The Road South - A Bicycle Journey from Bangkok to Phuket
1,427 Km – 23 Days
1 November – 28 November 2018
PHOTOS
MAP
VOICEOVER
FLIP-BOOK
Prelude
There
are many ways to travel across a country.
You
can fly above it in a few hours, seeing little more than clouds, or take a
train and watch it pass comfortably by. Or you can do what we did—set off on
bicycles with a vague plan and an optimistic belief that everything would work
itself out.
This
was never meant to be an epic expedition. The idea was simple: cycle from
Bangkok to Phuket and see what happened along the way.
As
it turned out, quite a lot did.
Bangkok
(Intro Days)
1
November – Bangkok - Arrival and a 30-Baht Sunset
Jan
arrived in the afternoon wearing the slightly dazed expression of a man who had
spent far too long sealed inside an aircraft. It was a look combining
endurance, disbelief, and a faint suggestion of philosophical detachment.
Remarkably, he declared himself untroubled by fatigue, and as Bangkok is not a city that encourages delayed beginnings, we naturally headed straight out.
A
wander through Khao San Road provided the usual sensory overload: music, food,
bargaining, and the energetic chaos that seems to run continuously regardless
of the hour. From there, we moved on to my favourite, luxury-on-a-budget,
experience—the Chao Phraya “sunset cruise,” which is in reality nothing more
glamorous than catching the final public ferry to the end of the line and
returning again, all for 30 baht.
It
remains, in my view, one of travel’s finest bargains.
The
river carried its usual busy traffic: lumbering barges pushing vast loads
upstream with quiet determination, while commuters filled the ferry, moving
with practised ease as we clung on like newcomers to basic balance. A soft
breeze provided a welcome reprieve from Bangkok’s determined heat.
The
sunset, meanwhile, made a very strong effort—spreading across the sky in
glowing colours reflected in the water, as if keenly aware it was being
observed.
Back
on land, hunger made itself known with urgency, and we hastily located a small
backstreet restaurant where green curry and several Chang beers restored both
energy and general optimism.
Temples,
Talismans and Noodles
By
morning, our carefully considered early start failed to materialise, as such
things often do. By midday, however, we had regained both consciousness and
ambition and set out to explore old Bangkok.
The
city reveals itself slowly, in layers of history and mild confusion. Passing
Phra Sumen Fort—one of only two survivors of fourteen original fortifications—we
were reminded how much Bangkok has changed, while also remaining exactly
itself.
Nearby,
remnants of old city walls appeared unexpectedly, quietly coexisting with the
modern city. It is a place where history tends to linger, even when not
actively invited.
The
amulet market provided a more unusual diversion.
Here,
men with magnifying glasses studied tiny talismans with extraordinary focus, as
though engaged in a highly competitive microscopic inspection sport. Some items
promised luck or fertility; others appeared rather more ominous, suggesting
powers best left untested. A few looked distinctly as though they belonged in
darker, less uplifting stories.
At
Wat Pho, shoes were removed, and reverence restored somewhat as we encountered
the enormous reclining Buddha—46 metres long and gleaming with gold leaf. It
represents the Buddha’s final moments before entering parinirvana, lending the
space a calm dignity, despite the steady movement of visitors capturing it from
all possible angles.
Outside,
we dropped coins into 108 bronze bowls, producing a pleasing cascade of ringing
sounds. It was explained that the funds assist with temple upkeep, which made
the activity feel both spiritual and vaguely practical. Still, achieving
perfection via coin distribution may require more than one visit.
A
walk along the canals inevitably led us into the orbit of a noodle stall, where
resistance proved pointless. Bowls of steaming soup restored equilibrium once
more.
Later,
we climbed the Golden Mount, where a stupa sits above the city and offers views
that make the heat entirely worthwhile.
By
evening, we found ourselves seated on low pavement chairs, enjoying Pad Thai
and cold beer—simple pleasures that never seem to disappoint. A visit to a
nearby Blues bar followed, where a single glass of red wine cost enough to make
one reflect on global wine economics, but was consumed anyway in the spirit of
the occasion.
Caps,
Ferries and Minor Mysteries
With
no pressing deadline, we allowed ourselves one final day in Bangkok.
A
short test ride reminded us that cycling was, in fact, the primary purpose of
the trip, though it felt more like a suggestion at this stage. A far more
urgent task followed: replacing my thoroughly worn-out cap. After considerable
searching—and what felt like unnecessary deliberation—I secured a new one at a
price suggesting it had once been of considerable importance.
Central
Bangkok offered its usual contrasts: vast shopping malls beside shrines filled
with incense and quiet devotion. At the Erawan Shrine, the air was thick with
both smoke and reverence—an oasis of stillness among the surrounding movement.
Our
return journey took an unexpected turn when our river ferry abruptly stopped
midway and deposited us all on shore without explanation. With no understanding
of events, we did the only sensible thing—followed everyone else.
What
followed was a pleasant walk along the river, including a pass through the
flower market and a shared sense of mild confusion.
More
perplexing, however, was the discovery of a second-hand false teeth vendor.
Displayed
quite openly were dentures and bridges that appeared to be pre-owned and
gradually diminishing in stock—a detail I noted with fascination and some
concern. It suggested a thriving, if slightly puzzling, market.
Back
at the guesthouse, we regained our composure with beers on the rooftop,
watching the sun settle once again over the river.
Bangkok to Ayutthaya – Leaving the City Behind (80 km)
At
last, the time arrived to justify the presence of our bicycles.
We
set off on a Sunday morning, which turned out to be an inspired decision.
Bangkok, normally a swirling mass of honking determination, had taken on a more
relaxed air, as though collectively deciding to have a lie-in. This allowed us
to slip out of the city with surprising ease, feeling briefly like highly
efficient adventurers rather than two people wobbling their way into the
countryside.
Our
route followed the Prem Prachakon canal, which offered a pleasant and
continuous glimpse into everyday Thai life. Weekends, it seems, are a
universally understood concept. People were relaxing, fishing, tending to rice
paddies, or engaging in that quietly industrious activity of selling things
from motorbikes, which seems both improbable and entirely practical.
The
ride took us past houses on stilts, improbably balanced above the water, and
across scenes of luminous green rice fields that looked almost artificially
bright. Locals greeted us with easy smiles, while others proudly presented
their fighting chickens, which had an air of self-importance that suggested
they took their role rather seriously.
Narrow,
slightly alarming walkways connected homes across the canal—structures that
looked as though they had been assembled with enthusiasm rather than
engineering. One crossed them with confidence or not at all.
Just
before Ayutthaya, we detoured to Bang Pa-In Palace, situated on an island in
the river and accompanied by a history that, if nothing else, proves that royal
lineages everywhere have always been slightly complicated.
As
the story goes, King Ekathotsarot was shipwrecked on the island and, in what
appears to be a fairly efficient use of time, fathered a son with a local
woman. Said son later built the palace and became king—possibly just of the
island, though no one seemed entirely certain. It had all the qualities of a
legend that has been told often and verified rarely.
Progressing
onward, our road came to a rather definitive conclusion at the edge of a river,
at which point we were gently reminded that cycling, for all its virtues, is
not amphibious. Mercifully, a ferry appeared, as if anticipating our
predicament, and delivered us safely across.
Arriving
in Ayutthaya, we checked into Baan Lotus Guesthouse—a converted old schoolhouse
of considerable charm. Even more remarkable was the owner, who not only
remembered me from a previous visit but did so with complete clarity.
Considering the number of guests she must have encountered, this felt faintly
miraculous, like being recognised by a particularly sharp-minded historian of
passing cyclists.
Having
neglected lunch, we were in a state of near-desperation and hurried off in
search of food with the focus of people who have made poor nutritional choices.
The
following day was devoted to exploring the ruins of Ayutthaya, once among the
grandest cities on earth. Founded around 1350, it prospered magnificently,
ideally positioned between major trade routes, and by 1700 had reached a
population of approximately one million—making it, astonishingly, the largest
city in the world at the time.
All
of this ended rather abruptly when the Burmese arrived in 1767 and reduced the
place to rubble with admirable thoroughness.
What
remains today is a hauntingly beautiful collection of ruins, now protected as a
UNESCO World Heritage site. It is the sort of place where history feels close
enough to touch, particularly when wandering among broken stupas and weathered
Buddha statues that have seen more than enough of human ambition.
Naturally,
we concluded the day with a sunset boat ride around the island, drifting past
illuminated temples before being deposited at the night market, where the
business of eating once again took precedence over all other considerations.
Early
Cycling Days
Ayutthaya to Lopburi –Quiet Roads and Uncomfortable Truths (67 km)
After
breakfast, we set off toward Lopburi, pedalling steadily into a mild but
persistent breeze—just enough to remind us that cycling is, at its core, an
activity best enjoyed with the wind behind you.
A
visit to the elephant kraal along the way provided a sobering detour. The sight
of these large, intelligent animals chained and trained for rides was difficult
to reconcile with their evident discomfort. The younger elephants, in
particular, seemed to lack both space and opportunity to behave like anything
remotely resembling elephants, while their mothers regarded the world with
visible agitation. It was the sort of experience that quietly dampens the mood
for miles afterward.
The
ride continued past an assortment of unusual temples and hardworking farmers,
the landscape alternating between the serene and the mildly surreal.
Shortly
before Lopburi, a sign pointed us toward a 300-year-old rubber tree and a boat
museum—an irresistible combination. Arriving there, we were greeted by a kind
man who offered, with great enthusiasm, to explain everything.
His
English was limited but his commitment was not, and we were given a thorough
tour of the various wooden boats on display. Some were used by monks on their
daily alms rounds, others for fishing, and one, we were told, was a nearly
300-year-old dragon boat powered by twelve rowers and used by the king—or at
least someone who sounded very much like a king in translation.
It
was, in every sense, an unexpected highlight.
In
Lopburi, our usual guesthouse was fully booked—a minor disappointment,
mitigated by being directed to the nearby Nett Hotel. The reason for its rather
permanently sealed windows soon became apparent.
Monkeys.
Everywhere.
Despite
bars on the windows, they had apparently mastered the art of forced entry and
were not above helping themselves to whatever lay inside. As charming as
monkeys can appear from a safe distance, their enthusiasm for chaos becomes
less appealing when directed at one’s accommodation.
Once
settled, we returned to Noom Guesthouse for food and drinks, where the owner
greeted me with remarkable familiarity. Not only did she remember my previous
visit, but she also recalled—down to the detail—that I had left without
reclaiming a key deposit some nine months earlier.
I,
naturally, had no recollection whatsoever.
The
amount was promptly and efficiently deducted from our bill, in what I can only
describe as the most honest and administratively impressive act of
accountability I’ve encountered in some time.
Lopburi to Suphan Bhuri – Monkeys and Tailwinds (100 km)
“Good
morning,” Jan announced at an hour I consider morally questionable.
The
cause of his early rise soon became clear: monkeys conducting what sounded like
a full-scale percussion rehearsal on the tin roof. It is difficult to sleep
through such enthusiasm.
Breakfast
took place outside a 7-Eleven, as is the tradition in many parts of the cycling
world, after which we mounted our bikes and cautiously navigated our way out of
Lopburi, keeping a watchful eye on any creatures with opposable thumbs.
Happily,
a tailwind accompanied us, transforming what might have been a long and tiring
day into something far more agreeable. The roads were small, quiet, and lined
with scenes of rural life unfolding at an unhurried pace.
Villagers
sold tiny dried fish, others laid rice out to dry, while farmers worked
steadily in fields that seemed to stretch on forever. Rice, it quickly became
clear, is not just a crop here but a way of life—prepared, planted, harvested,
and generally attended to with unwavering dedication.
At
midday, we paused for what can only be described as a perfect lunch: a large,
sweet watermelon from a roadside stall. No additional courses were required.
Not
long after, a sign for “Buffalo Village” appeared—too intriguing to ignore. It
turned out to be a resort of sorts, complete with bungalows and demonstrations
of traditional rural life. Whether the buffalo were enthusiastic participants
remained unclear, but the experience was both informative and slightly surreal.
Despite
the overall pleasantness of the day, the distance began to assert itself toward
the end. Our route, enthusiastic in its meandering, had added more kilometres
than anticipated—thanks in no small part to my apparent fondness for zigzagging
through the countryside.
By
the time we located suitable accommodation, there was only one logical course
of action: find the nearest restaurant immediately and sit down with the speed
and determination of cyclists who have earned their dinner several times over.
Into
the Rhythm
Suphan Buri to Kanchanaburi – Wetlands, Water Buffalo and Elephant
Battles (115 km)
The
morning set us off through farmland toward Kanchanaburi, weaving between
hamlets and wetlands that appeared to operate on a different timetable
entirely—unbothered, steady, and faintly amused by our presence.
Farmers
paused mid-task, water buffalo looked up with the mild curiosity of creatures
who have seen this sort of thing before, and long-eared cows regarded us with
open scepticism. We, after all, were two farangs on bicycles—a sight
apparently unusual enough to warrant inspection.
Along
the way, we encountered communities engaged in what could only be described as
an all-out war on aquatic weeds. Water hyacinth, a plant of impressive ambition
and questionable manners, had begun choking waterways. In an admirable display
of ingenuity, locals were harvesting, drying, and turning it into surprisingly
attractive baskets and bags. It was both environmentally responsible and
faintly comforting—there is something reassuring about seeing a nuisance turned
into a handbag.
The
road led us past a parade of ornate temples, rice fields, and duck farms, each
appearing in orderly succession like a well-curated exhibition of rural
Thailand.
A
surprise stop at the Don Chedi Monument introduced us to the story of King
Naresuan the Great, who famously defeated a Burmese leader in a royal duel on
elephant-back. I found myself wondering, not for the first time, how one
conducts a “fierce duel” while seated atop an animal the size of a small
bungalow. It struck me as a logistical challenge, if nothing else.
Some
115 kilometres later—by now very much aware of each of those kilometres—we
reached Kanchanaburi, a pleasant riverside town made famous by the Bridge over
the River Kwai. Our accommodation consisted of simple A‑frame bungalows perched
right on the river, which seemed an excellent arrangement for doing very little
while feeling one had earned it.
The
following day was appropriately gentle: a visit to the bridge and nearby
cemetery, followed by the sort of quiet reflection these places naturally
demand—and perhaps a little extra appreciation for beds that come without
historical significance.
Kanchanaburi to Samut Songkhram – Twists, Turns and Floating Markets
(117 km)
An
early start delivered us onto country lanes following the Mae Klong River,
which turned out to be the most agreeable part of the day.
The
road twisted through rural landscapes and past temples that seemed to appear
just when one needed a visual distraction. Wat Tham Suea, perched on a hill
above luminous green rice paddies, was particularly striking—one of those views
that makes you stop, stare, and briefly forget how far you still have to go.
Our
occasional shortcuts brought us directly into the lives of startled farmers and
even more startled children. Even the village dogs, usually quite committed to
chasing cyclists, seemed too surprised to react—an outcome we found deeply
reassuring.
A
detour to the Amphawa Floating Market proved both fascinating and dangerous in
equal measure. The sheer variety of food on offer encouraged what can only be
described as continuous grazing. Cycling, it turns out, creates an appetite of
heroic proportions.
We
eventually rolled into Samut Songkhram just as the night market reached full
swing, which was convenient timing if one’s goal was to eat everything in
sight—which, by this stage, it was.
Coastal
Transition
Samut Songkhram to Hua Hin –Markets, Salt Pans and the Open Sea (123
km)
Samut
Songkhram is home to the Maeklong Railway Market, a place where the laws of
physics, commerce, and common sense appear to have reached a compromise.
Stalls
spill directly onto the railway tracks, and when a train approaches, vendors
calmly pack everything away with astonishing efficiency, only to reassemble it
seconds after the train passes—as though nothing unusual has occurred.
It
is, quite frankly, one of the most impressive displays of organised chaos
imaginable.
A
ferry carried us across the river, depositing us onto a scenic coastal route
along the Gulf of Thailand.
We
passed vast salt farms, interspersed with helpful information boards explaining
that migratory birds travel from as far as Alaska and Siberia to these very
fields. This seemed excessive. One couldn’t help but feel the birds might
benefit from reassessing their travel plans.
The
road was lined with temples, crab vendors, and the persistent aroma of drying
fish—a smell that announces itself boldly and refuses to leave.
Hua
Hin arrived at last, where Bird Guesthouse offered rooms on stilts over the
water—ideal for relaxing with a cold beer and contemplating the curious life
choices that lead one to cycle 123 kilometres in tropical heat.
Hua Hin to Sam Roi Yot Beach – Leaving the Cycle Path Behind (50 km)
A
designated cycle path led us neatly out of Hua Hin, which was efficient but
lacked a certain sense of adventure. Naturally, we abandoned it at the earliest
opportunity and headed for the coast.
The
route carried us past Pranburi Beach, interrupted only by a necessary stop for
coconut juice—a beverage that improves dramatically when consumed mid-ride.
Eventually,
we reached Sam Roi Yot Beach, where budget accommodation hid discreetly along
sandy lanes, waiting to be discovered by slightly sunburnt cyclists with modest
expectations and excellent timing.
Scenic
Stretch
Sam Roi Yot to Prachuap Khiri Khan – Caves, Views and a Worthwhile
Climb (78 km)
Sunrise
delivered a postcard-perfect scene of fishermen going about their work, as
though posing deliberately for photographs.
A
short ride brought us to Sam Roi Yot National Park and its cave temple,
accessible by boat and then an uphill walk steep enough to prompt reflection on
one’s fitness choices.
The
Phraya Nakhon Cave, illuminated by sunlight streaming through a hole in the
ceiling, was undeniably spectacular—one of those rare sights that justifies
both the effort and the mild suffering required to reach it.
From
there, a gentle ride delivered us to Prachuap Khiri Khan. Maggie’s Homestay
provided both accommodation and an interesting cast of fellow guests.
Dinner
came from the night market, where the variety of food bordered on overwhelming.
We sat on a boardwalk railing, eating happily while looking out over the
ocean—one of those small, perfect travel moments that require no improvement.
Prachuap
Khiri Khan to Wua Laen Beach – The Easy Rhythm of the Coast (101 km)
The
road continued south along the coast—relaxed, beautiful, and reassuringly flat
in places.
Beachside
settlements and modest resorts appeared intermittently behind palm trees and
bursts of bougainvillaea, while coconut plantations guided us onward with quiet
persistence.
Days
slipped by in an easy rhythm: cycling, stopping, admiring, repeating. Rivers
crossed our path regularly, each lined with colourful fishing boats waiting
patiently for the tide.
Seabeach
Bungalows provided an excellent overnight stop, complete with immediate access
to the warm waters of the Gulf of Thailand—a feature we made enthusiastic use
of.
Beaches,
Boats and a Day to Pause
A
rest day at Wua Laen Beach followed, devoted to the essential tasks of cycling
life: laundry, minor repairs, and doing as little as possible while convincing
oneself it is entirely justified.
The
Big Push Inland
Wua Laen to Ranong→
Over the Hills and Further Than Planned (144 km)
We
bid farewell to the Gulf of Thailand and headed inland toward the Andaman
coast, crossing what are optimistically described as hills.
The
original plan was modest—stop at Kraburi after 80 kilometres. However, Jan,
fuelled by enthusiasm and a helpful tailwind, showed no intention of stopping
anywhere at all.
We
sailed past Kraburi and continued all the way to Ranong, at a pace that
convinced a passing tour group we were assisted by e-bikes.
A
brief stop at the Kra Isthmus—the narrowest part of the Malay
Peninsula—provided a geographical milestone and an excuse to pause.
The
Andaman coast proved hillier but lush and spectacular, with waterfalls and
dense vegetation lining the road.
By
the time we reached Ranong, we had thoroughly earned both our accommodation and
a rest day, which we embraced with admirable commitment.
Andaman
Coast
Ranong to Bang Ben - A
Slow Start and an Unexpected Hill (60 km)
After
a leisurely departure—preceded, of course, by breakfast at a 7‑Eleven—we found
ourselves on a brand-new bike path leading out of Ranong.
A
stop at a grassy hill (a rarity significant enough to warrant tourist status)
confirmed that even small changes in landscape can become noteworthy with
sufficient enthusiasm.
From
there, the journey continued through tropical scenery, past rivers alive with
birdlife, roadside eateries, monks, and monkeys—all contributing to a steady
stream of entertainment.
Rain
arrived intermittently, and we briefly experimented with raincoats before
concluding they were far less comfortable than simply getting wet.
Bang Ben to Khura Buri →
Rivers, Rain and Roadside Life (83 km)
Departing sleepy Bang Ben Beach was after a
hearty breakfast, following which we set off anew. A relaxed bike ride led past
large, tropical-looking rivers, teeming with birdlife. Roadside eateries
provided more than enough to eat and drink, and monks and monkeys kept us
entertained en-route to Khura Buri. The overcast day made biking pleasant as
the road proceeded south over the hills. In Khura Buri, bungalows at Tararin
Resort consisted of rickety wooden structures on stilts right on the Nang Yon
River. It started raining, and a break was made to the nearest restaurant and
we managed to get back without getting soaked.
Khura Buri to Khao Lak→ Wet
Roads to the Andaman Sea (98 km)
The previous night’s rain made a lovely,
fresh morning ride as our path took us over more hills in the direction of Khao
Lak. Once again, passing a multitude of colourful temples and a variety of
interesting markets.
It started drizzling, but our plastic raincoats
soon became too hot and uncomfortable, so it was better to get wet. Finally,
the rain cleared around midday, and it turned into a casual ride into touristy
Khao Lak.
Khao
Lak marked our final stop before Phuket—touristy, but pleasant, with a bargain
guesthouse and a beachside sunset accompanied by cold beer and fishermen
casting nets.
Final
Ride
Khao Lak to Phuket (Patong)→ The
Last Hills to Phuket (112 km)
The
final ride to Patong Beach was, predictably, hilly—though made more agreeable
by roadside sugarcane juice, which provided both refreshment and a questionable
burst of optimism for the climbs ahead.
By
late afternoon, we rolled into Patong and located a rare budget
guesthouse—Villa Viking—which felt like a considerable achievement given the
surroundings.
That
evening, we ventured onto the famous walking street, where bars, lights, and
general exuberance competed for attention. We sat with beers in hand, staring
in mild astonishment at the spectacle unfolding before us—two slightly
bewildered cyclists who had pedalled all the way from Bangkok to arrive
precisely here.
And,
in a way, it felt entirely fitting.
Too
soon, it was time for Jan to leave.
And
just like that, the ride from Bangkok to Phuket was over.
Au
revoir, my friend.
Epilogue
In
the end, it wasn’t any single place that defined the journey, but the
accumulation of small moments along the way.
A
good stretch of road, a well-timed meal, a place to stop just when it was
needed—these became the measure of the trip. Travelling by bicycle has a way of
turning the “in between” into the main event.
And
then, almost without fanfare, it was over.
There
were boxes for bicycles, and goodbyes. Our journey together stopped, but my
ride continued.
It
always does.
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