Wang Prachan Border to Chaiya: 428 miles

The people of Southern Thailand haven’t quite figured out what to make of the passing cyclist. There were some very sincere thumbs up: “Good!”, pointing at the bike. More often than not though, people were a little wary. Who was this weirdo? Where was his nice A/C van? What was he doing out on this road junction, shopping for SIM cards in the heat…

In fact the girl in the phone shop took no chances – she just got up and started screaming as soon as I walked in: “Farang!!!” (Foreigner!!!)

This was a bit extreme, but people were generally pretty shy about communicating and often seemed worried if I threatened the worst (stepping into their business!). It wasn’t hostility, just awkwardness around English. When people could help, they did. An iced tea vendor in Trang saw me eating my salad all wrong and abandoned his his business, diving across the night market to step in (*the herbs you get are supposed to act as a kind of herby shovel*).

Salad skills sorted, it was time to brush up on a bit of conversational Thai. I’d already learned (and forgotten) some of the basics on previous visits, but numbers and (importantly) foods came back surprisingly quickly with a bit of study. I even began to add some flourishes:
“Jeng maak!” – ‘very cool’ – I said (to whoever would listen)
“Sanuk mai?” – having fun? (to the boys pulling wheelies)
“Mai ao thung, krap” – no carrier bag, thanks (it seems traditional to hand out at least two with each transaction)

It was a smattering but it made a difference.

• In Villages people let rip, telling me all kinds of things. I obviously understood none of this.
• In touristy towns like Krabi, I was showered with compliments after just one or two words – ‘Wow, how long have you been living in Thailand?’
• Whilst in rural markets people generally just lost their minds, keeling over with laughter and repeating whatever I’d said three or four times to everyone in the vicinity.

This was better. Now I needed to set a course and make some progress. I decided on the Andaman Coast where I dreamed of riding in the shade of dramatic limestone outcrops, pausing to sip coconut juice and admire the islands. You can imagine my disappointment then on opening the map: there was only one road north, Highway 4. Not only was this a highway, but it was nowhere near the coast! There are coastal roads on the Andaman Sea, but these are all effectively dead ends, taking you down to fishing villages and beaches, each on their own little peninsula. You have to return to the highway to go north. Thus Highway 4 (below) became my nemesis and I vowed to defeat it.

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My first line of attack was a spontaneous detour to Hat Pak Meng, a scenic (dead end) beach spot popular with Thai families.

There were no foreign tourists and the rubber rings, umbrellas and cafes added a good time feel to the place. I felt like calling it a day and camping in the pine groves but it was too early and there were too many people about. Why not extend the detour and really stick it to the highway?

Seizing the moment I set off south (the total wrong direction), riding through more pines and mangroves to a quieter beach some 25km down the road. There was a small hotel and a restaurant and I asked if I could camp. “It’s too dark over there in the trees” the hotel owner said, “camp right here and you can use my lights!”. He didn’t ask for any money but I ate in his restaurant and gave a 100% tip. In return he set me up with a firepit and some coconut husks to burn as I watched the fireflies and green glow of the squid boats fishing with lights out on the horizon.

I needed a day off to sort a few things so reluctantly came crawling back to the main road. It seemed a waste to sit in a town all day though, so I soon split off on a another detour, (55km each way), down to Ko Lanta. What a disappointment.

After almost a month of local spots, Ko Lanta (in theory a tranquil island getaway), felt like Las Vegas with mile after mile of everything from massage parlours to quad bike hire, phoney Muay Thai venues to Italian pizza joints. To add insult, somehow I’d booked into a place run by a lady from Bedford proudly offering the ‘full English’, sheesh. It was low season and many resorts and restaurants were shut/under repair. Worse, some were open! With seas of empty tables punctuated only by the occasional lone traveller nursing a Beer Chang to the tune of a sad Elvis song. It rained nearly all day. After 180km of detouring, I finally submitted to Highway 4 which would take me to the hub town of Krabi (and back on track – north).

This was my plan of course until I spotted a tiny blue boat icon on the ‘Maps.Me’ app. Could this be a ferry? There was no info online (at all) but if it was, I could avoid the highway completely, leapfrogging over rivermouths and islands right into Krabi town. It was a 40km dead end, I took the chance.

The road turned out to be the best in Thailand to date. Shady rubber plantations, basket weaving, rice cakes drying and fisherman out setting nets by hand, it was a lovely ride. I reached a jetty and asked about the ferry. An old man enthusiastically flailed his arms, almost knocking his noodles over. I took this as an affirmative, but was really none the wiser. More pointing and waving. Luckily, a kind lady, busy preparing a basket of crabs with her mum, helped me interpret the hand signals. I needed to raise a flag to hail a boat from the other side. What a fabulous system!

My “Uber” took me to a car-free island where water buffalo roamed the playing field and kids raced by, five to a motorbike. From here a second boat took me to the metropolis of Krabi town which, although a tourist hub, was a fun and a ‘real’ enough place to hang out for a night, with a great evening market.

The next day started in Ao Nang, Krabi’s busiest beach resort. It was very well ordered, with no hustling touts, but with its McDonald’s and Starbucks, a bit middle of the road. As I agonised outside a chemists’ over some extortionately priced sun cream, I was hailed over by a well dressed older gentleman called Chula who was excited to talk all things cycling. “My friend just invited me for a coffee around the corner, will you join us?”. I winced, knowing the sun would punish me later, but of course said yes and was soon following his jeep down the road to an exclusive resort, away from the crowds.

Chula had cycled all over Thailand, but now in his mid-70s was finding it harder. “Perhaps I can give you some tips for your trip”. More than practical advice, this coffee stop was actually a delicate study in the nuances of Thai etiquette and respect. We were ushered away from the tourists, busy devouring their pancakes, to a separate table full of local elites. After being introduced to Chula’s friend, (an admiral in the Thai Navy), the whole table rose to frantically wai (Thai gesture of greeting/respect) to the resort’s boss. His staff couldn’t bow down low enough when they brought over bits of paperwork for approval. Meanwhile Chula showed me several YouTube videos of people on bikes narrowly escaping stampeding elephants as he recommended I visit Khao Yai National Park (“see, it’s great for cycling, all these guys survived!”). He also suggested I carry a horse whip for the many stray dogs I was already encountering. I loved this suggestion, but with this and my wide brimmed hat, I think I’d be pushing it!

After the run around on Highway 4 I’d decided to cross over to the Gulf Coast where a quieter, more realistic route awaited. On a high from Krabi’s backroads I sought out the windiest route as I said goodbye to Chula and headed east. Unsurprisingly, this was quite slow and made worse by miles of roadworks.

There were few options for accommodation and I had been mulling over asking to camp at a temple. With rain threatening, I decided to give this a go and pulled into the nearest one at dusk. The grounds were vast so I thought they’d excuse a passing cyclists tucked quietly under a tree. Instead the monks offered me a space inside and then tried to give me a fan, mosquito coil, coffee and the wifi password! (All of which I politely declined out of embarrassment!). They were a welcoming bunch.

As lightening flickered on the horizon and chanting echoed around the complex, I settled down, surrounded by the temple dogs, to enjoy a can of tuna with Thai basil peanuts and a petrol station “pizza” bun. Magic! The older monks then excused themselves and I spent the rest of the evening with the young ones who teased each other over the state of the current Man Utd squad and were happy to sit chatting (with some help from Google) whilst a dubbed Jackie Chan film played in the background.

A lot of people probably see monks as lifelong ascetics, in Thailand though Buddhist men are encouraged to become a monk at some point in their lives as a kind of ‘right of passage’, even if only for a few months. Tin (pictured above), had been a pro footballer in the Thai 2nd division before becoming a monk and plans to try out for a new contract when he leaves.

The following day I reached the Gulf Coast. Here the word ‘resort’ was being banded about liberally (with prices to match), so I was lucky to chance upon a friendly family who allowed me to camp in front of their empty hotel on a ‘pay-what-you-like’ basis. They returned half the cash I offered and gave me a big bunch of fruit! “When we go to other countries, we really don’t know what’s going on or who we can trust. So we like to look after people when they come here.”

The screaming shop staff and evasive waitresses now seemed a long way off. It had taken a few days, but I was now feeling at home again on the road and looking forward to the ride up to Bangkok.