170-171 THAILAND (22.2) - FROM THE GULF TO THE MEKONG

From the Gulf to the Mekong: Pedalling North Through Thailand

THAILAND (22.2)

Thailand (22.2) – The South Coast and Beyond
1,315 Km – 20 Days

 PHOTOS

PDF

FLIP-BOOK

VOICEOVER

 

Prologue

I only meant to slip away for a few days — a quick coastal wander before Dawn arrived and life shifted into holiday mode. But the moment I pedalled out of Jomtien, something tugged me forward. Maybe it was restlessness. Maybe it was the quiet thrill of leaving, even when you don’t know where you’re going.
Thailand had been home for too long, long enough for comfort to turn stale. So I followed the road, letting weather, whim, and the occasional 7‑Eleven decide my direction. What began as a short escape stretched into a slow, surprising pull toward the Mekong — a ride stitched together by rainstorms, temples, forest roads, kind strangers, and the simple joy of moving north, one unplanned day at a time.

 Thailand (22.2) – The South Coast

 

The South Coast: A Short Escape Before Goodbye

I left Jomtien earlier than expected, surprised at my own eagerness. Perhaps it was because this wasn’t a grand expedition, just a brief ten-day wander before Dawn arrived. Her visit shimmered ahead of me—days of eating, laughing, and decidedly not cycling. My long stay in Thailand was drawing to a close, and though I loved the country, I hoped I might finally move on before the year ended. Too many months in a hotel room can make even paradise feel small.

Pedalling out of Jomtien, I chuckled to myself. There is always a spark of exhilaration when I set off toward the unknown, even when the unknown lies along familiar roads. The sky hung low and grey, and I drifted through daydreams, barely taking any photos. Most of my attention was consumed by my new Garmin watch—an impulsive purchase I instantly regretted. It was complicated, fussy, and not much better than my cheap Xiaomi. But what’s done is done; I would simply have to learn its moods.

By the time I reached Rayong, the day felt ready to end. The Richy Grant guesthouse—cheap as chips, with washing machines, filtered water, and a night market nearby—was too tempting to pass up. I should have eaten a snack before heading to the market; instead, I returned with enough food to feed a small battalion. I spent the evening reorganising panniers and working my way through the mountain of snacks.

 

Rain, Repairs, and the Slow Drift Down the Coast

The night sky had raged with thunder and lightning, and morning arrived wrapped in drizzle. I lingered, sorting my belongings at leisure, waiting for the clouds to loosen their grip.

When the rain finally eased, I set off—only to be chased back under shelter five kilometres later. An Amazon Café at a petrol station became my refuge. But the day soon transformed: a soft ocean breeze, thin cloud cover, and the kind of gentle light that makes cycling feel effortless.

Progress was slow, interrupted by small adjustments—watch, chain, tyres—and by the irresistible urge to stop for photos. The South Coast always draws me in with its quiet beauty. By late afternoon, after only 85 kilometres, I found a cluster of roadside cottages with shops and restaurants nearby. It felt like the right place to stop.

 

Coastal Curves, Old Town Streets, and the King of Fruit

I woke at six to birdsong, brewed coffee, and the soft hush of an overcast morning. The coastal road unfurled ahead of me, winding between viewpoints that demanded short climbs and rewarded me with sweeping sea views.

In Chanthaburi, I checked into Laluna River House—simple, affordable, and perched above the river. I spent the afternoon grazing through the night market: banana‑leaf parcels, spicy salads, flavours that lingered long after the last bite. The next day drifted by lazily as I wandered the old town’s narrow lanes, admiring its historic shophouses and vibrant street life.

Durian—Asia’s self‑proclaimed king of fruit—made its presence known everywhere. Enormous, spiky, and unapologetically pungent, it is a fruit that demands commitment. I’ve never bought one (too pricey), but I adore durian ice cream. Its smell is so potent that many hotels ban it outright. Only in Southeast Asia could a fruit be both revered and outlawed.

 

Forest Roads and an Unexpected Reunion

With no fixed plan, I followed minor roads until they spilt me onto the main highway. I escaped it at the first chance, slipping onto a quiet forest road that felt forgotten by the world. Hardly a soul passed me. Dense greenery pressed close, and the silence felt ancient.

Then, unexpectedly, Bo Rai appeared—a tiny town with a lovely hotel and a 7-Eleven. As I settled in, a message arrived from my friend Anil: he was in Pattaya. After missing him in India, I had promised we’d meet there. So I arranged a ride back, my heart lifting at the thought of familiar faces.

 

A Sudden Turn Back and a Month of Friendship

Just like that, I was back in Pattaya. Anil and his friends welcomed me into an evening of laughter at the Beer Garden. With Dawn arriving in four days, I stayed put.

Her visit became a month of indulgence—food, drinks, stories, and slow days that slipped through our fingers. We spent time on Ko Samet, wandered Bangkok’s streets, and met up with Luke before they flew home. We had grand plans, but life had its own pace, and we surrendered to it.

Back in Jomtien, I waited for my second bicycle to be serviced and began packing for my upcoming journey around Asia. I cleaned the room, sorted my belongings, and discarded the unnecessary things I had accumulated—objects that had no place on a bicycle.

 

171 Thailand (22.3) – Jomtien – Nong Khai

 

Immigration Errands and a Chaotic Start to the Northbound Ride

I finally pedalled out of Jomtien on 28 August, though “pedalled out” makes it sound far more romantic than it was. In truth, I limped away from the Immigration Office after spending the better part of two hours securing a re-entry permit, so my Non-Immigrant visa wouldn’t evaporate the moment I crossed a border. Bureaucracy has a way of turning even the strongest coffee into regret.

By 11:30 a.m., passport in hand, I pointed the bike north with all the confidence of someone who had absolutely no plan. The minor roads looked innocent enough on the map, but in reality, they were clogged with trucks, cement mixers, and construction vehicles that seemed to multiply every time I blinked. It felt like cycling through the backstage area of a nation under renovation.

Accommodation was equally elusive. Every guesthouse was full of long-term construction workers, and the traffic was becoming so unhinged that even my stubbornness began to wilt. Eventually, I surrendered, turned around, and slunk back to a guesthouse I’d passed earlier. Not my proudest moment, but at least I survived the day with all limbs attached. Time to consult the map again — preferably with a stiff drink in hand.

 

A Day of Admin, a Veranda Cat, and a Slow Reset

I keep saying I stayed in “Khao Khan Song,” but honestly, it could be the town, the guesthouse, or the cat. Everything was written in Thai, and I was too frazzled to investigate further. What I did know was that I’d left Jomtien in far too much of a hurry, trailing a small comet of unfinished tasks behind me.

Fortunately, modern life allows one to conduct an entire existence from a plastic chair and a patchy Wi‑Fi signal. My room came with a table, a veranda, and a resident cat who appeared to be the property’s true manager. With such luxurious amenities, staying put felt like the only sensible choice.

My online work swallowed the day, and by the time I resurfaced, it was already 5 p.m. I wandered to the supermarket for dinner and a beer, feeling oddly content. Sometimes the road demands motion; sometimes, stillness. Today, the cat won.

 

Tailwinds, River Roads, and Thai Table Manners

The next morning, I saddled my old iron horse — a creature of questionable elegance but unwavering loyalty — and rolled back onto the main road. Thankfully, this stretch was newly paved and boasted a shoulder wide enough to host a small wedding. I attempted a detour onto a quieter route, but the road fizzled out like a bad idea, so I returned to the highway and let a generous tailwind push me northward.

I flew into Bang Khla just as the sky decided to empty itself. I darted into the first accommodation I saw and paid a little more than usual, but the reward was a spacious, air-conditioned room with hot water for $14. At least I was out of the madness — the trucks, the dust, the construction zones that felt like cycling through a nation mid‑renovation — and finally heading north. The promise of river roads, temples, and green horizons tugged me onward. Thailand has a way of rewarding perseverance with beauty, as if patting you on the back and saying, “There, there. Have a waterfall.”

Over a plate of fried rice that tasted far better than my day deserved, I had a small revelation: Thailand’s table manners are a quiet masterpiece. While other cultures duel with knives or twirl pasta like Olympic gymnasts, the Thais have perfected a gentle choreography. The spoon — chon — is the star performer, gliding food gracefully to the mouth. The fork — som — is the backstage crew, nudging rice into place, never daring to enter the spotlight itself. Knives are largely unnecessary; everything arrives already in bite-sized diplomacy. It’s elegant, efficient, and frankly, a relief for someone who has dropped more noodles than she cares to admit.

 

Temples, Fruit Bats, and a Lunch Without Words

The next morning, I pedalled a few kilometres to Wat Pho Bang Khla, a temple believed to date back to the reign of King Taksin the Great. Its architecture carries whispers of Ayutthaya and Rattanakosin, but the real showstoppers are the fruit bats — enormous, leathery creatures dangling from the trees like oversized ornaments. They rustled and shifted above me, a living ceiling of wings.

The so‑called floating market came next. “Floating” was perhaps optimistic; it was more of a food market politely sitting beside the river, but the smells alone were worth the detour. Then on to Wat Pak Nam Jolo, a temple said to be around 200 years old, shimmering quietly in the morning light.

From Bang Khla, the ride along the Bang Pakong River was pure joy — the kind of cycling that makes you forget the weight of your panniers and the questionable decisions of the previous day.

By midday, hunger struck, and I pulled into a roadside shelter. A startled woman emerged, and without a single shared word, she conjured a plate of rice, spicy vegetables, and a fried egg that could have won awards. We communicated entirely through gestures, smiles, and the universal language of “Yes, more chilli is fine.” The whole exchange was so seamless and absurdly charming that I laughed out loud.

Just before reaching Nakhon Nayok, I detoured to the ruins of Dong Lakhon, an ancient town dating back to the ninth to eleventh centuries. Not much remains — a well, a moat, a few quiet stones — but the place hums with old stories. It’s the kind of spot where you stroll slowly, letting the centuries settle around you.

 

Waterfall Dreams in Khao Yai National Park

I stayed an extra night and ventured into Khao Yai National Park, dreaming of serene waterfalls and a peaceful lunch with my 7‑Eleven sandwich. The park is vast — over 2,000 square kilometres — and proudly Thailand’s oldest, a UNESCO World Heritage Site no less.

But it was a beautiful Sunday, and Bangkok is far too close for solitude. My waterfall fantasy dissolved into a cheerful crowd of weekenders, selfie sticks, and families picnicking with admirable enthusiasm. Still, the park was undeniably gorgeous. Next time, I’ll cycle through one gate and out another — a grand traverse, and hopefully with fewer humans.

 

Frangipani Roads and a Quiet Night by the Water

The following day’s ride was a balm. My chosen route skirted the edge of the National Park, weaving through small communities where every woman seemed to be pounding something aromatic in a mortar or coaxing magic from a wok. Some concoctions were so potent they made me sneeze as I cycled past.

Frangipani trees lined the road, their blossoms perfuming the air, and the scent of freshly cut grass drifted across the fields. With no destination in mind, I followed signs to the Pasak Chonlasit Dam. Being a Monday, the campsite was nearly empty — just one other cyclist and a Thai couple who later approached me shyly to ask for a photo. Apparently, I make quite an impression. LOL.

The evening settled softly over the water, and for the first time in days, everything felt unhurried. Just me, the quiet, and the long road north waiting patiently for morning.

 

Pasak Chonlasit Dam to  Sa Kruat

I woke before sunrise, not because of any noble intention, but because the other cyclist in the campsite decided to rummage through his plastic bags at an hour only owls should witness. If you’ve ever slept in a hiking hut, you know that sound — the frantic rustling that suggests someone is either packing for Everest or searching for the meaning of life at the bottom of a Ziploc.

Just as I thought the symphony was over, he put on music — something soothing, I’m sure, as he gazed dreamily over the dam. Unfortunately, sound travels beautifully across open water, so I too was up at the crack of dawn.

Cycling across the dam wall, I felt a rush of gratitude. I was heading somewhere — I wasn’t sure where — and that uncertainty felt delicious. The road along the eastern shore was blissfully quiet, shared only with a few motorbikes, herds of buffalo, a snake, and a large, determined Shongololo crossing the road with the confidence of a creature who knows it has right of way.

By midday, I stopped for fried rice — always an entertaining affair when you’re the lone foreigner in a tiny village. The clouds thickened in the afternoon, and when the sky began to growl, I called it a day in what I think was Sa Kruat. I stopped partly because of the weather, partly because I was toying with the idea of visiting the Si Thep Historical Park in the morning. Decisions, decisions.

 

Ancient City Walls and a Guesthouse Fried Rice Adventure

I woke early, well-rested, and decided Si Thep was worth the detour. The historical park holds the remains of an ancient city inhabited from the third to fifth century CE and occupied until the thirteenth. Once one of the great city-states of central Thailand, it was added to the World Heritage List in 2023 — a well-deserved nod to its quiet grandeur.

After wandering the ruins, I checked into a guesthouse across the road to tackle laundry and fix the slow leak in my back wheel. Later, I cycled 1.5 kilometres to a supermarket, only to be ambushed by a sudden downpour. I sheltered for ten minutes, then continued in full sunshine. Thailand’s weather has a sense of humour.

Dinner turned into an unexpected adventure. When the guesthouse owner asked if I wanted food, I casually said, “Fried rice,” imagining he’d point me to a kitchen. Instead, he hopped on his motorbike and zoomed off to fetch it from a restaurant two kilometres away. He returned drenched but triumphant, clutching a steaming hot meal. I paid him $2.50 for a $1.25 dish — where else in the world can you get home delivery, complete with dramatic rainstorm, for that price?

 

Heat, Hills, Ice Cream with Sticky Rice, and a Poolside Beer

In the morning, I cycled to Wichian Buri to buy a new inner tube. The people there were wonderfully kind — they not only directed me to the right shop but also handed me two bottles of water. A blessing, as the heat was fierce and the climb steeper than expected.

Despite the temperature, the ride was glorious. I drifted off the main road and onto a narrow secondary route threading through small communities. After cresting the pass, I found an ice cream vendor and immediately stopped. The treat came with sticky rice, tiny scoops of ice cream, peanuts, and a drizzle of condensed milk — a combination that sounds improbable but tastes like joy.

Sugar-fuelled, I sped downhill until I screeched to a halt at Haus Luneburg, a charming guesthouse with a swimming pool. I didn’t even pretend to be dignified. I unloaded the bike at record speed and jumped straight into the pool with a cold Chang beer in hand. Bliss.

 

Rainstorms, Rural Roads, and an Early Stop

Another day, another beautiful ride. Route 2037 has been an absolute delight — a ribbon of road winding through tiny hamlets, each with its own temple, school, and market. Midway through the day, the sky opened, and I cycled through a torrential downpour. Since it wasn’t cold, I simply kept going, enjoying the absurdity of it.

When the rain eased, I continued until I spotted a row of roadside cottages. It was early, but the clouds were gathering again, and I decided not to push my luck. Stopping early meant there wasn’t much to do, so I tackled the dreaded laundry and hunted down a tap to wash the mud off the bike.

Sometimes the road gives you adventure; sometimes it gives you chores. Both are part of the journey.

 

A Perfect Ride into the City and a Day of Chores

I wore a permanent grin today — the kind that sneaks up on you when everything aligns just right. The weather was soft and generous, the rice paddies impossibly green, the corn standing tall like proud sentinels. I counted myself among the luckiest humans alive. The kilometres drifted by as if the bike had sprouted its own wings, and even the village dogs, usually self-appointed border patrol, didn’t bother to chase me.

A stiff breeze nudged me through a string of small settlements and past temples painted in colours that would make a parrot blush. By the time I rolled into Khon Kaen, I felt sun-kissed, wind-blown, and utterly content. Two days here, I decided — time for chores and a reset.

The next morning, I tackled laundry at the laundromat conveniently located right outside my room. Then I wandered around the city lake, a shaded loop dotted with temples and the occasional monk gliding past like a saffron ghost. Later, I cycled to a bike shop that turned out to be a gem — well-stocked, professional, and staffed by people who actually knew what they were doing. They adjusted my gears and fitted an odometer, which felt like giving my bike a tiny brain.

By evening, I drifted through the night market in search of vegetarian food. Slim pickings. I settled for freshly made French fries and, fearing starvation, added a pizza that cost the same as my room. Foreign food always comes with a surcharge — a tax on nostalgia.

 

Holy Ponds, Cobra Villages, and a Smooth Highway Finish

I slept surprisingly well on the lumpy mattress — for 350 THB, one must adjust expectations — and was up at six, rolling by eight. Khon Kaen revealed itself to be far larger than I’d imagined, and the morning traffic was lively. Yet, in true Thai fashion, drivers stopped to let me cross the road. Only in Thailand.

Soon enough, I was back among the rice paddies, music blaring far too loudly, feeling like the star of my own low-budget travel film. The holy pond at Ku Ban Na Kham Noi appeared like a mirage. I learned the surrounding structures once served as a hospital during the reign of King Jayavarman VII — a Khmer king with a flair for infrastructure.

Next came the Cobra Village. I didn’t linger. No matter how well‑treated, no animal dreams of a life in captivity, and I wasn’t keen on supporting the spectacle.

Toward day’s end, I veered toward the main road in search of accommodation. The highway was smooth as a baby’s bottom, and despite my dislike of such roads, I pushed on another 30 kilometres. When the weather turned moody, I pulled into the nearest guesthouse and found a charming 350 THB bungalow — clean bedding, air‑con, fan, and two bottles of water. No lumpy mattress. A bargain by any measure.

 

Monkey Parks, Red Lotus Lake, and a Night in a Temple

The next morning’s ride was a treasure hunt of oddities. First up: Monkey Park. The map made it sound promising; reality revealed a city park with outdoor gym equipment and volleyball courts entirely commandeered by monkeys. Not a human in sight. I didn’t dare leave the bike — those monkeys had ambition. A very accurate name indeed.

A little further on lay the Red Lotus Lake. No red lotus flowers in sight — perhaps the season had passed, or the water level was too low. Still, the ride along its shores was peaceful, and the surrounding villages hummed with the rhythm of fishing life.

Thirty kilometres later, I stumbled upon Ban Chiang — a remarkable archaeological site and one of the most important prehistoric settlements in Southeast Asia. Wet‑rice culture, ancient burials, pottery older than most civilizations — the place radiates quiet significance. It’s humbling to stand where humans lived, farmed, and loved thousands of years before the idea of Thailand even existed.

After leaving Ban Chiang, I headed north toward the Laos border. My presence caused quite a stir — I suspect foreigners are rare here. The area was so rural that I didn’t spot a single guesthouse. When the rain began, I ducked into the nearest Buddhist temple and asked if I could pitch my tent. They pointed me to a large covered area, and just as I finished setting up, the lady monks began chanting. Their voices rose and fell like waves. It was the gentlest, most unexpected lullaby.

 

Pre‑Dawn Chanting, Wet Roads, and the Mekong at Last

At three in the morning, the nuns began rummaging through their belongings — monks and cyclists share a fondness for early starts — and by four, the chanting was in full swing. LOL. I was on the road by six, which must be some kind of personal record.

My first stop was a food vendor, always a highlight. Breakfast in Thailand is never dull. The ride was wet but manageable, and by midday I rolled into Nong Khai. I checked into Mud Mee Guesthouse, a charming, inexpensive place right on the Mekong River, complete with a garden restaurant and coffee shop. I paid for two nights — my body insisted.

I did very little for the rest of the day. By evening, I sat in the garden with a beer and a vegetarian green curry. A massive storm rolled in, thunder shaking the building. I was profoundly grateful not to be in my tent.

The next morning, I slept in, then wandered to the supermarket to gather a few supplies for Laos. The day drifted by in a haze of riverfront strolling and Mekong‑watching. Sometimes the best adventures are the quiet ones.

 

At the Edge of Laos

By the time I reached Nong Khai, the Mekong felt like a finish line I hadn’t known I was racing toward. I let the river hold me still for a day — storms rolling in, curry steaming on the table, my legs finally allowed to rest. Tomorrow I would cross into Laos, but for now, it was enough to sit by the water and feel the long road settle behind me. A pause, a breath, a quiet beginning disguised as an ending.

169 THAILAND (22) - EXPLORING THE CENTRAL PLAINS

Pedalling the Plains of Siam

169 Thailand (22)

9 January – 20 January 2024
1,377 Kilometres – 22 Days

PHOTOS
MAP
FLIP-BOOK
PDF
VOICEOVER

 Prelude

Before the map is folded open, before the first turn of the pedals, there is a quiet knowing that the road will offer more than passage, more than miles marked and completed.

It begins in stillness, in the space between intention and departure, where the horizon is not yet reached, only imagined.

To travel by bicycle is to surrender to the elements, to the slow unfolding of land and light, to the unhurried language of rivers. Each kilometre is earned, each breath a measure of presence, each encounter a thread in something larger than journey alone.

What follows is not simply a crossing of Thailand’s plains, but a wandering through time and texture—a drifting between ancient ruins, quiet villages, and endless sky, where movement becomes meditation, and distance dissolves into something softer, more infinite.

 

 

Setting Out Beneath a Heavy Sky - Jomtien to Bang Saen Beach (83 km)

It was already well past midday when I finally rolled out of Jomtien. The heat hung heavily in the air, and with it came my determination to avoid the chaotic traffic that clogs the corridor between Pattaya and Bangkok. I threaded my way onto quieter rural roads, where progress was slower but infinitely more pleasant. Eventually, after a testing ride, the calm of Bang Saen Beach came into view. Relief washed over me as I checked into a modest ten‑dollar room. It felt like luxury. I was, as the saying goes, as happy as a pig in mud.

As the sun sank towards the horizon, I wandered the short distance—less than two hundred metres—to the beach. I sat barefoot on the sand, warm grains slipping between my toes, a gentle sea breeze brushing my skin. The sky transformed minute by minute, colours deepening and shifting in a spectacle that felt almost theatrical. Sitting there, I felt immensely fortunate—grateful to be back on the road, back in motion, back where I belonged.

 

Following the Water’s Edge - Bang Saen Beach to Chachoengsao (65 km)

The day began beautifully, with the first thirty kilometres tracing the edge of the Gulf of Thailand, partly along a road built directly over the sea. The northern gulf is shallow and alive with birdlife, fishing boats scattered across the water like punctuation marks. Further inland, I followed the Bang Pakong River, though true country lanes proved elusive—a rarity in Thailand.

Efforts to protect the endangered Irrawaddy dolphins have transformed local livelihoods here, with former shrimp boats repurposed for dolphin‑watching tours. I hoped for a quiet riverside track and perhaps a glimpse of the dolphins themselves, but neither materialised. Heavy traffic eventually soured the ride, and I called it a day in Chachoengsao.

My early arrival gave me time to explore the atmospheric Banmai Market, more than a hundred years old and now open only on weekends. Traders still live within its weathered wooden buildings, perched above the river. The afternoon light was exquisite. Back in my room, reality intruded in the form of laundry—the least romantic but most necessary ritual of life on the road.

 

Through Fields and Quiet Villages - Chachoengsao to Amphoe Nong Khae, Saraburi (110 km)

Leaving Chachoengsao, I was rewarded with a far better day of cycling. A maze of rural roads unfolded before me, threading through rice paddies and tiny hamlets. The rhythm of pedalling through such landscapes is deeply soothing.

At one point, I picked up a bright red cloth, intending to fashion it into a safety flag. It proved far too large, so I tied it to my rear rack instead, hoping it would make me more visible. Much of the day unfolded beside a canal, its quiet presence guiding me kilometre after kilometre. After 110 kilometres, the tranquillity ended abruptly at a busy intersection, where I decided to stop. I was delighted to find a surprisingly fancy room for just fourteen dollars—“fancy” being, of course, a relative term.

 

Among Ruins and Restless Monkeys - Nong Khae to Lopburi (80 km)

I took far too many photographs on the way to Lopburi, unable to resist the beauty of the route. The ride followed railway lines and canals, an effortless glide through a landscape steeped in history. Lopburi itself is an ancient town, its ruins woven seamlessly into everyday Thai life.

The city is also home to its infamous monkey population, complete with a temple of their own. I arrived early, grateful, as the temperature climbed to a sweltering 35°C. My ten‑dollar room was basic but equipped with a fan, which was all I needed. Food became my primary occupation—Lopburi offers an endless parade of tempting dishes.

I stayed an extra day to explore. The monkeys were notorious enough that my windows remained permanently shut; even barred windows offer little deterrent to determined primates. The day passed wandering among ruins, history unfolding quietly around me.

 

Along the Green Arteries of the Plains - Lopburi to Khok Mai Den (110 km)

The ride to Khok Mai Den was uneventful in the best possible way. I followed water again—a canal or perhaps a river—flanked by luminous green rice paddies and fishermen casting their lines. Villages were few and far between, and I felt delightfully off the beaten track. Energy and contentment carried me forward. What a privilege it is, I thought, to experience the world at this pace.

Bright yellow Dharma flags fluttered outside ever‑present Buddhist temples, offering shade and quiet places to rest. After another 110 kilometres, I turned towards the highway in search of food and accommodation.

That evening, I noticed once again that beds in Asia rarely face the door. According to feng shui, this is the “dead man’s position,” resembling the way bodies are carried out. I embraced the Thai way of life completely and ordered takeaway from 7‑Eleven—free delivery, even with a generous tip, and no need to venture back into the dark.

 

A Gift by the Roadside - Khok Mai Den to Nakhon Sawan (53 km)

I lingered over the morning and didn’t leave my comfortable bungalow until after nine. Just two kilometres away lay the ruins of Khok Mai Den Ancient City, dating back to the Thawarawadi period. After exploring the hilltop remains, I returned to find a bag hanging from my handlebars—rice and soup, left by a monk, along with a Buddhist talisman. I was deeply touched, though the watery soup, complete with bird‑like chunks, proved a challenge to swallow.

I followed the Chao Phraya River upstream to its birthplace at the confluence of the Ping and Nan rivers in Nakhon Sawan. The surrounding farmland felt timeless: fried bananas sold roadside, petrol dispensed from Coca‑Cola bottles, farmers tending rice fields—some manually, others using drones whose purpose I could only guess at.

 

Northward with the River’s Rhythm - Nakhon Savan to Tha Makhuea (92 km)

Leaving Nakhon Sawan meant navigating heavy traffic and Chinese New Year preparations. Soon, however, a peaceful riverside path led me north past sleeping cats, dogs, and chickens. Women pedalled by with goods for sale, monks chanted at colourful temples, and kilometres slipped by effortlessly.

At water stops, shy conversations unfolded. “Where are you from?” “Africa Thai,” I’d reply, prompting delighted laughter. The inevitable follow‑up—“By bicycle?”—always ended with disbelief when I confirmed I was travelling alone.

 

Echoes of Kingdoms Past - Tha Makhuea to Kamphaeng Phet (56 km)

The road to Kamphaeng Phet was busy, sugarcane trucks rumbling past, stalks littering the tarmac. My reward was the UNESCO World Heritage Site—ruins dating to the 14th century, quieter and more contemplative than Sukhothai.

I stayed at Three J Guesthouse, a charming jumble of wooden bungalows and artistic corners. Laundry delayed my visit to the Heritage Park, and I arrived just before closing, snapping a few hurried photos. The following morning, cycling through the vast ruins beneath towering trees was an absolute joy.

 

Loss, Kindness, and Ancient Light - Kamphaeng Phet to Sukhothai (85 km)

Rural roads once again guided me past rice, banana, corn, and sugarcane fields. The weather was perfect, and I rode almost without stopping. Central Thailand’s fertile plains make for gloriously easy cycling.

Sukhothai, birthplace of Siam, was predictably touristy. After booking in, disaster struck—my wallet was gone. Panic surged. Without access to money, nothing else mattered. Calls were made, stress levels soared, and eventually relief arrived. The kindness of Vitoonguesthouse2Fanroom, who allowed me to stay without payment, will not be forgotten.

I spent an extra day exploring Sukhothai’s magnificent ruins. Cycling the park at sunset, rather than in the midday heat, revealed its true magic.

 

Riding the Tailwind of Fortune - Sukhothai to Phitsanulok (78 km)

A straightforward ride delivered me to Phitsanulok, aided by a rare bike lane and a tailwind. The town surprised me, its old quarter and famous Buddha giving off an unexpected Indian vibe.

My accommodation sat improbably between a highway, railway line, and mosque. Anticipating a sleepless night, I bought earplugs—but slept surprisingly well.

 

The Long Curve of the Nan River -Phitsanulok to Taphan Hin (100 km)

After breakfast, I nervously crossed the main road, drawing enough attention that cars stopped to let me cross. Riding south along the Nan River was pleasant, with temples, river barges, and green paddies all around.

Taphan Hin bustled as evening food stalls appeared. A shower, takeaway noodles, and early rest rounded out the day perfectly.

 

A change of Plans - Taphan Hin to Tha Tako (98 km)

The morning market was already alive when I left. The river guided me again through familiar villages and fields.

Around noon, I impulsively changed my route to avoid Bangkok — only to realise I needed cash. But I had cancelled my Bangkok Bank card, not realising it would also disable the cardless withdrawal feature. No money. The air turned blue with my swearing.

I had just enough for a room and food. The nearest bank was 55 kilometres away. Tomorrow’s problem.

 

The search for a Bank - Tha Tako to Nakhon Sawan (48 km)

I flew the 50 kilometres back to Nakhon Sawan and practically skidded to a halt in front of the bank. Minutes later, I walked out with cash and a new card. Relief washed over me like cool water.

I spent the afternoon wandering the city park, watching preparations for the Year of the Dragon. Lanterns and dragons everywhere — red, bright, celebratory.

 

The River Runs South - Nakhon Sawan to Chai Nat (92 km)

The main road would have been quicker, but the river tempted me again. It wound through old‑world settlements where wooden shophouses leaned toward the water. The Chao Phraya carries centuries in its current; you can feel it.

There was no need to stop in Chai Nat, but it looked pleasant enough with inexpensive accommodation.

 

Temples, Honey, Flowers and Bees - Chai Nat to Ang Thong (100 km)

I followed Organic Maps for a few kilometres before slipping onto smaller paths. The hamlets were sleepy, animals sprawled across the road like discarded rugs. Even the water monitors barely twitched.

Near Ang Thong, I stopped at Wat Sukkasem Thammikaram, home to the towering 38.9‑metre statue of Phra Siwali Mahalap. Villagers brought honey and flowers, hoping for blessings and good fortune. Bees nested beneath the statue’s arm — a living omen.

After biking 100 km, a budget hotel was easy to find. The shower felt like salvation. I washed my cycling clothes in the wastepaper bin and rewarded myself with a beer and a plate of vegetarian fried rice from 7-Eleven.

 

A Ruined Capital - Ang Thong to Ayutthaya (65 km)

I hadn’t planned on Ayutthaya, but the road led me there anyway—canals, timber houses on stilts, temples rising like ornate mirages.

At the train station, the next train to Bangkok was two hours away. I abandoned the idea and returned to my favourite Baan Lotus Guesthouse. The old schoolhouse welcomed me like an old friend.

 

Into the City - Ayutthaya to Bangkok (85 km)

Despite my reluctance, I cycled the 85 kilometres to Bangkok. Sunday traffic was merciful, but entering a city of eleven million still rattles the nerves. I arrived safely and decided to take the train to Pattaya — I’d ridden that road too many times.

I slept deeply, missed the train, and didn’t mind at all.

 

Returning, But Not the Same - Bangkok to Pattaya by Train

The following morning, I cycled to the station before dawn, anxious about being seen in the dark. Getting the bike onto the train required awkward manoeuvring; getting off required the same.

Back in Pattaya, I washed everything — clothes, bags, the residue of the road. By evening, I was already wondering where to go next.

There are so many possibilities. But before I could do that, I had a few tasks to complete, as my wallet held not only my Thai bank card but also my South African cards, ID, and other documents.

 

 

Epilogue

 

And then, almost without ceremony, it ends—or perhaps only changes shape.

The wheels come to rest, but the journey lingers, echoing in the body and settling quietly into memory. Roads once travelled do not disappear; they remain—etched in sunlight, in dust, in the rhythm of breath remembered.

There are fragments that endure: the hush of morning over still water, the gold of temples flickering in late light. The kindness of strangers, offered without question or weight.

In the end, it is not the distance that stays, but the slowing—the gentle unravelling of urgency, the rediscovery of enough.

And somewhere, beyond the last page and the final mile, the road continues—unseen, unending—calling not loudly, but patiently, as all true journeys do.

166 THAILAND - A RIDE ALONG THE SOUTH COAST

Pedals, Panniers, and Poor Dietary Decisions

166 THAILAND

20 February – 26 February 2023
358 Kilometres - 6 Days

PHOTOS 

 

 

Pattaya to Rayong (78 km)

This was Take Two of my great adventure—proof that the road always gets a second chance, even if it’s not leading to India this time. At a respectable hour just before noon (cyclists laugh at mornings), I rolled out of Pattaya, panniers packed, optimism high, and expectations firmly lowered.

The route whisked me through serene rural roads lined with cassava plantations and the occasional elephant casually minding its own business. Temples and Buddhas appeared like friendly checkpoints, silently judging my cadence. The climb over Big Buddha Mountain was worth every laboured breath, delivering views so good I almost forgot my legs were filing a complaint.

Rayong welcomed me with a glowing sunset and the Richy Grand, ideally positioned near a night market designed to punish anyone foolish enough to arrive hungry. Lesson noted. Too late.

 

Rayong to Pak Nam Krasae (70 km)

I set off around ten, which by touring standards counts as “keen.” The small roads delivered everything I love about Thailand: smiling locals, colourful houses, and food vendors operating from motorbikes that appeared to violate several laws of physics—BBQs inches away from petrol tanks included.

Reaching the coast felt like unlocking a bonus level. A dedicated bike lane, a breezy tailwind, and the realisation that cycling can, in fact, be pleasant. A Hungarian gentleman—who had sensibly settled here forty years ago—invited me in for a cold drink. Hospitality: undefeated.

Pak Nam Krasae was one of those beautiful places where English mysteriously disappears. With hand gestures, smiles, and my now-reliable Thai food vocabulary, I secured a comfy room and a full belly. Laundry done too. Peak efficiency.

 

Pak Nam Krasae to Chanthaburi (75 km)

After twenty kilometres, I made my daily pilgrimage to 7‑Eleven, proof that all spiritual journeys now end in plastic-wrapped snacks. Refuelled, I followed the coast along glorious cycle lanes and scenery that felt almost unfairly photogenic.

Chanthaburi’s old riverside quarter was perfect for slow wandering, street food grazing, and pretending I wasn’t on a bike trip with kilometres still to ride.

 

Chanthaburi to Roadside Guesthouse (65 km)

I briefly considered staying an extra day in Chanthaburi—a sure sign I was enjoying myself too much. Instead, discipline prevailed, and I turned back toward Jomtien.

A roadside guesthouse appeared just as my motivation dipped, offering a room for 300 THB. Destiny. Dinner was a heroic plate of fried noodles for 40 THB, weighing approximately the same as my bike. Even I couldn’t finish it, which historians will note as a rare personal defeat.

 

 Roadside Guesthouse to Rayong (75 km)

New routes, countless side roads, and just enough confusion to make the day feel adventurous. The South Coast unfolded as flat, watery landscapes dotted with fishing boats and lazy estuaries.

Back in Rayong, I returned to the dependable Richy Grand—cheap, bike-friendly, and conveniently close to the kind of night market that demands second dinners.

 

Rayong to Jomtien (70 km)

I zig-zagged through farm roads, feeling oddly local and significantly too confident. I skipped stops. This was a mistake. Home arrived just as hunger reached cinematic levels.

Laundry, shower, and collapse followed. Arms complained but ultimately admitted they had survived. The Tour d’South was complete, and optimism for the next adventure remained dangerously high.

 

Epilogue: 

The following days were devoted to sorting photos (an activity that somehow eats entire mornings), collecting apartment keys, and conducting vital social research over beers. Physical activity resumed with an 8‑km beach run and a daily swim—proof that suffering is optional but routine.

Thailand’s South Coast delivers scenery, kindness, affordability, and just enough unpredictability to keep things interesting. Would I do it again? Absolutely. Would I eat before night markets next time? Probably not.

165 A DISASTROUS 2022

RECOVERY THAILAND
July 2022 – January 2023

 PHOTOS

 

9 July – Jomtien

Bouncing out of bed on a heavily overcast morning had nothing to do with my agility but rather the sing-along music playing. Music that made a person want to punch the air, exclaiming, “Let’s go, baby”! Thus, Dire Straits was still blaring in my ears as I set off to the beach at a brisk pace. Unfortunately, the euphoria was short-lived, as I’d become rather unfit during the past six weeks. Having no running shoes, my old sandals had to do, and running in sandals isn’t all comfortable. Still, it was a pleasant walk, and the threatening rain never materialised. People were surprised to see me back in Jomtien, but so was I.  Returning, I picked up a bunch of bananas from my favourite fruit lady before heading into town to hunt for running shoes. Unfortunately, I scarcely made it to Beach Road before a storm broke. The weather came down with such force that it brought trees and electric poles down. The 7-Eleven made an excellent place to hide from where a cab took me home—no point shopping in such weather.

 

10 July – Jomtien

Mundane tasks in a house or apartment take up a lot of time. May it be sweeping, dusting, making a bed or doing dishes. These are actions not required when cycling. What a complete waste of time, as these jobs are never-ending. Thus, none of the above got done, and I lazily made coffee - left the mug on the coffee table and showered without picking up the towel. Instead, I listened to peaceful Reiki music said to increase positive energy. It was wonderfully relaxing, but still, no housework got done.

With my energy restored, I ventured to the mall to search for new running/hiking shoes. Of course, it’s never easy to find such a combination. Still, I found a pair of Hoka trail-running shoes primarily designed for technical terrain and hoped they would be suitable for running.

 

11 July – Jomtien

By morning, I keenly set out to test the new shoes. But, unfortunately, couldn’t say they were super comfortable as they were too narrow around the toe area. It’s so much easier to stick to shoes you know. Still, it wasn’t the end of the world, and I cut holes where the pressure points were.

Once home, it was back to finalising the last of the Malawian blog, as the longer I left it, the less I felt like doing it.

 

12 July – Jomtien

Early morning, I again set out for a jog. Being the rainy season, there weren’t many people on the beach. The umbrellas and chairs looked forlorn in the breeze, but still, stall owners were optimistic and put out tables, shrines and coconuts. The gentle breeze was a blessing, as the weather remained hot and humid despite the overcast.

Feeling surprisingly energetic, I pumped the bicycle tyres and cautiously tested riding. Yes, it can be done, but it’s far from comfortable.

 

13 July

With nothing planned for the day, I cycled to the Lotus to test my bike and pick up a few things from the supermarket. Unfortunately, the hand remains uncomfortable, and I can’t see myself cycling any distance for a while.

Being Asalha Bucha Day, a public holiday in Thailand, the streets and malls were quiet. This day, the first full moon of the eighth lunar month, commemorates the Buddha’s first sermon in Deer Park in Benares, India and the founding of the Buddhist sangha (monkhood) about 2,500 years ago. (The date in Thailand is thus 13 July 2565 BE)

In the sermon, known as ‘Setting the Wheel of Dhamma in Motion’, the Buddha first spelt out the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path.

 

July 2022 - February 2023

Eventually, my wrist healed, although it would never be 100%. But, at least I could cycle relatively easily using a wrist brace.

In the meantime, I had word from Dawn and was excited to learn that she was planning to visit Thailand. A fantastic month was spent eating, drinking, and doing other fun stuff. It was good to see my friend again.

After a month, Dawn returned to Australia, and I was excited to return to India. The Indian visa process is uncomplicated, but the two wheel rims I ordered took forever to arrive. Eventually, it took going to Bangkok myself, something that should’ve been done months ago, instead of waiting until the last minute. Finally, all was in place to leave for India. Sadly, while cycling back from the beach after taking a few sunset pictures, a scooter knocked me off the bicycle, resulting in two broken elbows.

To make a long story short, a week later, in early November 2022, I flew to South Africa. As can be imagined, I was mighty relieved to get off the chock-a-block plane. A visit to the hospital revealed what was already known. As in Thailand, doctors seemed more concerned about the fractured radial head, which I thought was my good arm. A CT scan was booked for 15 November (it’s a government hospital). Only after the scan will a decision be made. Both arms were again placed in a half cast (back slab), and there, I thought I could sneak in a short jog. Unfortunately, it seems walking was my only option for a while.

All went smoothly, and I was mighty impressed with the medical service received. The fractured elbow was realigned, and a metal plate and screws were fitted to hold the fractured olecranon together. The radial head couldn’t be repaired and was replaced with a metal piece. Finally, the ligaments around the elbow were repaired and reattached using a screw.

Phew, happy that’s behind me! I’m even more impressed that I’ve regained almost full motion and rotation barely six weeks after the operation. And to think all at US$30.00. Finally, my bags were packed, and I was ready to return to the tropics and my bike. Although I stayed with my sister, it was less expensive in Thailand. Thanks, Amanda!

I hope 2023 will be kinder to me. Back in Thailand, cycling remained highly uncomfortable nonetheless, but changing the bike’s setup made it easier to ride.