that tested personal boundaries. Undeterred, Tania confidently ordered grilled rat straight off a rotisserie. Against all expectations, it was delicious — proof that adventure occasionally tastes better than anticipated.

The Mekong offered winding paths, lively villages, coconut sweet makers, and three ferry crossings en route to Vinh Long. Nearly every boat featured painted eyes at the bow, which are believed to guide vessels, ward off danger, or possibly judge passing cyclists. Whether symbolic or practical, they added a layer of personality to the river scenery.

 

7 October – Vinh Long to Chau Doc – 135 km

The Mekong River, originating in the Tibetan Plateau and coursing through six countries, spreads into a vast network of waterways around us. Coconut palms, banana trees, mangoes, and rambutan plantations lined our route as we pedalled through a living postcard.

Markets buzzed, rivers teemed with boats, and houses balanced on stilts above the floodplain. Threatening clouds loomed all day, yet somehow held back their rain long enough for us to fuel up on coconut juice and coffee before realising — slightly too late — that we still had 75 km to go.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, we slipped into Chau Doc. Our adventure quickly took another exciting turn when we decided to take the Mekong River ferry to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, the next day—a fitting end to a day chock-full of exploration and adventure!

 

Epilogue

The Mekong has a way of convincing you that movement is the natural state of things. Water flows, boats drift, people adapt, and somehow everything keeps working. As cyclists passing briefly through its world, we learned quickly that the river does not bend for plans, visas, or carefully plotted routes on a map. It simply carries on — and so, inevitably, did we.