107 CYCLE TOURING THAILAND (11) - MEETING TANIA

A Change of Plans and a Quick Visa

 Run to Laos

Thailand (11)

635 Km – 11 Days

21 August – 26 August 2017

MAP

PHOTOS

 

Prologue

There are moments in long-distance cycling when life presents you with a fork in the road. One path leads to China, adventure, and the smug satisfaction of having a plan. The other leads to a sudden message from a friend saying, “Actually, I am coming to Thailand,” followed by the realisation that your visa is expiring and you now need to cycle to another country before lunch.

Naturally, I chose the second path.

This chapter begins with that familiar traveller’s cocktail: excitement, mild panic, and the dawning awareness that international borders are sometimes just glorified speed bumps for people on bicycles. What follows is a tale of baguettes, bureaucracy, rainstorms, headwinds, and the kind of rural hospitality that makes you question whether you’ve accidentally joined a travelling circus.

 

 

16 August – Nong Khai, Thailand to Vientiane, Laos (35 km)

Big news: Tania had changed her mind and was coming to Thailand after all! Suddenly, my grand plan to cycle into China evaporated like a puddle in the Bangkok sun. Instead, we were now meeting in Bangkok on September 1 for a one-month bicycle tour of Southeast Asia. A thrilling adventure for sure—though it did mean I had to abandon my China dreams and instead focus on the far more glamorous task of… renewing my Thailand visa.

Since my visa was about to expire, I did what any sensible traveller does: I pedalled to another country. The next morning, I packed at a leisurely pace (because nothing says “urgent immigration matter” like dawdling) and cycled the short distance to the Thai–Lao border. After acquiring a Laos visa with surprising ease, I rolled into Vientiane—the world’s most relaxed capital, where even the traffic seems to be on a tea break.

First order of business: money and a SIM card. I emerged from the money changer with a wallet so stuffed with Lao Kip (1 USD = 8300 LAK) that I felt like a cartoon villain about to buy a small island. Then came the SIM card—my shiny new lifeline to the world.

Hunger struck, and salvation appeared in the form of a Laotian baguette vendor. This glorious creation—lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, onions, egg, and chilli sauce—was basically a salad pretending to be a sandwich, and I loved it. Feeling fortified, I headed to the Thai consulate… which, naturally, was closed. But with two weeks to plan Tania’s visit and make my way to Bangkok, I wasn’t too bothered. Bureaucracy could wait; baguettes could not.

 

17–20 August – Vientiane, Laos (88 km)

Vientiane is one of those cities where wandering feels like a legitimate activity. I strolled past ancient temples, silk shops, and baguette vendors who seemed to be multiplying by the hour. The next morning, I submitted my Thailand visa application. Vientiane is famous for its easy visa runs—just an application form and two photos. I was handed a slip with the number 366, which suggested I might age significantly before being called. Instead of standing in line, I crossed the road to a restaurant, where I spent a blissful hour and a half doing absolutely nothing productive. When I returned, the queue had shrunk enough for me to collect my visa without drama.

That evening, I met up with Christian, a Warmshowers host I’ve stayed with twice before. He’s a German who has lived in Laos for six years and knows every good eatery within a 10 km radius. Staying at his cosy home felt like slipping into a warm bath—relaxing, familiar, and slightly addictive. Between the good company, good food, and good beer, I found myself happily plotting Tania’s September route with the enthusiasm of a cyclist who can’t wait to share their experiences.

 

21 August – Vientiane, Laos to Udon Tani, Thailand (87 km)

After saying goodbye to Christian and dropping off his key at work, I cycled to the immigration checkpoint. A quick stamp later, I was back in Thailand. Moments after crossing the border, the heavens opened. Not a gentle drizzle—no, this was biblical. I sheltered under an awning until the deluge eased, then continued toward Udon Tani, surprisingly cheerful despite being soaked like a sponge.

Weeks of heavy rain had turned rural roads into mud wrestling arenas, so I stuck mostly to the main roads. The few times I ventured off-road, I found myself on charming country lanes where villagers pedalled past on their fixies like a local cycling club with zero Lycra and infinite style. The landscape was lush—ponds and dams overflowing, farmers fishing, and lotus flowers swaying dramatically in the breeze like they were auditioning for a nature documentary.

I checked into the Kings Hotel—cheap, air-conditioned, and with hot water. Luxury! As I settled in, excitement bubbled up for the journey ahead with Tania.

 

22 August – Udon Tani to Namphongkao (105 km)

The day began with me desperately hunting for minor roads, only to be repeatedly spat back onto the main highway like a rejected suitor. After 105 km of uninspiring tarmac, I stumbled into Namphongkao—a tiny village that turned out to be unexpectedly delightful. Arriving early meant I could tackle chores, including laundry. The downside of stopping early? I ate everything in sight. Apparently, boredom and hunger are identical twins.

 

23 August – Namphongkao to Kaeng Khro (120 km)

The next day’s ride was a joy—one of those days where cycling feels like flying, minus the wings and plus the sweat. I glided through small settlements, soaking up the scenery, until I reached Kaeng Khro, where I camped at the local police station. Nothing says “adventure cyclist” like pitching a tent next to law enforcement.

 

24 August – Kaeng Khro to Chatturat (85 km)

Packing up my tent the next morning turned into a spectator sport. Villagers and police gathered to watch, as if I were performing a magic trick instead of wrestling with tent poles. I felt like a hermit on display. The ride felt sluggish—headwinds will do that—but I eventually reached Chatturat and treated myself to a night at Ratchanee Place Hotel. A shower, a bed, and the ability to recharge both my devices and my soul. I hated feeling pressured to reach Bangkok, but the calendar was not on my side.

 

25 August – Chatturat to Tha Luang (128 km)

I surprised myself by leaving early. Route 201 was dull enough to make paint drying seem thrilling, so I veered off onto rougher roads. The hills were refreshing, the headwind was not. I passed a wind farm where the turbines looked deceptively small from afar—up close, they were giants.

After a glorious downhill, I rolled into Tha Luang absolutely ravenous. I inhaled two meals—green curry and stir-fried rice—plus cake, crisps, a Pepsi, and a beer. My supplies dangled precariously from my handlebars like a travelling circus act. I found the first available accommodation and spent the night feasting like a queen who had survived a famine.

 

26 August – Tha Luang to Nong Khae (110 km)

The ride was uneventful but hilly enough to keep me awake. The flat sections were mind-numbing. I considered detouring to Lopburi or Ayutthaya but had visited both too many times to justify the effort. Bangkok beckoned, and I took the simplest route.

 

27–31 August – Nong Khae to Bangkok (93 km)

I woke to torrential rain, which eventually eased enough for me to set off. The ride became a soggy but entertaining journey along a canal, where everyday Thai life unfolded—temples, markets, vendors selling banana hearts, and the usual organised chaos.

With 30 km to go, I left the peaceful canal and followed the railway tracks, weaving through Skytrain construction zones. Despite the mess, it was an easy ride into the Big Mango. Arriving at my old haunt felt like coming home. Bangkok—with its chaos, tourists, alleys, and irresistible food stalls—always wraps me in a warm, spicy embrace.

I had errands to run before meeting Tania for her ride to Hanoi. My bike needed a service, and I needed a few essentials. After a quick trip to Pattaya to sort out my condo, I returned to Bangkok—just in time to find Tania ready to hit the road.

 

Epilogue

By the time I rolled into Bangkok—damp, gritty, and decorated with a fine layer of canal mist—I had crossed borders, dodged storms, camped at a police station, eaten my bodyweight in green curry, and been observed by more curious villagers than a zoo exhibit.

I had also, against all odds, successfully renewed my visa.

Bangkok welcomed me back like an old friend: noisy, chaotic, fragrant, and utterly irresistible. There were errands to run, bikes to service, and snacks to inhale. Anticipation settled in: Tania was on her way, and the next chapter of the journey was about to begin.

105 CYCLE TOURING THAILAND (10)

Attempting Adulthood

 (Briefly)

 

Thailand (10)
1,779 Km – 58 Days
20 June – 18 August 2017

MAP

PHOTOS

 

Prologue

There comes a moment in every long-term traveller’s life when they think, perhaps I should stop living like a snail with a passport. Mine arrived somewhere between Cambodia and Thailand, when I realised, I had bought a condo—an actual, stationary unit with walls, a door, and the theoretical possibility of a sock drawer.

This chapter chronicles the brief period in which I tried to be a responsible adult, failed spectacularly, and fled back to the open road—where at least the chaos makes sense.

 

June 20 – Poi Pet, Cambodia to Sa Kaeo, Thailand (85 km)

Poi Pet greeted me with its usual charm: dust, noise, and traffic behaving like it had been raised by wolves. I threaded my way through carts, queues, and motorbikes until immigration waved me to the front, possibly out of pity.

Once in Thailand, I withdrew rent money using my Thai card and felt like a financial prodigy. Then, with no plan whatsoever, I chased a dramatic limestone pinnacle because it looked like the sort of place that might contain enlightenment—or at least a monk.

I climbed a staircase steep enough to qualify as a spiritual test and was rewarded with a blessing. Camping there was tempting, but the monkeys were eyeing my panniers like they were planning a coordinated raid. I retreated to Sa Kaeo, where the main attractions were a Big C and a KFC. Accommodation signs were all in Thai script, so I relied on intuition and blind optimism.

 

June 21 – Sa Kaeo to Plaeng Yao (110 km)

The next day’s ride was uneventful, which felt suspicious.  Hard out of Sa Kaeo I met two Chinese cyclists napping in a bus shelter; our conversation was a masterpiece of mutual confusion.

Eventually, I escaped to smaller roads where temples appeared like spiritual pop‑ups and fruit vendors offered mysterious produce that turned out to be delicious.

The Rich Inn in Ban Plaeng Yao looked nothing like an inn, but inside it was a tiny oasis with air‑con and hot water. I did laundry in the wastepaper bin and stared at the walls. A glamorous life.

 

June 22 – Ban Plaeng Yao to Jomtien (123 km)

Rural Thailand delivered its usual magic: old men guarding single cows as if they were national treasures, women tending rice paddies with enviable grace, and temples gleaming in the sun.

I bought a 10‑baht flower garland “for good luck” and hung it proudly on my handlebar bag.

Rolling into Pattaya, I collected the key to my new condo—my first home in a decade. It needed work, but it was mine. A sanctuary! A nest! A place to leave things without locking them to a bicycle!

June 23 – July 31 – Jomtien

I plunged into cleaning and discovered that my previous tenant had left behind enough belongings to stock a small thrift shop. Seven garbage bags later, I had unearthed:

• six lip balm holders

• several lipstick tubes

• receipts dating back to the Ming Dynasty

• shoeboxes containing… more shoeboxes

My body ached more than after a 100‑km ride.

I bought new bedding, towels, and two of everything—except wine glasses, because one must have standards. I even organised my documents into a file, which made me feel like a functioning adult.

Pattaya, however, was… Pattaya. A city where 10 a.m. is considered a perfectly acceptable time for a drunk foreign man to cling to a bar counter while a Thai girl pretends to find him charming. Jogging made me look like an alien.

I cycled to a viewpoint for sunset, but the sky refused to cooperate. A storm rolled in, and I sprinted home like a Tour de France rider escaping paparazzi.

 

August 1 – Pattaya to Prok Fa (102 km)

Escaping Pattaya after a month and a half felt less like “leaving a city” and more like “fleeing the scene of a mildly questionable life choice.” I pedalled away without so much as a nostalgic glance, propelled by the looming deadline of crossing into China and the faint fear that if I stayed any longer, the neon lights might start addressing me by name.

The countryside welcomed me like a cool cloth on a fevered forehead. Temples appeared in serene clusters, coconut plantations swayed innocently, and pineapple fields stretched out like nature’s apology for everything Pattaya had just put me through. It was blissful, quiet, and—most importantly—devoid of nightlife that required a tetanus shot.

A temple on a hill lured me in. The monks handed me the key to the shrine—apparently trusting sweaty strangers with sacred spaces is normal here. I climbed, admired the view, locked up, and continued.

By late afternoon, I found a lively village with a market and a sign for accommodation. Down a dirt track was a modest room that felt like a palace after Pattaya.

 

August 2 – Prok Fa to Khlong Hat (111 km)

The owner gave me coffee and bananas—breakfast of champions—and I set off along rural roads near the Cardamom Mountains. Rubber plantations, chilli fields, and pineapples lined the route.

I hoped to see elephants but only found their dung, which was impressive in its own right.

Locals insisted on feeding me at every water stop. I didn’t resist.

In Khlong Hat, the police let me camp at their station, fed me, and showed me the bucket‑and‑scoop shower system. I ended the day with a giant crispy crepe filled with sweet goodness. Bliss.

 

August 3 – Khlong Hat to Aranyaprathet (85 km)

I chased a sign promising caves 4 km away. At 4 km, there were no caves. At 7 km, still no caves. Eventually, I found a sign pointing uphill. The path was so overgrown it felt like nature was trying to hide the viewpoint from me.

I climbed until my water ran low, then retreated. The caves were dark and spooky, so I skipped them as I had no flashlight.

Prasat Khao Noi, a 6th-century Khmer sanctuary, was a delight—until the sky dumped rain on me. I hid, waited, and continued to Aranyaprathet, where the Aran Garden Hotel had no garden but did have prison‑green floors.

Dinner was noodle soup from a mobile stall while my laundry spun somewhere in the background.

 

August 4 – Aranyaprathet to Non Din Daeng (108 km)

I escaped town and immediately found tiny lanes leading to Prasat Sadok Kok Thom, an 11th‑century temple guarded only by an old man and his water buffalo. My kind of tourist attraction.

Rice fields, buffalo, temples, and Friday markets filled the day. Locals whispered “farang, farang” as if spotting a rare bird.

I reached Non Din Daeng, found yet another temple ruin, and decided I was temporarily templed‑out.

 

August 5 – Non Din Daeng to Khao Kradong Forest Park (111 km)

After a good night’s sleep I felt energised and I visited the ruins of Nong Hong Sanctuary (deserted except for cows), then Prasat Muang Tam, which was spectacular and deserved far more visitors than just me.

A truck driver gifted me water and cola—proof that angels sometimes drive pickup trucks.

After biking 110 km Khao Kradong Forest Park surprised me with food carts, trails, and camping. I pitched my tent just before the rain arrived, feeling smug and accomplished.

 

August 6 – Khao Kradong Forest Park to Surin (50 km)

Woken by roosters, I packed up and headed east. Central Thailand’s fertile plains and Khmer history made for a beautiful ride.

Surin appeared unexpectedly, and I checked into “My Hotel,” which was conveniently opposite the station. Rain kept me indoors the next day, which was perfect for catching up on work.

 

August 8 – Surin to Uthumphon Phisai (125 km)

Just two kilometres out of Surin, I found a rural path that delivered a perfect day: green rice paddies, friendly people, and only one backtrack required.

I visited a silk village, then Prasat Chom Phra, a 12th-century Mahayana Buddhist medical station. Locals gifted me water, fruit, and a sweet bun—fuel for the final kilometres.

I chased signs to more ruins, but after 13 km of nothing, I gave up, as I had already cycled 125km. I searched for accommodation and went to Tesco Lotus. Food solves everything.

 

August 9 – Uthumphon Phisai to Phibun (130 km)

The highway dominated the day—boring, hot, and uninspiring. I arrived in Phibun exhausted and ready for bed.

 

August 10 – Phibun to Pha Taem National Park (65 km)

A short but eventful day. I followed the Mun River to the Pak Mun Dam, which was dramatically overflowing.

A cash mix-up forced me to detour to Khong Chiam, where I admired the Two‑Colour River Viewpoint—blue and brown waters swirling like a giant latte.

Later, a cable-pulled boat ferried me across the river, assisted by a helpful local who clearly doubted my ability to load a bicycle without drowning.

I found PK Riverside Resort and camped under trees beside the Mekong. For 100 baht, it was paradise.

 

August 11 – Pha Taem National Park to Khemmarat (117 km)

I drank coffee by the river, watched boats glide past, and considered abandoning cycling to become a riverside hermit.

The day was full of rolling hills—fun in the morning, hateful by afternoon. The 3,000 Stones rock formations were surreal and worth every curse word uttered on the climbs.

Khemmarat welcomed me with food stalls and an air-conditioned room. Heaven.

 

August 12 – Khemmarat to Mukdahan (85 km)

A day of mild inclines and maximum fatigue. I crawled into Mukdahan, ate everything in sight, and collapsed.

 

August 13 – Mukdahan to Sakhon Nakhon (122 km)

I tried to cross the Friendship Bridge into Laos, but bicycles were banned. I sighed dramatically and continued on the Thai side of the river.

A dirt track through rubber plantations restored my mood. Villagers fed me again—Thailand is basically one long buffet.

I reached Sakhon Nakhon, discovered a night market, bought two meals, and managed to eat only one. A personal tragedy.

 

August 14 – Sakhon Nakhon to Sawang Daen Din (90 km)

Floods had turned parts of the region into lakes. Villagers fished in the streets. Rivers roared under bridges.

I sheltered at police stations, rode farm tracks, and eventually reached Sawang Daen Din, where I found a 250 baht room with air con. Luxury!

 

August 15 – Sawang Daen Din to Nong Khai (125 km)

Flood damage made the roads unpredictable. Workers repaired them while farmers dried dyed grasses on the tarmac.

A flat tyre slowed me down, but the villages I passed were full of life—charcoal makers, fishermen, vendors, cattle herders.

I raced a storm to Nong Khai and reached Mut Mee Guesthouse just as the sky exploded. My 200‑baht room was basic but spotless. Perfect.

.

Epilogue

My brief attempt at domesticity had ended exactly as expected: with me fleeing a condo full of newly purchased cutlery and running headlong back into the arms of the open road.

Some people settle down. Some people build homes. And some people—my people—buy a sleeper sofa, admire it for a week, and then abandon it for a tent pitched beside the Mekong.

Thailand had reminded me of who I was: a wanderer with a bicycle, a sense of humour, and a talent for arriving everywhere just after closing time.

104 CYCLE TOURING CAMBODIA (4)

 

Cambodia (4)

902 Km – 30 Days

21 May – 20 June 2017

MAP
PHOTOS

20 May - Trat, Thailand – Koh Kong, Cambodia - 106 km

My unhurried departure was due to pouring rain. At the first break in the weather, I was out of Trat to cycle the short distance to the Thailand/Cambodian border.

The section between Trat and the border was particularly scenic, featuring mountains to the one side and the coast to the other and made enjoyable riding. Unfortunately, it was too wet to do anything but cycle, and best to push on.

The border crossing came with the usual exit and entrance stamps. Afterwards, a short ride took me into Cambodia and onto Koh Kong, the first Cambodian town along the opposite side of the Koh Poi River.

In Koh Kong, an inexpensive room gave me a bed and shower. Then, dressed in dry clothes, I searched for a Cambodian SIM card and food. Both sounded more straightforward in writing than what it turned out in a country where not much English was spoken. Mercifully, restaurants generally offered pictures from which to order as I was hungry and in no mood to flap my arms while cackling like a chicken or snorting like a pig.

 

21 May – Koh Kong

An additional day was spent in Koh Kong to catch up on outstanding matters. The day turned out a relaxing one and little got done apart from laundry and updating blog posts and photos.

 

22 May – Koh Kong – Botum Sakor – 103 km

Shortly after pedalling out of Koh Kong, the road climbed out of the river valley and over the Cardamom Mountains. I wheezed my way up the mountain in sweltering weather while sweat poured out my body and into my sandals, making my feet slip right out. Still, a slow and steady pace eventually brought me to the first high point.

Dark clouds gathered and soon rain came gushing down. The pouring rain made a dangerous descent as it rained so hard one could barely see. Nonetheless, I donned my raincoat, and plastic coat flapping in the wind sped downhill at breakneck speed, praying not to hit a pothole or an oil patch. But, unfortunately, maintenance must’ve taken place recently, and the loose gravel by then worked its way to the side, an accident waiting to happen. It was thus not surprising to see a taxi in a ditch, making me even more determined to avoid the gravel at all cost.

The day was marred by crawling uphill, speeding downhill, across rivers, only to repeat the process. The area was sparsely populated and offered little in the line of facilities except a few stalls to fill water bottles.

Towards the end of the day, one more hill remained as the path wound its way up the mountain. Soon the tell-tale tower, typically marking the highpoint, appeared, and one could see the valley far below. In Botum Sakor, an inexpensive room and food allowed parking off until morning.

 

23 May - Botum Sakor – Otres – 135 km

The ride to Otres was considerably more manageable, even though not completely flat. It drizzled throughout the day, a blessing in disguise as it kept me nice and cool. I felt strangely at home cycling past the familiar humble wooden houses on stilts, grazing buffalo, skinny cows, and pyjama-clad women on cycles peddling their wares.

Reaching Route 4, the main road between Phnom Penh and Sihanoukville, the ride became a complete nightmare. The way was narrow and busy, leaving barely any space to cycle. Best to ride along the nomansland adjacent to the tarmac, a muddy mess by then. It made slow going and challenging cycling. Slinking into Otres, the bike, panniers, and I was covered in mud.

Shelly, whom I’d met in Bangkok, invited me to stay at her place in Otres, and I was humbled to find a massive plate of curry and rice waiting.

The following day was spent kicking back and meeting up with Rad, whom I met in Hanoi the previous year. It’s indeed a small world. Shelly had lived in Otres for four years and knew practically everyone. Her house was a bohemian and social place where there was a constant coming and going of friends. A few beers were consumed and none of the things planned got done.

Otres Village was one-of-a-kind and a place where Westerners who’d given up conforming came to live. It was indeed the home of the stray cats, and this was where they came to live and play. It made a fascinating mix of people from all over the world with genuinely out-of-the-box ideas and thoughts. I loved every one of them for who they were and what they stood for. Otres resembled the Wild West of Southeast Asia as there appeared no building code or health inspectors. Drugs were semi-legal, and there appeared no rules of any sort. The electricity was iffy, and the water pressure non-existent. Instead, it seemed a hippie-haven where people party throughout the night, cook what they pleased, and build whatever they dreamt up—all making a community where several travellers come for a day or two but stay a year or three.

Monsoon season in Otres was a muddy mess as the village had few paved streets. For most, life went past in a psychedelic haze as they moved from the jungle parties to Neverland. This super relaxed hostel was where people hung out, but not a place to stay unless you partied through the night.

My laundry was handed in, but nothing happened fast in Otres, and although told it would be ready in the morning, there was no laundry in sight. Fortunately, the relaxed life in Otres made hanging around, going with the flow effortless.

 

28 May - Otres – Kampot – 100km

I waited until the rain subsided, said goodbye to the lovely people of Otres and proceeded in the direction of Kampot, said the home of the world’s best pepper. Monsoon season and roadworks don’t make good cycle touring. There was no real reason to stop apart from snapping a few pictures crossing rivers and houses on stilts. It remained very much life on the river in Cambodia, both for transport and fishing.

Of course, I’d to buy one of Cambodia’s legendary snacks, the Nompang (baguette), filled with all kinds of unusual ingredients. I found myself a pleasant spot and watched people planting rice while eating half my Nompang, saving the other half for when my ride was done. Kampot, Uptown Guesthouse, sporting ground floor rooms, a bathroom and mosquito nets at a bargain price.

 

29 May - Kampot

Kampot is a lovely place, sporting decaying old French colonial buildings as well as a great riverside setting. The fascinating old traditional market was jampacked with traders, but the heat was debilitating. As a result, Kampot is a strange and contrasting place. “Happy Pizza” joints and French-style coffee shops lined the streets, while Cambodian ladies traded from mobile carts.

The French baguette, or Nompang, is stuffed with spicy sliced pork, pate, pickled carrots, papaya, coriander, and cucumber. At times, it’s consumed topped with condensed milk. I prefer the spicy version, but why not bread and condensed milk if one can eat a chocolate-filled doughnut?

You often see words misspelt because the Latin alphabet means as little to the Cambodians as the Abugida script means to me. Eventually, I ended up at my abode, hopped on the bike and rode out to inspect a few nearby caves. The ride was more interesting than the caves. I passed ladies on bikes, returning home from selling their wares at the morning market. They were jovial and friendly, laughing and talking. What a difference from the Western world where stoic-faced people sat in morning traffic. Equally cheerful men on motorbikes were on their way to the market, squealing pigs tied on the back. School kids on bicycles ambled along, and small kids called, “Hello farang!” from their stilted homes.

 

30 May - Kampot - Guesthouse – 110 km

From Kampot, my chosen route led north in the direction of Phnom Penh. The sky was a gorgeous blue, rice paddies were filled to the brim after the monsoon rains; water buffalo waddled in ponds and cows grazed on the nomansland next to the road—all in all, a perfect day. I’m sure this’s what people refer to when they say, “I was in my happy place”. Markets sold exciting items, and dirt tracks veered off to mysterious destinations.

The way led past friendly monks doing their food rounds, welcoming ladies selling watermelons and colourful temples. Kids, returning home from school, nervously clung to each other, seeing a stranger on a bicycle heading their way. Meat vendors laughingly pointed out buffalo penis. Gosh, they indeed eat the entire animal!

A strong wind picked up, dark clouds gathered, and big raindrops started falling, making a quick escape into the first available guesthouse. They must’ve seen me coming as I was charged a tad more than the place was worth. Nevertheless, they prepared a lovely Cambodian meal (rice, stir-fried pork and ginger, topped with a fried egg and fiery chillies).

 

31 May-14 June - Guesthouse – Phnom Penh – 40 km

A short but busy ride took me to Phnom Penh. It’s never easy getting in or out of Phnom Penh. The going was dreadfully slow and the traffic horrendous. Still, it remained amazing what all one can hook onto a motorcycle and equally astonishing what a bicycle can handle.

I slowly weaved through the traffic and onto the old traditional backpacker’s “Boeng Kak” area. Unfortunately, the lake which made the site popular was sold and then filled in, causing the area’s demise. Still, one or two super budget places remained. I loved the back streets, street art and weird and lovely “long-termers”. Grand View Guesthouse, without the grand view, was my abode of choice. Nevertheless, the room rate was super cheap at $5 a night. It didn’t take long to meet a bunch of lovely people, and the 15 people around the table were from 13 different countries!

The next day, I handed in my Panasonic Lumix camera to be repaired. I further applied for a Chinese visa, seeing the camera would take a few days.

Cambodian elections were coming up and I was astounded at the amount of money spent on elections. The Cambodian People’s Party (the ruling party) appeared well supported even in the face of widespread corruption. Although hundreds and thousands of people took to the streets to show their support for their respective parties, the ordinary man in the street still pushed his cart along, hoping to sell enough to feed a family. It’s a fascinating country where a large part of the population lived in squalor. At the same time, the Cambodian Mafia drove Rolls Royce’s.

Eventually, everything was done, from fixing the camera to receiving the Chinese Visa and a 3-month Thai Visa. But, unfortunately, the Thai Visa wasn’t as easy in Phnom Penh as it used to be. Once a person had more than three Thailand stamps in the passport, you were required to visit the Embassy in person, showing an application form, a flight ticket out of the country, as well as bank statements.

 

15 June - Phnom Penh – Kampong Chhnang – 97 km

I said my goodbyes to the lovely people of Grand View Guest House and all the people I met there.

When returning home after a holiday, generally people remark, “There’s no place like home”. I feel the same about getting on the bike after a long layoff. There’s no place like the open road! So pleasant was it there was practically no photo stops. My only stops were at coconut and sugarcane juice vendors. Still, I marvelled at the interesting goods for sale at markets and watched farmers bathe their cattle in rivers. I smiled at the familiar “Hellos” from kids and waved at surprised old ladies as I cycled past. In Kampong Chhnang, Ly Hour Guest House made easy overnighting.

 

16 June - Kampong Chhnang – Pursat – 96 km

The previous day’s euphoria disappeared somewhere along the bumpy road, a road that left me slightly irritated. Nevertheless, the day wasn’t all bad, even though blistering hot. En route, my path passed the Andoung Russey pottery factory. The way thus crammed with heavily laden carts taking the produce to the market. Rice farmers welcomed the recent rains, and the rice was a brilliant green. However, for the most part, rice was in nursery beds awaiting replanting.

En route, people sold fermented veggies, and artists made Buddha statues. The way was busy and narrow, and a significant part of the ride was on the dirt section next to the road. Rolling into Pursat was thus a relief, although the wobbly ceiling fan did little to cool me. At least I could see the sunset over another day in Cambodia.

 

17 June - Pursat – Battambang – 107 km

Each day I was astounded at the things witnessed. Of course, people worldwide do things in totally different ways, and we all make do with what’s available. We eat what’s on hand and plant what the soil and the weather allow. Still, it was the different forms of transport that remained fascinating. No matter how much time I spent in Cambodia, the motorbike demanded the most respect.

Cup noodles are not the best supper when cycling, and I soon became hungry. To the amazement of a roadside eatery, a farang stopped and pointed to the soup! Delicious, but each mouthful consumed was watched with great interest. The constant attention made me wonder about the ingredients.

Battambang is a lovely town sporting several old and interesting buildings. It featured a lively market and a peaceful riverside location. I bought a baguette from a lady selling food from a shoulder pole and didn’t question the ingredients as I was hungry. But, there are times when it’s better not to know! Battambang offered plenty of interest, and staying an extra day was easy.

 

19 June – Battambang – Poi Pet – 114 km

The stretch between Battambang and the Thai/Cambodian border wasn’t fascinating, and I considered taking an alternative route.

Before turning off, I came upon a wedding procession and observed a fascinating piece of Cambodian culture. I learned a traditional Khmer wedding is one of the genuinely joyous occasions for a Khmer family and typically lasts from three days to an entire week. It’s a grand affair, full of colour and festivity, as well as steeped in tradition. Musicians play throughout the day using traditional instruments, and the couple dress like royalty. The bride may change her outfit several times a day. Unlike Western weddings, guests are usually highly animated during the ceremonies, and elders typically explain the significance of the various customs to the younger generation. You may stand up and leave the room if you need to stretch your legs. Guests freely move in and out during ceremonies, which isn’t considered rude. In the beginning, the bride customarily waits at her parent’s house while the groom gathers a procession of his family and friends. The procession symbolises the journey of prince Preah Thong to meet his bride, princess Neang Neak two symbolic personas in Khmer culture. The groom’s procession approaches the bride’s home, bearing platters of gifts, usually fruits and Khmer desserts, and is led by a band of musicians and singers. Traditionally, the mai ba (a well-respected member of the bride’s family) comes out to greet the procession. The different fruits and desserts are counted – the more, the better.

After chatting to family members, I continued and discovered the way crowded by the usual weird and wonderful modes of transport. Then, at a coconut juice seller, I met another cyclist. Husan was from Turkey and planned to cycle for a year.

Stalls sold the ever-popular rice cooked in bamboo and sausages (presumed buffalo meat). I snapped the last few pics of Cambodian kids yelling with pleasure before rolling into the border town of Poi Pet. A room at Phnom Pich Guesthouse, right on the main road, made me realise certain things will continue to surprise me no matter how far or wide I travel. I was clearly the only one not using the communal comb and sandals.

 

20 June – Poi Pet, Cambodia – Sa Kaeo, Thailand – 85 km

By morning a short cycle led from the dusty border town of Poi Pet to the Cambodia/Thai immigration. The border was chaotic, with cross-border traders pushing and pulling produce-laden carts. Foot passengers formed long queues while motorised traffic weaved randomly, switching from right-hand drive to left-hand drive. However, being on a bicycle was an absolute pleasure. I zig-zagged my way through the horrendous traffic and was waved to the front of the queue.

102 CYCLE TOURING THAILAND (9.1) - EN ROUTE TO CAMBODIA

THAILAND: Where I Came for a Bike

 Part and Left with a Condo

THAILAND (9.1)

521 Kilometres – 43 Days

8 April – 20 May 2017

MAP

PHOTOS

 

 

PROLOGUE

I arrived in Thailand with no plan beyond “don’t overheat” and “try not to lose anything important, including myself.” Bangkok greeted me with the kind of heat that makes you reconsider your relationship with clothing, exercise, and possibly life. I handed in my laundry, found a room with a “bathroom inside,” and hoped the rest would sort itself out. It didn’t, of course—but it did become interesting.

 

 

8–13 April – Bangkok

Janice grabbed a taxi to the airport, leaving me standing in Bangkok, unsure what to do next, I made the only logical decision available: I handed in my laundry. Bangkok was steaming — not warm, not hot, but steaming, as though the city had been left on a low simmer. Under such conditions, laundry becomes a major life event.

The laundress operated out of a dark, narrow alley where sunlight had clearly given up. She had a few machines under a makeshift shelter and enough laundry bags to suggest she was single-handedly responsible for the hygiene of half the city. The only free space was a tiny rectangle where she appeared to sleep, possibly upright. When I returned, she reached into the textile mountain and produced my laundry without hesitation. I’d been given a slip of paper with no name, no number, and no identifying features whatsoever, so I was impressed. Apparently, my clothing emits a distinctive aura. Comforting.

The next day, I went in search of cheaper accommodation and found the Sleep Inn, which was exactly as glamorous as the name suggests. The room had a fan, air‑conditioning, a window, and a “bathroom inside,” a phrase that always raises questions. Still, it was a bargain, and I’ve stayed in worse. Much worse.

I spent the next few days waiting for a new jockey wheel to arrive, which gave me an excuse to do absolutely nothing. I still attempted my morning jog, though my hamstrings had apparently unionised and were staging a protest. I stopped in a park to stretch with the locals, who were very polite about the foreigner grimacing beside them like a malfunctioning marionette.

A walk to Chinatown took me through the fish market, where the produce looked like it had been dredged from the Mariana Trench. The flower market afterwards was a relief — cool, fragrant, and not actively threatening. The vegetable market was equally intriguing, full of items I couldn’t identify but would probably eat if someone chopped them finely enough.

Chinatown’s “New Market” was only new if you consider twenty years “recent,” but it sold everything short of live livestock. Unfortunately, the day was blistering, and I retreated to my room via river taxi, which at least provided a breeze and the illusion of progress.

By evening, I decided a massage might solve my hamstring situation. It did, briefly. Then the pain returned, presumably amused by my optimism.

Most evenings, I searched for cafés with beer, food, and functioning Wi‑Fi. If all three existed simultaneously, it felt like discovering a rare celestial event. I’d sit editing photos until my patience evaporated, which didn’t take long.

In my wanderings, I found the Holy Rosary Church, built by the Portuguese in 1786 after a dramatic fallout at the Santa Cruz Church. Apparently, even churches have interpersonal issues. The building was lovely, though, and a peaceful escape from the heat.

Meanwhile, Songkran — the Thai New Year — was gearing up. The word “Songkran” comes from the Sanskrit “Sankranti,” meaning “astrological passage,” which sounds elegant until you’re being ambushed by a toddler with a water gun the size of a small cannon.

On the 13th, temples overflowed with devotees bathing Buddha statues, pouring fragrant water, making wishes, and receiving blessings. Nearly all businesses were closed as people returned to their hometowns to celebrate with family. It was beautiful, spiritual, and deeply meaningful.

And then the water fight began.

 

14–28 April – Bangkok – Songkran Festival

A full-scale aquatic war broke out in the alleys. Everyone — adults, children, and possibly a few confused pets — was armed with plastic water guns. It turns out that if you give a grown-up a water gun, they immediately regress to age seven. The best part of Songkran is that people are out in the streets laughing, rather than staring at their phones like mildly depressed zombies. It’s easily the most fun anyone can have while being repeatedly shot in the face.

Once Songkran ended and the city dried out, I wandered to the amulet market, where trade revolved around tiny talismans. Monks, taxi drivers, and anyone in need of good luck browsed the stalls. Some amulets were barely a centimetre tall. Vendors claimed certain pieces were antique, and clients examined them through magnifying glasses with the seriousness of jewel thieves. The market also sold odd, vaguely voodoo-like figurines. I didn’t ask questions. Fertility seemed the obvious theme, and I didn’t need clarification.

My search for a good night‑photography spot was unsuccessful, so I returned to the Gecko Bar, which had become my unofficial headquarters. There I met Silvia (Germany), Patrick (India via England via Spain), and Jeff, an English teacher in Myanmar. Bangkok excels at collecting people who appear to have fallen out of entirely different storylines.

The days passed quickly. Shortly after Songkran, Bok‑Bok Bike informed me that the jockey wheel had arrived. While they serviced the bike, I browsed the internet for inexpensive condos. Most were far beyond my budget, but eventually I found one and contacted the agent. The next day, I took a bus to Jomtien to meet Benn from Immobilien Pattaya.

The unit was small — “rabbit hole” is generous — but close to the beach and had a pool. The building was older, low-rise, and unpretentious. The price, however, was the real attraction. I paid a deposit and hoped for the best.

 

28 April – Bangkok to Bang Saen – 80 km

Time to leave the Big Mango. Easier said than done. In avoiding main roads, I found myself among dubious food stalls and shrines that looked like they’d been assembled from spare parts. April is hot and dry in Thailand, but halfway to Bang Saen, the heavens opened. A golf driving range provided shelter, and I waited out the storm with a few motorcyclists. It lasted longer than expected, but eventually I continued and reached Bang Saen Beach, which was surprisingly lovely.

 

29 April – Bang Saen Beach to Jomtien, Pattaya – 56 km

A pleasant ride took me to Pattaya, where I visited the Immobilien office. We discussed the condo, and I realised the process would take time. Buying property in Thailand is a legal obstacle course, and I was entirely at the agency's mercy. Not a comforting position.

I checked into Beachspot Hostel, where the dorm had two beds, and I was the only occupant. It was essentially a sauna with a fan, but the balcony overlooked the beach, so I pretended it was intentional.

At sunset, I walked to the night market, bought a beer from 7-Eleven, and sat on the beach contemplating life, humidity, and my questionable financial decisions.

 

30 April – Jomtien

My morning jog along the long stretch of beach was delightful. A dip in the ocean revealed the water was warm enough to poach an egg, but I wasn’t complaining. I waddled around like a contented hippo.

I discovered coin-operated laundry machines, which made life easier. By midday, I retreated to my room to avoid melting.

 

1–6 May – Jomtien

I didn’t want to linger in Jomtien, but the condo transfer took longer than expected. The “condo” was really just a room, but I had my reasons: dwindling funds, the desire for a permanent base, and the fact that Thailand still allows foreigners to buy property (not land, but close enough).

The unit was tenanted, which suited me fine. Immobilien helped me open a bank account, though the internet banking password would take two weeks to arrive. The most astonishing part was paying for the property with my bank card. I’ve never bought real estate using the same method one uses to buy groceries.

Just like that, I became a property owner in Thailand. Traveller to expat in one swipe.

 

7 May – Jomtien

While waiting to sign documents at the land office, I took the ferry to Koh Larn Island with Emmy and Katae from Immobilien. It was a lovely day. Back in Jomtien, I ate mushroom soup on the beach while watching the sunset. A simple pleasure.

 

8 May – Jomtien

Apparently, the previous day had rejuvenated me. I was up at 5:30 and jogging by 6:00, shaving three minutes off my usual time. Still slow but satisfying. A swim and coffee on the beach completed the morning.

 

9 May – Jomtien

It’s remarkable how much one sees during a jog. Fishing boats returning from the sea. Women selling the morning’s catch. Vendors selling noodle soup to fishermen. Troubled souls sleeping on pavements beside empty bottles. Ladyboys returning from a night out, high heels in hand, cigarettes dangling. Monks collecting food.

I passed the venue where Thailand played Afghanistan in the Asian Beach Handball Championships. Later, I signed papers at the Land Office. I ate spicy noodle soup (again) and did laundry in a wastepaper basket. A full day.

 

10–11 May – Jomtien and Surrounds

My daily ride took me past the U-Tapao airport, the turtle conservation centre, and through quiet backroads. About 80 km in total. I returned around 3:30, which seemed like an excellent time for coffee and cake.

A jogger passed me while I was staring into space, and it looked appealing. I put on my shoes and ran 11 km instead of my usual 10. Still slow, but I felt energetic. Perhaps coffee and cake are performance enhancers.

 

12–15 May – Jomtien and Surrounds

Inspired, I repeated the cycling and running routine (minus the cake). The weather was overcast with drizzle — perfect cycling conditions.

Most attractions in Pattaya turned out to be fake, including the cultural village and floating market. I did, however, find an unusual “park” around a Ban Amphoe Reservoir with fountains, manicured gardens, temples, and stupas. From there, the road led to Big Buddha Mountain, where Buddha’s image had been laser-carved into the cliff face. It was 109 metres tall, 70 metres wide, and filled with gold. Subtle.

Rain poured down, and I returned to Jomtien for green curry.

The next morning, I woke with a stiff neck/shoulder, despite not having swung from any chandeliers. I skipped jogging and walked along the ocean instead. Boats were adorned with colourful ribbons and garlands to honour Mae Yanang, the goddess of travel. I considered decorating my bicycle similarly. My neck improved slightly, though lifting a beer remained a challenge.

 

16 May – Jomtien

Impatient, I cycled to the bank to enquire about the password. They informed me there was another form to sign. Naturally. I refused to wait another week, so I cycled to the property agent and handed over my bank details for rental payments.

Finally, I was ready to leave Jomtien. I returned to the dorm, did laundry, and packed up.

 

17 May – Jomtien to Rayong – 80 km

A storm hit during the night. By morning, the streets looked like a typhoon had passed through. I set off anyway and made it five kilometres before taking shelter. It felt good to be back on the bike among roadside stands and chasing dogs (words I never expected to say).

The weather worsened as I approached Rayong. The wind reached storm strength, and I clung to the handlebars while dodging flying corrugated iron, plastic tables, and chairs. Camping was out of the question. The Mee Dee Hotel saved me.

 

18 May – Rayong to Kung Wiman Beach – 101 km

The weather improved marginally. People were busy clearing debris. The ride was humid but scenic, with a bicycle path along the coast. It was durian season, and vendors sold surprisingly tasty durian crisps.

I reached Kung Wiman Beach, where a temple offered camping. The tent instantly became a sauna, but the mosquitoes were enthusiastic, so I crawled in anyway.

 

19 May – Kung Wiman Beach to Trat – 98 km

The heat encouraged an early departure. The weather was miserable, and rain poured for most of the ride. A woman on a scooter stopped to give me a raincoat — very kind. I wore it despite finding raincoats too hot. I stopped only once, to look at mud sculptures. Sopping wet, I reached Trat and found Pop Guesthouse, which was friendly and affordable.

 

20 May – Trat, Thailand to Koh Kong, Cambodia – 106 km

Rain delayed my departure. When it eased, I cycled to the border. The route was scenic, with mountains and coastline, though too wet to enjoy properly.

The border crossing was routine. I entered Cambodia and continued to Koh Kong, the first town on the other side of the river.

I found an inexpensive room, changed into dry clothes, and went in search of a SIM card and food. English was scarce, but restaurants had pictures, which saved me from having to mime poultry.

 

EPILOGUE

By the time I pedalled out of Thailand, I’d survived storms, bureaucracy, durian crisps, and the purchase of a condo I still wasn’t entirely convinced I meant to buy. The border crossing into Cambodia felt almost calm by comparison—just stamps, rain, and the familiar sensation of not fully understanding what anyone was saying. I rolled into Koh Kong, soaked and hungry, and attempted to order dinner with hand gestures that probably alarmed the staff. Thailand had left me sun‑bleached, waterlogged, and unexpectedly responsible for real estate. Cambodia, I suspected, would bring its own brand of confusion. I pedalled on anyway.