083 CYCLE TOURING CAMBODIA (3)

 Rain & Rice Fields

A Journey Through the Heart of Cambodia

CYCLE TOURING CAMBODIA (3) 
July–August 2016
1,336 Kilometres – 23 Days

PDF
 VOICEOVER 
FLIP-BOOK

PROLOGUE

Cambodia arrived like a whisper on a dusty road —a border, a stamp, a dirt track dissolving into green. Children’s voices rose from behind banana leaves, monks drifted through morning light, and the Mekong moved with the patience of centuries. Here, life balanced on stilts above the earth, rice dried in the sun, and kindness met us long before we learned the words for thank you.

 

 

Leaving Laos, Entering Dust - Maung Khong, Laos to Stung Treng, Cambodia (100 km)

Crossing the last stretch of Laos felt like leaving a gentle friend behind. “I feel quite emotional leaving Laos,” Tania murmured as we rolled toward the border, the morning soft and forgiving. At the border, an unofficial $2 exit fee vanished into the border officials’ pockets, but we claimed poverty, and a long wait later, our passports were stamped. Next, we scurried off to the Cambodian border, where officials charged a dollar for not having a yellow vaccination card and five extra dollars for the visa bureaucracy.

Beyond the border, the world opened into a quiet countryside of red dust and scattered wooden shops. The dirt road was kind, the air warm, and the small stores along the way kept our bottles full. Tania exchanged her last Lao kip at a petrol station—an unlikely but welcome stroke of luck.

Stung Treng appeared in a haze of heat and market noise. We found an ATM dispensing only US dollars, then a guesthouse with no water, then another with just enough comfort to collapse into. The day ended with the familiar exhaustion of border crossings—dust in our hair, hunger in our bellies, and the sense of stepping into a new chapter.

 

The Long Road to Kratie - Stung Treng to Kratie (140 km)

We left Strung Treng far too late for such a long day, stopping to exchange money, popping into a pharmacy, and taking loads of photos kept us busy for most of the morning. Only thirty kilometres in did the urgency hit: we needed to move.

The road south was a ribbon of rural life. Women in bright pyjamas sold steamed duck eggs from roadside stands—houses perched on stilts above the dust, hammocks swaying beneath them like slow pendulums. Children shouted “hello!” from behind banana plants, their voices carrying across the fields. Invitations to share meals drifted toward us like warm breezes, but the headwind pushed back, reminding us of the distance still ahead.

Storm clouds gathered. Roadworks slowed us. By the time we reached the Kratie turnoff, the sky cracked open. We sheltered, waited, and when the rain finally eased, darkness had already fallen. We rode the last stretch by the glow of our headlamps, dodging potholes and puddles, arriving soaked and relieved at a riverside guesthouse. The shower washed away the day’s grit, but the memory of that long, wet ride stayed with us.

 

By morning the Mekong carried us upriver in a small boat, its surface smooth as brushed silk. We searched for the elusive Irrawaddy dolphins, and when they surfaced—rounded heads, soft breaths—it felt like witnessing a secret.

They are nearly blind, the guide told us. Tiny eyes, no lenses. They sense the world through sound and shadow. Their population is fragile, scattered across rivers and estuaries from the Ganges to the Mekong. Watching them rise and disappear into the brown water felt like watching time itself—ancient, endangered, and impossibly gentle.

 

The River Trail Kratie → Stung Trang (89 km)

Leaving Kratie, we chose the river trail over the main road, and it rewarded us with a day of pure rural poetry—houses teetered on stilts above the floodplain, their wooden steps worn smooth by generations. Oxcarts creaked along the path, children skipped to school, and women pedalled bicycles laden with vegetables.

Rice dried in the sun. Bare-necked chickens darted across the dust. Fishermen cast nets into narrow rivers, their silhouettes framed by morning light. Vendors sold sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves, and sugarcane juice dripped down our chins.

By afternoon we reached the ferry—a wooden platform drifting across the Mekong—and crossed to Stung Trang, lulled by the slow rhythm of river life.

 

Fields Without End -Stung Trang to Kampong Thom (97 km)

From Strung Trang we turned inland toward Kampong Thom, leaving the river behind. The landscape widened into vast rice fields, green as emerald cloth. Children stared at us with shy curiosity; even the stray dogs seemed startled by our presence.

Rubber plantations stretched in regimented rows. Cassava fields rippled in the breeze. Signs pointed toward ancient Khmer ruins hidden somewhere beyond the horizon. Dust-covered artisans carved statues for temples; their hands white with stone powder.

It was a day of quiet pedalling, the countryside unfolding like a long exhale.

 

A Day When Nothing Happened (Except Everything Did), Kampong Thom to Kampong Kdei (89 km)

A day when “nothing happened,” except everything did. Monks in saffron robes collected alms. Women ploughed fields with oxcarts. Traders pushed carts stacked with wooden furniture, baskets, and improbable loads of live chickens.

Children cycled to school with astonishing balance—tiny legs pumping, friends perched on handlebars or rear racks. Watermelon stands and coconut juice stalls offered sweet relief. By evening, we reached Kampong Kdei, where a surprisingly comfortable guesthouse awaited us.

 

The Ancient Bridge - Kampong Kdei to Siem Reap (64 km)

We rolled through the morning market, weaving between vendors and curious stares. Soon after, the ancient Kampong Kdei Bridge appeared-an 11th-century marvel of laterite and stone, once the longest corbelled-arch bridge in the world. Now bypassed by the highway, it remains a quiet relic of Khmer engineering.

The road to Siem Reap was lined with bamboo-cooked rice, fruit stalls, and herds of cattle. Fifteen kilometres out, temple ruins began to appear like ghosts in the trees. By afternoon, we reached the city, ready for rest, repairs, and a few days of stillness.

 

Stillness in Siem Reap

Two days of errands and small pleasures. Tania explored Angkor’s ancient stones while I tended to the mundane: laundry, bike service, camera repairs. The circus surprised us—ingenious, intimate, full of heart. Cambodia’s creativity shone in that small tent.

 

Across Tonle Sap – on a boat to Battambang

The boat across Tonle Sap was slow, old, and charmingly unreliable. It sputtered, broke down twice, and carried empty beer cans beneath the driver’s seat. But the floating villages were unforgettable—schools, shops, police stations, all drifting on the water. Children steered boats before they could walk. Life here was buoyant, precarious, and utterly unique.

A crocodile farm floated ominously among the houses. We shuddered at the thought of escapees.

By the time we reached Battambang, our backs ached from the wooden benches, but the night market revived us with food and colour.

 

The Bamboo Train – Battambang to Pursat (118 km)

We set off the next morning, soon reaching the “bamboo train” - more trolley than train—a wobbling platform on wheels that rattled through the forest. We laughed the whole way.

Back on the bikes, the road south offered familiar scenes: rice paddies, friendly children, pottery sellers, motorbikes stacked with pigs in woven baskets. Storm clouds gathered late in the day, and we raced the rain into Pursat, arriving just in time.

 

Flying Snakes & Coconut Ice Cream - Pursat → Kampong Chhnang (96 km)

“This is Cambodia, baby!” Tania exclaimed as we pedalled into a cloud of morning fumes. The road was alive with tuk‑tuks, buffalo, buses, and vendors selling steamed buns.

We devoured an entire watermelon at one stand, then coconut ice cream on bread, drenched in condensed milk. We declined the fermented ant larvae. Flying snakes—dropping from trees and slithering into the grass—were unsettling enough.

 

Into Phnom Penh (93 km)

Nine years on the road, and still the world surprises me.

We passed monasteries, rice planters, petrol sold in Coke bottles, and unidentifiable animals hanging from roadside branches. Trucks overflowed with chickens. Farmers led buffalo through rivers. English was scarce; smiles were abundant.

Phnom Penh swallowed us in Friday traffic—chaotic, dusty, relentless. We ducked and weaved through carts and markets until we reached the city centre and found a room good enough to stay a week.

The next day brought the sombre weight of the Killing Fields and Tuol Sleng. History pressed close. I visited the Canon store—bad news: the lens needed calibration in Singapore. I applied for a Thai visa and Tania bought a tent for our onward journey.

 

The Monastery at Takeo (77 km)

Leaving the capital was a battle through morning traffic. Flatbed tuk-tuks carried elderly women in wide hats; trucks towered with hay and passengers. Tania grinned through the chaos: “This is Cambodia, baby!”

We visited the Phnom Tamao Wildlife Rescue Centre—6,000 acres of forest sheltering elephants, tigers, gibbons, and sun bears. It was Tania’s world, and she lit up among the enclosures.

By evening, we reached Takeo and camped at a monastery. The monks offered the temple floor, a bucket shower, and electricity. Their kindness felt like a blessing.

 

The Road to the Coast — Takeo to Roadside Camp (104 km)

We rode past luminous rice paddies, coconut piles, and duck stalls selling every imaginable part of the bird. The closer we came to the coast, the hillier the land grew. Rain hammered down. I fixed a flat tyre in the downpour, longing for my Schwalbe tyres.

Near Kampot, a sign for “Café & Camping” appeared—a rarity in Cambodia. Two Turkish travellers welcomed us with coffee and stories. They were making a film about their journey. We camped under a canopy, grateful for the unexpected companionship.

 

Everything breaks at once - Roadside Camp to Sihanoukville (85 km)

Tania’s $20 tent collapsed overnight, leaving her in a sad, flat heap. We laughed, but it was disappointing—we’d hoped to camp more.

The road wound past oyster farms, fishing villages, and neon-green rice fields. My cheap tyre tore; duct tape held it together long enough to reach a town. My scandal broke too. Rain poured. It was one of those days where everything fails at once, and you keep pedalling anyway.

Sihanoukville was touristy but full of rooms. We scrubbed off the day, repacked, and attempted to fix the tent poles. No luck. I glued my sandal and hoped for the best.

 

Chasing the Bus

I rode the early bus back to Phnom Penh to collect my Thai visa. The tent shop refunded Tania’s money. I bought a tyre, tube, and gloves at the Giant store. The visa wasn’t ready until 17:00, so I spent the day wandering the mall like an expat.

When I finally collected the visa, I rushed to catch the return bus—only to find it had already left. A motorbike taxi gave chase, and we caught the bus kilometres down the road. Only in Cambodia.

 

Rain, Fatigue & Petrol Station Camping - Sihanoukville to Sre Ambel (98 km)

Rain hammered down in the morning, delaying our start. Tania felt unwell—lethargic, nauseous—but insisted on riding. The drizzle persisted all day as we retraced our route to Veal Renh and turned west toward Thailand.

By afternoon, the rain returned in sheets. We sought shelter at a petrol station, where the staff kindly let us camp under a canopy with lights and power. A humble but welcome refuge.

 

Into the Cardamoms - Sre Ambel to Andong Tuek (43 km)

There’s no sleeping late at a petrol station. Tania still felt ill, but we continued toward the Cardamom Mountains. The vegetation grew lush and wild.

At Andong Tuek, boats ferried travellers upriver to Chi Phat, a community-run eco‑tourism village once home to loggers and poachers. We found a rustic bungalow and booked a trek. Supper was rice, boiled cabbage, and goose eggs—simple, filling, forgettable.

 

Hammocks Under the House - Chi Phat Trek

Cambodia continued to astonish. Children half the size of cattle herded them confidently along the road. Five-year-olds rode motorbikes. Life here began early.

We set off with our guide into the Cardamom Mountains. My “fixed” sandal broke immediately, and the guide phoned a friend to fetch my sneakers from my panniers—delivered by motorbike, there is nowhere Cambodians can't reach by motorbike.

The forest was dense, fragrant, alive with insects and strange plants. Lunch was cooked over a small fire—rice and vegetables ready in minutes. By late afternoon we reached a family home where we hung our hammocks beneath their stilted house. Chickens and dogs scurried around the kitchen area. The family cooked pumpkin flowers, bamboo shoots, chillies, garlic, and wild greens into a delicious soup.

They lived with almost nothing—no electricity, no running water, no toilet—but with a grace and resourcefulness that humbled us. We fell asleep to the forest’s chorus.

Morning came with roosters and the smell of boiling water. The family offered us coffee—a luxury for them. After breakfast, we hiked back to Chi Phat, then caught a boat to the main road. Tania’s stomach cramps worsened. We hoped rest would help.

 

Illness in the Mountains - The Road to Koh Kong (43 km)

Tania woke with severe bloating, cramps, and nausea. She insisted on riding, and we climbed slowly into the Cardamom Mountains. The scenery was breathtaking, but worry shadowed the beauty.

At a riverside rest stop, we visited a small clinic. The nurse gave Tania two tablets and a place to lie down, but nothing improved. We flagged down a minivan to Koh Kong, where the driver dropped us at the hospital door.

The doctor diagnosed her illness quickly and prescribed medication. Relief washed over us both.

We found a room along the river and settled in, hoping tomorrow would bring strength.

 

The Border & the Bay - Koh Kong, Cambodia - Trat, Thailand – 100 km

Morning arrived with relief. The $2 medication had worked its quiet magic, and Tania woke with colour in her cheeks. We pedalled the short distance to the border, where tuk‑tuks, trucks, and buses jostled for position in muddy puddles. Cambodia spat us out in a flurry of noise; Thailand received us with a kind of gentle order.

The road to Trat was quiet, lined with bays and beaches that felt untouched by tourism. The air smelled of salt and wet leaves. Midday brought four Thai cyclists on a two‑day ride — cheerful, curious, eager to chat. Their presence felt like a small celebration of Tania’s recovery.

Rain found us again in the afternoon, soft at first, then insistent. By the time we reached Trat, we were soaked through. The monastery by the river welcomed us with a jetty — a long wooden platform above the mangroves, with a canopy, lights, and the soft hum of evening insects. The monks locked the gate behind us, pointed out the toilets, and left us to the river’s rising tide.

We cooked noodles, drank coffee, and watched the mangroves disappear beneath the water. It felt like the world was tucking us in.

 

Epilogue — Cambodia

When we left Cambodia, the red dust still clung to our panniers and the echo of “hello!” lingered in our ears. The Cardamom Mountains faded behind us, but their hammocks, their fires, their soft forest nights stayed close. Cambodia did not end at the border. It travelled with us —a gentle weight, a changed way of seeing.

082 CYCLE TOURING LAOS (3)

Pedals and Paddy Fields: Fourteen Days Across Laos 

Cycle Touring Laos (3)

966 Kilometres – 14 Days

26 June – 9 July 2016

PDF

FLIP-BOOK

VOICEOVER

 

 

Prologue

There’s a unique anticipation that comes with embarking on a bicycle journey—an openness to the unknown, a readiness to embrace discomfort, and a hope that the road will reveal something new about the world and oneself. Our 14-day, 966-kilometre ride through Laos was more than a physical challenge; it was a passage through landscapes, cultures, and moments that would shape our memories and perspectives long after the final kilometre.

 

 

Udon Thani, Thailand to Vientiane, Laos (80 km)

The morning air in Udon Thani was thick with the scent of smoky BBQ stands as we pedalled towards the border. Tania’s infectious smile mirrored my own anticipation as we pedalled toward the border, pausing only for fresh coconut juice—a simple pleasure that set the tone for the days ahead.

Crossing the Friendship Bridge over the Mekong was a symbolic threshold. The $30 visa felt like a ticket to adventure, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. French colonial architecture, the aroma of strong coffee, and the sight of baguettes stacked high in market stalls signalled our arrival in Vientiane. The city’s gentle pace was a balm after the rush of travel; we settled in, savouring green curry and cold Lao beer by the riverside, watching the city’s life unfold.

The next day, we wandered through ornate temples and the bustling morning market, absorbing the city’s blend of tradition and modernity. As the sun set, the riverside came alive—a communal celebration of food, conversation, and the simple joy of being outdoors.

The border crossing was more than a change of country; it was a reminder of how arbitrary lines shape lives and cultures. The warmth of Vientiane’s people and the city’s accessibility made me realise how travel by bicycle invites connection—every stop, every meal, every smile is an opportunity to engage.

 

Vientiane to Pak Ngum (71 km)

As we cycled out of Vientiane, we were drawn to Pha Luang, Laos’s most sacred monument. The legend of Buddha’s breastbone enclosed within its stupa lent a sense of reverence to our departure. The road soon narrowed, flanked by rice fields and temples peeking from the forest. Children walked to school, their independence a testament to the safety and simplicity of rural life.

We stocked up on baguettes and bananas, noting the prevalence of new cars—a curious contrast to the rustic surroundings. The day’s ride was gentle, the scenery lush and welcoming. By early afternoon, we found bungalows nestled among green fields, a peaceful haven that encouraged us to slow down and appreciate the quiet beauty of the countryside.

Rural Laos offered a lesson in contentment. The absence of urgency, the rhythm of daily chores, and the hospitality of strangers reminded me that happiness often resides in simplicity.

 

Pak Ngum to Paksan (87 km)

Departing Pak Ngum came with a symphony of sights and sounds: mountains looming to the left, the Mekong glinting to the right, and villages where vendors offered dried and smoked fish with generous smiles. Children called “Sabai dee!” from stilted homes, and even the stray dogs seemed at peace.

We biked into Paksan with time to spare, grateful for the chance to shower and explore the riverside. The evening meal was a celebration of local flavours—a ritual that became a cherished part of each day.

The friendliness of the Lao people was striking. Their openness and curiosity made every interaction feel genuine, and I found myself reflecting on the power of small gestures—a wave, a greeting, a shared snack—to bridge cultural divides.

 

Paksan to Vieng Kham (90 km)

Rain greeted us at dawn, and we waited, hoping for a break in the weather. By mid-morning, the drizzle persisted, but we saddled up for the ride to Vieng Kham. The road grew muddier and more remote, with farmers tending cattle and planting rice in fields that seemed to stretch forever. Stalls sold petrol by the bottle and steamed duck eggs—a testament to resourcefulness.

Tania wasn’t feeling well, but refused to let it slow her down. The landscape became increasingly rural, and Google Maps proved useless—reminding us that some places remain untouched by digital mapping. Vieng Kham, though absent from any map, was sizable and welcoming, offering shelter and sustenance.

The day’s challenges underscored the unpredictability of travel. Yet, the willingness to adapt—to accept discomfort and uncertainty—became a source of resilience. I learned to trust the journey, even when the path was unclear.

 

Vieng Kham to Thakhek (108 km)

Thunderstorms were forecast, but the day dawned clear. Misty mountains framed the horizon, and the road wound through forests and villages where innovation thrived—two-wheel tractors transformed into multipurpose machines, and woven baskets carried the day’s harvest.

Markets were a feast for the senses, selling everything from unfamiliar meats to illegal wildlife. Rice planters worked knee-deep in water, their backs bent in silent endurance. Near Thakhek, we encountered the Great Wall of Laos—a geological wonder shrouded in myth.

A riverside hotel offered comfort, and dinner by the Mekong was a reward for the day’s effort.

The ingenuity of rural life was inspiring. People made do with what they had, adapting tools and traditions to meet their needs. The landscape, shaped by both nature and human hands, was a reminder of the delicate balance between progress and preservation.

 

Thakhek to Savannakhet (125 km)

Fatigue lingered from a restless night, but the road called. The terrain was undulating, and a steady breeze tested our resolve. Children filled the roads, enjoying school holidays, and temples stood as silent witnesses to centuries of faith.

A shortcut trimmed the route, but a minor accident left Tania bruised yet undeterred. Her resilience was a source of inspiration. Savannakhet welcomed us with convenient lodging near the night market.

Physical challenges are inevitable on a journey like this, but the true test is mental. The ability to push through discomfort, to find humour in mishaps, and to support each other made every setback a shared victory.

 

A day of rest in Savannakhet allowed for reflection and exploration. An early jog revealed ancient temples and colonial buildings, their faded grandeur hinting at stories untold. The dinosaur museum, though modest, offered a glimpse into the distant past, and a staff member’s guided tour bridged the language gap.

As we wandered the riverfront, I realised that rest days are essential—not just for the body, but for the mind. They offer space to absorb experiences, to notice details, and to appreciate the journey’s unfolding narrative.

 

Savannakhet to Muang Lakhonpheng (131 km)

Anticipating a long ride, we set out from Savannakhet early. The countryside was alive with activity—rice planting, children managing chores, and water buffalo grazing lazily. Villages provided respite, and the landscape was a patchwork of green paddies and colourful temples.

Lakhonpheng, though unmarked on maps, offered guesthouses. Our choice was less than ideal, but the discomfort was temporary—a reminder that not every day ends in luxury. Travel teaches flexibility. Plans change, expectations are challenged, and comfort becomes relative. The ability to adapt—to find joy in imperfection—is a skill honed on the road.

 

Muang Lakhonpheng to Pakse (112 km)

By morning, rain persisted, and we rode out under grey skies. A torn tyre was patched with duct tape, then replaced at a roadside shop—a stroke of luck that underscored the kindness of strangers. Pink water buffalo and mushroom vendors added colour to the journey, and the scent of wet, smoky wood mingled with damp earth.

By evening, we reached Pakse, hungry and grateful for a hot meal. The road is unpredictable, but generosity is a constant. The willingness of others to help—a spare tyre, a warm meal—reminded me that travel is as much about people as it is about places.

 

Pakse to Champasak (55 km)

The rain finally relented, and we cycled through vibrant rice fields and misty mountains. In Champasak, we stayed by the river and visited the Vat Phu ruins—a UNESCO World Heritage Site steeped in history. The ancient Khmer temple complex, set against Mount Phu Kao, was a highlight, followed by a sunset meal overlooking the Mekong.

Reflection: History is alive in Laos. The ruins, the temples, the rituals—they are threads in a tapestry that connects past and present. Cycling through these landscapes, I felt a sense of continuity, a reminder that every journey is part of a larger story.

 

Champasak to Don Khong Island (107 km)

A muddy track led to a ferry crossing and then south toward the Cambodian border. The Four Thousand Islands (Si Phan Don) beckoned, though a chaotic ferry landing nearly ended in disaster. Fortunately, all was well, and a riverside guesthouse provided comfort.

The next morning, we joined villagers at the market, sampling local snacks and enjoying the slow pace of island life. A boat trip upriver revealed riverside villages and fishermen at work—a fitting end to our adventure.

The islands were a place to pause, to savour the journey’s end. The rhythm of village life, the beauty of the river, and the camaraderie of shared meals made me grateful for the road travelled and the lessons learned.

 

Epilogue

Fourteen days and nearly a thousand kilometres later, Laos had left its mark: landscapes of green, resilient people, and a journey stitched together by the rhythm of cycling and discovery. The road was both a challenge and a gift—a reminder that adventure is not just about reaching a destination, but about embracing every moment along the way.

Final Reflection: Cycle touring in Laos was a lesson in humility, gratitude, and wonder. The country’s beauty lies not only in its scenery, but in its people, its history, and its ability to reveal the extraordinary in the everyday. As I look back, I realise that the actual journey was inward—a transformation shaped by the road, the rain, and the kindness encountered at every turn.

 

 

 

 

082 Laos (3)

966 Kilometres – 14 Days

26 June – 9 July 2016

 

 

26-27 June – Udon Thani, Thailand – Vientiane, Laos – 80 km

“I’m bursting with excitement to go to Laos; I can’t get the smile off my face,” Tania said, biking past the traditional smoky breakfast BBQ stands. So keen to reach Laos, we only stopped once to drink coconut juice on the way to the Thailand-Laos border.

Once at the immigration, a $30 visa allowed entry into the country. Reaching Laos meant cycling across the mighty Mekong River via the Friendship Bridge. It soon became apparent how different things could be on the opposite side of a border.

The French influence from yesteryear was still visible, especially in the architecture. The baguettes were abundant, and the smell of coffee permeated the air. I withdrew 1,500,000 Laos kip, which stretched my wallet to nearly breaking point.

Once these formalities were done, we cycled into Vientiane, the capital city, which must be the most accessible capital by bicycle. We’d barely crossed the border, and Tania stopped to sample the local cuisine. Unfortunately, the place I’d in mind no longer existed, but there were plenty to choose from. Once unpacked and showered, we headed towards the riverside eateries where one could sip a cold Lao beer and watch the comings and goings of Vientiane. The green curry ordered was delicious; we almost ordered a 2nd portion. Thank goodness we came to our senses before placing the order.

The following day was spent in Vientiane, checking out the beautiful temples and shopping at the morning market. At sunset, everyone was enjoying the cooler evening air and riverside restaurants. Tania and I followed suit and ordered various dishes, all equally delicious.

 

28 June - Vientiane – Pak Ngum - 71 km

Our leisurely departure was due to wanting to visit a few attractions. The first stop was at Pha Luang, Laos’s most important national monument. Legend has it that Indian missionaries erected the main stupa to enclose a piece of Buddha’s breastbone in or around the third century. Afterwards, a short ride led out of the city and onto rural paths, but not before stopping to buy baguettes and bananas. Tania pointed out nearly all cars were new and in the middle to higher price bracket – interesting.

I loved seeing the temples jutting out of the forest and kids walking to and from school. Having such a safe environment where kids can get to and from school independently is refreshing. The day was very much a rice-field-and-buffalo one as we peddled along, admiring Laos’ scenery, temples, and welcoming people. Upon finding lodging, we found the area to be extremely rural and called it a day, even though it was still early. But looking at the map, there didn’t appear to be a great deal in the line of accommodation in the next 100 kilometres. Our abode consisted of bungalows surrounded by vast green fields and plenty of trees, making it a lovely, relaxing place to spend the remainder of the day.

 

29 June – Pak Ngum – Paksan – 87 km

The early morning made a beautiful ride through the countryside with the mountains to our left and the Mekong River to our right. Now and again, cycling was through tiny settlements where one could get water or something to nibble on.

At times, our path led close to the river, and other times it headed slightly inland. Dried and smoked fish stands lined the riverbanks, and sampling these odd eats was fun. The vendors seemed happy to let us try their produce. What a friendly nation Laos is. Kids called “Sabai dee!” from their stilted homes, and not even the stray dogs gave chase. Arrival in Paksan was in good time, leaving ample time to shower and trundle to the river on the hunt to find something to eat.

 

30 June - Paksan – Vieng Kham – 90 km

We woke to steady rain and decided to wait and see if the weather would clear. It cleared around 9h30-10h00, allowing us to set out anew. Unfortunately, the drizzle continued throughout the day, only clearing around 14h00. Even then, it was still spitting from time to time. Google Maps were relatively useless in Laos, and it appeared no Google staff had been to Laos in the past 20 years. I stayed in Vieng Kham seven years previously, but couldn’t find the town on Google Maps; still, we cycled in that direction.

Tania didn’t feel well but pushed on regardless; she’s tough. Despite the constant drizzle, I scarcely took the camera out, but it was still a pleasant day. Farmers tended their cattle while others planted rice or ploughed the fields. The area was becoming increasingly rural the further from Vientiane—stalls sold petrol by the bottle, charcoal, and steamed duck eggs.

The day was wet and muddy as our path went further south, past bright green rice paddies, exciting markets, and hospitable folk. Finally, I was delighted to roll into Vieng Kham. Despite not being on any map, the place was quite sizable and offered a few places to stay and eat.

 

1 July - Vieng Kham - Thakhek – 108 km

The weather forecast reported rain and thunderstorms the entire day. Fortunately, they were wrong, and we’d had a great day of cycle touring. The landscape was sublime, revealing misty mountains in the background and lush green forests on both sides. As we headed further south, the villages became smaller and smaller, and farther and farther apart.

Our path passed vendors selling fruit; a few had stalls while others pushed mobile carts. Herds of buffalo and cattle grazed on the no-man's-land along the tarmac. At the same time, farmers used highly innovative farming equipment. I’m not sure what it’s called, but I call it a two-wheel tractor and it’s highly versatile. It can be fitted to various innovative auxiliary equipment, including planting, threshing, irrigation, and even carts for transporting people. Villagers carried their wares in woven baskets on their backs and others carried them from straps around their foreheads.

Markets were even more fascinating, as they sold items one only read about, from illegal wildlife to unfamiliar pieces of meat. We couldn’t figure out which part it came from or which animal it came from. In rice fields, people stood knee-deep in water, planting rice, and I wondered how their backs felt after a day bent over.

Nearing Thakhek, we came upon the Great Wall of Laos. This kilometres-long Kamphaeng Nyak wall is a geological phenomenon caused by fissures. Still, its physical resemblance to a human-made structure led to many Laotian myths about its origin. Some say it was made as a defence system, and others guess the wall was used to stem floodwaters from the Mekong.

Thakhek offered a hotel across the Mekong River at an incredibly reasonable price. As usual, we were starving and hurried to a restaurant beside the river where the food and the views were excellent.

 

2 July – Thakhek – Savannakhet – 125 km

I was no ball of energy as I’d hardly slept the previous night. Nevertheless, we rolled out of Thakhek at around 7h30. The route was pretty undulating and led straight into the south-westerly breeze. I was in no mood to take pictures and kept a steady pace, passing markets and heaps of kids, doing what kids do during school holidays. The schools in Laos have a three-month break during the rainy season (July to August).

Pedalling past temples where the monks’ bright orange robes were drying in the breeze made a pretty picture against the green fields. Butterflies and dragonflies were in abundance, albeit less forested.

Thirty kilometres before Savannakhet, a shortcut took 10 kilometres off our intended route, something we were happy about. Unfortunately, Tania fell off her bike; luckily, she was fine, apart from a few bruises and a lump on her head. Nevertheless, she is a tough one. Once in Savannakhet, the Savan Phattha offered convenient accommodation near the night market and river.

 

3 July – Savannakhet

A day of leisure was spent in Savannakhet, doing laundry and checking out all the attractions and sights in the old city. An early morning jog led through old Savannakhet, featuring ancient temples and an ensemble of decaying buildings. Later, I popped in at the dinosaur museum, and while small, it offered a fascinating glimpse at life 110,000,000 years ago. A staff member gave me a tour and explanation, which was helpful and informative, as all information was posted in Lao and French.

 

4 July – Savannakhet – Muang Lakhonpheng – 131 km

Anticipating a long day, we were ready to roll at 7h30. Luckily, it turned out to be an excellent day, weather-wise. Albeit cloudy, it didn’t rain, and the day came with a slight breeze on our backs. As the weather was in our favour, we pushed on, making good use of the favourable conditions.

Surveying our surroundings, one felt grateful for the opportunity to cycle in this beautiful country with its generous people. During the rainy season, each man and his dog planted rice, while the smaller kids handled the daily chores. I was amazed at these tiny kids doing tasks I never dreamt a child twice their age could do. They took over household responsibilities, from tending cattle to caring for babies. The rice paddies were a brilliant green, making the colourful temples appear even greener. Water buffalo grazed lazily while goats and cattle were led off to feed elsewhere. Wooden houses upon stilts and hammocks swinging in the breeze completed the picture.

The map indicated little in the line of accommodation, food, or water. Still, plenty of villages were encountered—quite a sizable one at around 70 kilometres and nice-looking digs at approximately 85 kilometres. En route were plenty of stores and petrol stations to fill the water bottles. A hundred and thirty-one kilometres later, we cycled into Lakhonpheng (not indicated on the map), which boasted several guesthouses. Regrettably, the one picked turned out a poor choice, and Tania wasn’t a happy chappie as the bed was lumpy and the place offered no Wi-Fi.

 

5 June – Muang Lakhonpheng - Pakse - 112 km

We surfaced to rain pelting down and waited until the weather improved. Still, by 08h30, it was clear this wouldn’t happen, so we saddled up our iron horses and got underway. The rain continued throughout the day, sometimes a drizzle, and sometimes it came down quite hard. It would’ve been a nice ride if not for grinding into a gusty breeze. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much one could do but push on.

Tania was a real sport, never complained, and stuck to the task. Thirty-five kilometres into the day, I’d a flat tyre and realised it wasn’t the tube but the tyre which tore along the side. I fixed the tyre using duct tape, but it only lasted 35 kilometres. Mercifully, this happened right opposite a motorbike repair shop, and lo and behold, did they not have a used bicycle tyre hanging from the rafters? I pointed to the tyre and my wheel, and in no time, I’d a new tyre fitted, all at 20,000 kip. I surmised the tyre was about 100 years old and hoped it would get me to Pakse, which was still 77 kilometres away.

Our route continued past pink water buffalo, and I swear it had nothing to do with drugs or the fact I’d barely drunk any water that day. People sat under their houses, around small fires hiding from the weather. I loved the smell of the wet, smoky wood, mixed with the scent of damp soil; it’s so earthy.

Ladies sold a wide and impressive variety of mushrooms. Upon display were big and small ones, underground and above-ground ones, single ones and ones growing in clumps, and nearly in all the colours of the rainbow.

We encountered motorbike salespeople on bikes loaded to the sky and Gong Makers hard at work. Gongs are the monks’ alarm clocks as they get up at 04h30. First, they meditate and then walk to collect food. Monks only eat twice a day, and after their morning meal, they study and clean around the temple. Our day dragged on, and in the dying moments, we biked into Pakse, found a place to stay, and headed straight to a restaurant.

 

7 July – Pakse – Champasak – 55 km

The rain finally subsided, allowing pedalling the short distance to Champasak. Bright green rice fields filled our view, and the good rains of the previous days soaked the fields, ready for planting. Misty mountains featured to our left, and the Mekong River flowed to our right.

In Champasak, our abode of choice was an establishment right along the river. We immediately set off toward the picturesque Vat Phu ruins, dating to the seventh century. Today, Vat Phu is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, home to a ruined Khmer Hindu temple complex. The complex is located in the foothills of Mount Phu Kao, overlooking the Mekong Valley. We wandered around and then returned to our humble abode, where we ordered food and sipped a Lao beer while watching the sunset over the Mekong River.

 

8-9 July - Champasak - Maung Khong, Don Khong Island - 107 km

After breakfast, a muddy track led to the ferry to the mainland. Although not a car ferry, one could push bicycles without a problem. Unfortunately, another muddy, potholed track led to the main road on the opposite side. Luckily, we escaped much of the rain as we proceeded south towards the Cambodian border.

Approximately 30 kilometres from the border, a path branched off to a ferry that took people to the well-known Four Thousand Islands, or Si Phan Don as it’s known in Laos. This time, the ferry wasn’t as successful as not only did they overcharge us, but disembarking was disastrous, and I surmised quite a spectacle. Tania got off first, but when I tried to push the bicycle off, the boat started moving away from the shore, and I’d one leg on the boat and one on the shore. I clung to the bike for dear life while doing the splits. One can only stretch oneself so far. In the end, I landed in the water, but fortunately, the boatman caught the bike and got it to shore without too much water damage. As funny as it was, I was fuming as all my computer and camera equipment were in those panniers. If the bike landed in the water, all the equipment would’ve been ruined. But all’s well that ends well.

Tania spotted a lovely guesthouse and a restaurant along the river’s edge, which made up for the near disaster.

The following morning, Tania and I woke at the crack of dawn. We followed the villagers along a muddy track to the morning market, filling our stomachs with delicious food and fascinating snacks.

The rest of the day was spent doing little other than enjoying the view and eating. Then, Tania organised a boat trip along the river. At around 17h00, our boatman arrived and steered us upriver, past riverside villages and fishermen doing what fishermen do.

080 & 81 CYCLE TOURING THAILAND (7)

80 THAILAND (7)
1,766 Kilometres – 36 Days
20 May – 15 June 2016

MAP

O80 PHOTOS

081 PHOTOS
 
FLIP-BOOK

PDF

 

19 May - Alor Setar, Malaysia – Hat Yai, Thailand - 106 km

There wasn’t a single “How old ARE you?” on this day. I guessed my aura clearly stated, “Don’t even think about it!” The 60 kilometres to the border was uneventful, and the crossing into Thailand was easy-peasy. I followed the usual SIM card and ATM routine before a 57-kilometre cycle ride spat me out in Hat Yai. The area around the railway station came with a plethora of inexpensive digs. Park Hotel turned out quite reasonable at 350 Thai Baht (app. $10) for a sizable room sporting wi-fi and a bathroom.

 

20 May - Hat Yai – Phatthalung - 110 km

Hat Yai was along a rural route, and the day turned out surprisingly exciting. When travelling by bicycle, one seldom flies under the radar, and my path led slap-bang through the centre of the Friday market. It was clear the area was off the beaten track, as not only were the road signs in Thai, but my presence caused quite a stir and seemed to put the fear of God into the kids. Villagers informed that it was impossible to reach Bangkok by bicycle, and not even the mange dogs gave chase. However, the leading indicator that this was rural Thailand was the “reading tree,” where a pair of communal reading glasses hung from a branch. The way ran past large rubber tree plantations, small villages, and a multitude of temples.

My ride occurred between bouts of rain; luckily, convenient shelters gave cover when the heavens opened. Around 5 p.m., I pedalled, sopping wet, into Phatthalung, located a room, and hurried to the night market. Of course, one should never go to the night market hungry, as indicated by the amount of food I purchased. My meander further revealed that it was a Buddhist holiday, so no beer was sold. Sigh!

 

21 May – Phatthalung – Thung Song – 90 km

A vital document I had sent via DHL from India never reached Cape Town, and more than two weeks later, it was still nada, nothing, niks. Oi, the Indian post and I didn’t get along well. Of course, I had a tracking number, but its status was “number not activated.” Searching the internet turned up no telephone number for DHL in Kochi. DHL Customer Care was equally useless. My only option was to email Henry from Kevin’s Homestay (my previous accommodation) to ask him for help. In the meantime, the area was scanned for a courier company to resend the document as the closest DHL office was in Krabi, 220 kilometres west. Arghh!

By morning, a flower garland adorned my handlebars as I pulled my cap down and continued north. What must be done, must be done. Seventy kilometres down the drag and 20 kilometres before the Krabi turn-off, an email arrived from Henry. He not only got me the number but also went to the post office, spoke to them, and gathered all the details concerning the document and the new tracking number. There are fantastic people in this world!

The document arrived in Cape Town but was on hold as the fee charged wasn’t sufficient to cover delivery. Have you ever? I wondered how long it would’ve taken them to inform me. It boggles the mind, and there was no way to thank Henry enough for his efforts. However, Tung Song made it a convenient place to stay overnight and to ensure everything was sorted before proceeding.

 

22-23 May - Thung Song

A day was spent in Thung Song to double-check that everything was in order. In the process, I ate everything in sight but stopped short of going into KFC. My eating spree started at the morning market and continued through the day, up to the night market. LOL. The exciting part was coming upon an intriguing festival. Devotees en route to the temple revealed cheeks pierced by metal spikes, accompanied by a procession of dancers and, of course, the ever-present fireworks. The affair was colourful and boisterous, not to mention bizarre.

I felt increasingly weak as the day progressed, and I had quite a fever by evening. I feared I had contracted dengue fever, as my illness came with all the body aches and upset stomach. The night was spent tossing and turning, and it was 3:30 before I dozed off. A racquet outside my window woke me at 6.30, and I realised the fever had subsided. How weird, having such a fever and having it all gone by morning.

Once off the beaten touristy track, little English was spoken. It’s unsurprising, as English isn’t one of Thailand’s official languages. English wasn’t even spoken at the hotel, but it’s not too difficult to indicate your intentions when entering a hotel. Not feeling well, I toyed with ordering a basic pizza instead of eating my usual fried noodles. Still, the process proved a tad more complicated than foreseen. In the end, I settled for the traditional fried noodles.

I received word that the document posted in India had been traced and had finally reached its destination (many phone calls later). Hallelujah!

 

24 May - Thung Song – Surat Thani - 110 km

Someone asked if cycle touring was still exciting after nine years. Amazingly enough, a new destination remained as exciting as the first day. Each day (weather providing) put a big grin on my face and I believed myself one of the world’s luckiest people. Cycle touring may not always be easy or comfortable, but whose life is devoid of ups and downs and saddle sores, figuratively speaking?

The two days’ rest did me a world of good. I felt energetic; not even the rain or roadworks could dampen my spirit. It rained the entire day, but I clipped in my flashing lights for added visibility and flew to Surat Thani. There must’ve been a tailwind, as I seldom “flew” anywhere. Finally, accommodation was secured at the Route 44 and 41 intersection, which allowed for showering and donning dry clothes.

 

25 May - Surat Thani district – Roadside cottage - 110 km

The day turned out to be another 110-kilometre ride. The weather was cool and, although a constant drizzle prevailed, the rain didn’t bucket down as usual, and it felt like I was burning up the tarmac. “Felt” being the operative word as, in reality, I was doing my usual slow ride!

There were heaps of lovely people en route. A friendly lady was selling steamed palm cakes and they were delicious. The next stop was the coconut sellers, where the vendor handed me a unique coconut containing a shell filled with jelly. It was delicious, thirst-quenching, and fantastic, and she wanted no money.

Following 110 kilometres of riding, convenient chalets came into view. The price was reasonable, and it sported a small shop selling crisps, beer, and cup noodles. I love it when a plan comes together.

 

26 May - Roadside cottage – Chumphon – 90 km

The rain continued throughout the night and it was still drizzling by morning. Not particularly good at waiting, I donned my plastic raincoat (cut in half to make cycling easier) and headed to Chumphon. Fortunately, the weather soon cleared, and the day became pleasant biking.

I came across ladies selling steamed palm cakes which made for a perfect breakfast. Thailand is aptly known as the land of smiles, and during the day I encountered tons of smiling faces, from fruit sellers to plastic bottle collectors. As always, my route went past countless beautiful temples and the ever-present durian vendors.

Chumphon offered digs at the Farang Bar, which looked a tad worse for wear. The rooms were basic, but one couldn’t complain about the price.

While cycling, I noticed a severe wobble in my wheel, which led me to search for a bike shop. However, I decided to first grab a bite to eat. Fortunately, in Thailand, you can smell the food sellers from miles away.

Eventually, I found a bike shop but, unfortunately, the language barrier made it difficult to communicate my needs. However, I did come across an extensive array of dim sum, which made up for the lack of success at the bike shop.

 

27 May - Chumphon

The phrase "Don't have" is often the first response from staff when a foreigner enters a shop in Thailand. Hence sorting out the wheel wasn’t all that easy. Moreover, one discovers how frustrating and challenging communication can be when doing business in a foreign country. Despite these obstacles, I persisted and eventually found a second-hand rim that would hopefully last until I reached Bangkok. I also managed to locate a keyboard for my laptop, which had lost the use of the bottom row of keys. And there I thought the Mercury retrograde was over.

Afterwards, I half-heartedly cleaned the drizzled fuel mess off the bike, did the laundry, and cleaned my water bottles, which by then had a lush growth of fungi. I felt sorry for the French couple next door, as the lady had contracted dengue fever and was very ill.

 

28 May - Chumphon – Thungwualaen Beach – 20 km

Chumphon to Thungwualaen Beach was a mere 20 kilometres, but it was one of my favourite beaches. However, the place looked a tad forlorn. Nonetheless, I managed to find a decent room for 300 baht. Although I could tell from the drippings and the hole gnawed in the table that I wasn’t the only occupant.

 

29-30 May - Thungwualaen Beach – Bang Saphan Beach – 95 km

Feeling lethargic, I soldiered on, past heaps of beachside accommodation, all looking extremely inviting as they were right on the beach. The road ran past many beautiful temples, all immensely colourful and ornate. A few temples featured a Buddha in the shade of a multi-headed king cobra, known as the Naga Buddha, believed to have protected the Buddha from the elements as he attained enlightenment.

My route followed the coast, and the recently resurfaced road was in perfect condition, with a lovely bike lane. The way crossed numerous rivers where fishing boats were lying side by side, sometimes three or four deep. Smoke billowed from mobile carts selling grilled fish and other delicious-looking eats. The smoky aroma was enough to make anyone hungry.

Bang Saphan Beach was reached early, even though the way was slightly hillier. I only mentioned this because southern Thailand is flat, and one seldom encounters hills.

I spent an extra day in Bang Saphan, as there was still time to reach Bangkok and meet Tania for a six-week touring holiday in Southeast Asia. So, I went for a jog but didn’t go far because the beach was only about five or six kilometres long.

Early morning the weather was already boiling, and the locals must have thought I was insane for running. Thais, generally, prefer indoor sports like badminton, table tennis and Muay Thai. If they found me strange cycling (while they all have bicycles), you could imagine their surprise seeing a person running.

 

31 May–2 June - Bang Saphan Beach – Prachaup Khiri Khan – 93 km

Emerging tired due to spending half the night chasing cockroaches was no surprise. As soon as the light was off, they came out. Sandal in hand, I gave chase, but they gave me a good run for my money. These wee buggers were as fast as lightning.

By morning, I left Bang Saphan with a pack of dogs in hot pursuit, and I could’ve sworn an intrusion of cockroaches followed us. Cartoon style, I gripped the handlebars, pushed my elbows out, flattened myself, and gunned it out of Bang Saphan. The entire neighbourhood’s dogs wanted a piece of me that day. Mercifully, a smaller path veered off, and they gave up.

The road hugged the coast nearly the entire way to Prachuap, making it nearly paradise. Low-key accommodation lined the beach, consisting of bungalows barely visible behind bougainvillaea and frangipani. The only sign of life was often a lone hammock strung between two palm trees, lazily swinging in the slight breeze. Bliss!

The area was rural; chickens darted across the path, men fished in small dugout canoes, temples, shrines, and the ever-present snakes abounded. I’m sure Thailand has the world's largest snake population. It’s a miracle I didn’t ride over any. The weather looked ominous, but I pushed on, wondering if I could out-cycle the approaching storm. Amazingly enough, I reached my destination without getting soaked. In hindsight, it was a good day as neither the dogs, snakes, nor rain caught me—pity about those darn cockroaches. I swear I’m not making this up.

The following morning dawned bright and sunny, a good morning for a run. The promenade stretched a few kilometres north and south, making it an enjoyable run. Before returning to Maggie's Homestay, I jogged past the pier, a resident troop of monkeys, and the Khao Chong Krachok hill temple. Maggie’s wasn’t only dirt cheap but a pleasant place to stay. As a result, one more day was spent in Prachuap Khiri Khun, especially following rumours of torrential rain.

 

3 June - Prachuap Khiri Khun – Khao Sam Roi National Park - 70 km

Hanging out at Maggie’s Homestay, shooting the breeze with the other travellers, came easily. Most of the people at Maggie’s seemed to do long stints in Thailand. We drank a few beers, and I debated staying another day, but I moved on.

Thus, I saddled up and pointed the bike toward the nearby National Park. The park had roughly six caves and investigating the Phraya Nakhon Cave sounded fun. En route, I met a family on bikes - mum, dad, and three kids aged one to six years. How cool is that? Mum carried the littlest one in front in a kind of baby seat and the middle one behind her, while dad was on a recumbent with the eldest. Needless to say, they were loaded. I tip my hat to them.

An abode along the river lured me in and I set out toward Phraya Nakhon Cave. Getting to the cave involved cycling to the beach, taking a boat around the headland, and a hike up the steep mountain. The cave housed a beautiful temple, but it was already late, and no light came through the cave ceiling.

 

4 June - Khao Sam Roi National Park – Cha-Am – 80 km

I had difficulty dragging myself from under the white linen (a novelty), as I rarely enjoyed the luxury of a room that provided any cover, let alone white linen. Moreover, Thailand’s weather is far too hot and humid, and thus, there is no need for blankets or even a sheet.

With my African music going full blast, I set off through the hills of the National Park. Indecisive about overnighting in Hua Hin, I continued to Cha-Am. At first, I considered giving Cha-Am a miss, but Bangkok was a comfortable two-day ride away. Moreover, I wasn’t happy finding a tick on me, even though getting tick-bite fever was unlikely. Still, I wasn’t too fond of these pests. The reports of rabid dogs in the area were far more worrying.

 

5 June - Cha-Am - Samut Songkhram – 90 km

The stretch between Cha-Am and Samut Songkhram was varied and scenic. Not only was the way dotted with interesting food and drinks stands, but ran past salt farms, tiny fishing villages, temples, and mangrove swamps. Crab fishing was at the order of the day and almost every stall offered cooked crab. Add an excellent road featuring a cycle lane, and the ride was pleasurable.

Albeit blistering hot, I rolled into Samut Songkhram early and headed to Hometown Hostel. The hostel is lovely, offering modern air-con dorms, clean bathrooms, and friendly staff. Once unpacked, I made a beeline for the markets as they were already in full swing.

Samut Songkhram is home to the fascinating railway market that spills onto the railway line. Canopies are hurriedly taken down when a train approaches. However, once the train has passed, the whole shebang goes back into place, and trade continues.

 

6-12 June - Samut Songkhram – Bangkok – 90 km

One of the great things about cycle touring is the opportunity to explore minor and rural country roads. It's astonishing how rural the outskirts of bustling Bangkok can be. Along the many rivers and canals, people live and make a living from the canals, and even the taxi stands are longtail boat jetties. It wasn't unusual to meet people, like a broom and feather duster salesman or an elephant carer, but our conversations were limited.

Everything went smoothly until around midday, when I began to feel feverish, and my entire body started aching, from my hair follicles to my ankles. I was drained of all my energy but kept going, remembering my motto: I'll reach my destination if I keep moving forward. I honestly didn't think I could finish the last 20 kilometres, and even resorted to counting to keep myself going.

As if feeling this dreadful wasn’t enough, the traffic was horrendous due to the construction of a new Skytrain—what a mess. Once in Bangkok, I went straight to my old go-to guesthouse, only to find it no longer existed. I had no energy to search for alternative accommodation and opted for the next available room, where I collapsed onto the bed, trembling and vomiting everything I had eaten that day. Looking back, I don't know how I managed to cycle the 90 kilometres from Samut Songkhram.

Over the next few days, my condition worsened. Dengue fever is a mosquito-borne illness with no cure. As the name suggests, it is characterised by high fever, severe body aches and pains, headaches, eye pain, and nausea and vomiting. My body ached, and the slightest movement caused shooting pains that made me groan. Eating was impossible, as everything came straight back up. The only available medication treated the symptoms, so I stocked up on painkillers and anti-nausea tablets. It felt like I slept for 40 days and 40 nights, and when I finally woke up, I had lost half my body weight. Despite this, I wouldn't recommend dengue fever as a weight loss programme.

I was always aware that Tania was arriving in a few days, and there I was, unable to get to the corner store, let alone cycle tour, Southeast Asia.

 

 

081 Thailand (7.1)

718 Kilometres – 10 Days

14 June - 25 June 2016

 

June 13-15 – Bangkok

On the day Tania arrived, I finally felt better than the previous days. My breakfast stayed down, and I even managed to drink coffee. Tania arrived around midday, impressing me with her exceptional packing skills. She had neatly packed her belongings into her bike box and only one other bag, a testament to her efficiency and preparedness. I straightaway knew she was a winner.

After my bout of dengue fever, I needed to get myself back into cycling shape so we could explore Southeast Asia. In the meantime, we explored Bangkok, walked through pedestrian lanes, ate from street vendors, and enjoyed the general chaos of the city.

 

June 16-17 - Bangkok – Ayutthaya – 83 km

After spending two days exploring Bangkok, I was excited to leave as I was tired of my run-down accommodation. Luckily, we could leave earlier than planned as the weather was pleasant and the traffic not too hectic.

Leaving Bangkok can be challenging, but Tania did an excellent job and we cycled out of the city without any issues. Once on the outskirts of the city, we followed a rural path along a canal. The path took us past vibrant green rice paddies and some enticing-looking eateries. With its stunning ruins, Ayutthaya was the perfect place for us to spend the night. We found a beautiful old wooden schoolhouse with extensive grounds where we could stay.

The following day was spent exploring the ruins and eating our way through the day. Once the capital of the Kingdom of Siam, Ayutthaya was founded around 1350. Located between China, India, and the Malay Archipelago, Ayutthaya was Asia's trading capital, a testament to its strategic importance. By 1700, it had become the largest city in the world, with a population of 1 million. Unfortunately, the city's glory days ended abruptly when it was invaded by Burmese forces in 1767, almost completely destroying the city. Today, these ruins stand as a poignant reminder of its past, a UNESCO World Heritage Site that we were privileged to explore.

 

18 June - Ayutthaya - Lopburi – 63 km

The weather was moderately overcast at about 30-34 degrees Celsius, making our second day of riding another perfect day. Thailand is littered with fascinating sights and first up was an elephant kraal. The elephants and mahouts were preparing for a day of tourist rides, and the elephants were dressed in their Sunday best. As we cycled past, I couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration and respect for these majestic creatures. It was a reminder of the beauty and diversity of the natural world, a stark contrast to the bustling city we had left behind.

Next up was a bizarre, if not kitsch, temple sporting a humongous dragon or dragon tail surrounding the entire property. A multitude of small paths led to Lopburi, making it an enjoyable day out on the bike. En route, a kind lady flagged us down and handed us a bag of bananas, a gesture of hospitality that warmed our hearts and kept us going through the day. In the countryside, it's virtually impossible to pass villages unnoticed. Slacked-jawed locals and nervous-looking kids and dogs observed us from a distance, a reminder of the locals' curiosity and friendliness.

Our way led past gigantic Buddha statues, incredibly ornate temples, bamboo forests, and, of course, the ever-present carts selling exotic nibbles.

Once in Lopburi, the popular Noom Guest House lured us in, and once settled in, we explored the town's many attractions. Lopburi is an ancient town with abundant old ruins that are all within comfortable walking distance. However, today, the old city is occupied by ordinary Thai life and a gang of monkeys. A visit to the Monkey Temple left me in awe of how similar monkey family life is to ours, and I could spend hours observing them.

Tania took to life on a bike like a fish to water, as no sooner was her shirt washed than a line was strung.

 

19 June - Lopburi – Pak Chong – 103 km

In a haze of smoke from breakfast BBQs, we departed Lopburi, a far more substantial town than expected, as the well-visited touristy area was in the old part.

It took forever to clear the city limits. Eventually, our chosen route led along farm tracks, a beautiful stretch through the countryside dotted by tiny hamlets. Sadly, our rural road spat us out on the highway, which shocked us as the traffic was terrible. The way was hilly as we biked over the pass in the midday heat. However, all uphills come to an end. Eventually, we descended into Pak Chong, reaching almost 60 km/h. Clouds gathered, making it a considerably cooler ride towards the end of the day.

Pak Chong signalled the end of the day's ride, mainly because of the sight of washing machines. I desperately needed them as I hadn't done any laundry since departing Bangkok, and even the stray dogs kept their distance. The dogs appeared to respond well to the word "voetsek" as they retreated to a safe distance if uttered with enough conviction.

 

20 June - Pak Chong – Starwell Bali - 107 km

From our cosy overnight accommodation, the way led past many areas of statue-making, each displaying Buddhas in all shapes, sizes, and colours. The air was filled with the sweet scent of exotic fruit as we pedalled past villages, their homes nestled amidst luminous green rice fields. The most unexpected sight was an elephant, patiently waiting for a ride at the bus shelter—truly a unique encounter, only in Thailand!

Once again, a secondary road led us through farmlands, but our path took an unexpected turn into a muddy track. Later, the trail, to our surprise, petered out completely, leaving us with no choice but to backtrack to the main road. This unexpected detour, however, added a sense of adventure to our journey.

Tania and I, not particularly interested in Nakhon Ratchasima, decided to give the town a wide berth. In doing so, we encountered comfortable accommodation in wooden chalets amid lush greenery.

 

21 June - Starwell Bali – Phimai - 60 km

"Did you see the weather?" Tania asked, frowning, as we emerged to bucketing rain. Mercifully, the weather soon cleared, making it a short and pleasurable ride to Phimai to explore Prasat Hin Phimai, one of Thailand's biggest and most important religious sanctuaries. Our abode of choice was the Phimai Paradise House, a lovely hostel revealing wooden floors and high ceilings.

Once settled, the ruins beckoned us to explore, and our efforts were richly rewarded. Dating back to the 11th–12th century, this town must've been a significant hub in its day. Inscriptions discovered on one of the doors revealed that the city has existed since the ancient Khmer Empire. The most intriguing part was that these temples were constructed a century earlier than Cambodia's strikingly similar Angkor Wat. The town of Phimai stands as one of the furthermost western outposts of the Khmer Empire's holy highway. I found all this incredibly fascinating and was thrilled that we had made the detour.

After inspecting the ruins, we biked to Sai Ngam, a 350-year-old Banyan tree. Returning, we stopped at the night market and found a wide variety of food, including surprisingly delicious ant salad.

 

22 June - Phimai

Phimai was a charming and relaxed village, so we decided to extend our stay for another day. The morning was perfect for a jog, and I enjoyed exploring the area on foot. However, my joy was short-lived, as dengue fever drained me of all my energy and reminded me of the challenges that come with this disease.

The rest of the day was spent catching up on outstanding chores, such as organising and reorganising photos, doing laundry, and making a few long-overdue phone calls.

During my walk, I had the pleasure of meeting the town's retired photographer, who was 78 years old and still passionate about photography. He had an impressive collection of antique cameras, and we had a delightful conversation. He insisted I take a photo of him with a self-portrait he had taken 50 years ago in the background. It was a touching moment that reminded me of the rich history and stories that every place holds.

Before I knew it, the day had passed, and it was time to explore the night market.

 

23 June – Phimai – Ban Phai – 119 km

Getting away early, coupled with the cloudy weather, made for relaxed pedalling. Our route took us through the rural areas of northern Thailand, passing many small villages, each with a temple and a herd of buffalo.

We followed a dirt path to a unique community of silk weavers, where we witnessed women hand-weaving silk threads. They didn't speak English, but they were eager to show us their craft. The rest of our day was filled with scenes of women cutting reeds, which we learned were used in weaving sleeping mats.

As we continued our journey, the landscape around us began to transform. Adjacent to the tarmac was a no-man's land bustling with activity, where villagers harvested lotus flowers and seeds. We were surprised to stumble upon bee farming just before Ban Phai. Vendors lined the streets, selling honey and honeycombs. Despite its size, the quaint village of Ban Phai boasted a modern hotel, where we settled in for the night. We wasted no time in heading to the mobile food carts to get our daily fix of noodle soup.

 

24 June - Ban Phai – Khao Suan Kwang – 115 km

It rained all night heavily, but the weather cleared up by early morning, providing a refreshing ride to Khao Suan Kwang. Here, midway, we stumbled upon a sign pointing to a King Cobra Village. We were naturally drawn to the village and continued along a beautiful rural path. The farm trails were perfect for an exciting bike adventure. However, my Google Map was set to "walk" directions and led us through minor routes through people's backyards, and at times, the route disappeared entirely. Despite this, I find such rides exhilarating, and that day was no exception.

As we rode, we noticed people drying thin pieces of meat in the sun, known as "Pork One Sun," a traditional Thai recipe. The meat is left to dry for 1 day before cooking. Some locals invited us to share their lunch, while others tended to their paddy fields and buffalo.

We were excited to visit the King Cobra Village, but it turned out to be a tourist attraction. Unfortunately, the snakes' mouths were tied closed as they were forced to perform. Nevertheless, the ride through the countryside was beautiful.

After almost 20 kilometres, we stumbled upon a "resort" that must have been stunning in its prime but was now in ruins and neglected. Later, a 24-hour establishment caught our attention. Although it usually only rents rooms by the hour, we managed to negotiate a reasonable rate. Tania was shocked by the state of the room, which had only one bed. However, the bed was enormous, and neither of us was very large. Sometimes you have to make do with what you have.

 

25 June – Khao Suan Kwang – Udong Thani - 68 km

Our ride to Udong Thani was short and effortless, and it was a typical cycle-touring day. Stopping to take a picture, a watermelon vendor surprised us with an already-cut watermelon. It was delicious, and the lady refused to accept any money. We felt for these generous locals, so we invested in 3-in-1 coffee sachets to give in return. Of course, it’s not enough, but still, it’s the thought that counts.

Scenery-wise, the day was lovely; butterflies darted around as we peddled past substantial cassava plantations and sugarcane fields. En route, we visited one of the many monasteries, took a few pictures, and had a chat with the monks. The following stop was a durian vendor, where Tania sampled Thailand's most famous (or infamous) fruit.

Thai ladies fished in large ponds alongside the way, using earthworms as bait, but they never caught anything; maybe the fish didn't like the earthworms. Finally, Tania joined them but was equally unsuccessful.

Afterwards, we made our way towards the big city of Udon Thani, passing more monasteries and lakes featuring fishing platforms that looked a tad more promising than the ponds. We had one final stop to buy sticky rice cooked in segments of bamboo tubes. The bamboo tubes are filled with rice and beans in coconut milk, then plugged with coconut husk wrapped in a banana leaf to retain the steam. In Thailand, this dish is called kao lam, but in Malaysia, it's known as lemang.

In Udon Thani, the budget King's Hotel had a massive double room with an en suite. I had business to attend to, and Tania wanted to stock up on stuff unavailable in Laos.

 

26 June – Udon Thani, Thailand – Vientiane, Laos – 80 km

"I'm bursting with excitement to go to Laos! I can't get the smile off my face," Tania exclaimed, her voice filled with anticipation, as we cycled past the traditional smoky breakfast BBQ stands, the aroma of grilled meat and spices wafting through the air. We were so eager to reach Laos that we only paused once to quench our thirst with refreshing coconut juice, the sweet liquid cooling our throats, as we made our way to the Thailand-Laos border control point.

Once at immigration, a $30 visa allowed entry into the country. Reaching Laos meant cycling across the mighty Mekong River via the Friendship Bridge. It soon became apparent how different things could be on the opposite side of a border, a reminder of the complex geopolitical dynamics that shape our world.

The French influence from yesteryear was still visible, especially in the architecture. Baguettes were in abundance, and the smell of coffee, a legacy of French colonialism, permeated the air, evoking a sense of nostalgia for a time long past. I withdrew 1,500,000 Laos kip, the local currency, which stretched my wallet to nearly breaking point.