The Road Less Traveled

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Our journey back to Bangkok from Pattaya took a turn away from the expected, ditching the main highway and choosing a winding route through Thailand’s quieter interiors. We wanted to see the everyday Thailand, away from tourist hustle. Soon, we were passing through small, urban towns, far from the highway monotony, revealing a side of Thailand rich in character and local life.

On our way, we crossed a bridge spanning over a quiet, scenic waterway, where we saw boats tucked beneath. They reminded me of a boat adventure I’d done in Vietnam, after watching Harold Baldr's experience there. The memory stirred something in me, so I pulled over and told Missy I wanted to check it out. With her nod, I carefully climbed down a rope staircase to reach one of the boats. It wasn’t easy—one wrong step, and I’d be in the sea. But the thrill of such moments is what makes travel worth it.

The boat belonged to a local, seemingly there to haul sand from the sea. A lone man sat aboard, weathered hands busy with his work. We couldn’t communicate much, as he didn’t speak English. Offering him a cigarette from my pack felt like a friendly gesture, though he politely declined. Still, we shared a handshake—gritty, yet genuine. It was a reminder of how travel connects us to people in simple, powerful ways, even without words.

Back on the road, I spotted some distant posts far out at sea, each topped with tiny hut-like structures. “Look at that, Missy! People might be fishing, or maybe even living out there,” I mused. The idea of visiting one of those huts sounded like a wild adventure. We found our way to where the boats were docked and met a few returning fishermen, sorting out their morning’s catch beneath the bridge. Riding through little neighborhoods and local alleys to find them, we got a real feel for the town’s rhythm.

I asked the fishermen about their trips, and they shared that they head out early, returning around noon. They laughed at my eagerness and welcomed the idea of me joining them on a future morning trip. Even though I missed my chance this time, it left me with a reason to return.

One of the locals there, lounging nearby with a handmade bong, caught my attention. It was the kind used commonly in Vietnam, so I struck up a conversation. Despite the language barrier, he seemed thrilled to share. He filled the pipe, lit it for me, and with an encouraging smile, handed it over. The first puff was mild, but the second packed a punch, sending a heady rush through me—a perfect travel moment, unexpected and memorable.

We rode further until hunger brought us to a small roadside town where we stopped for a bowl of Thai noodles. It was a cozy, unassuming spot, yet the flavor was unmistakably authentic. Then, just as we set out again, adventure found us in the form of a sudden engine silence. The bike’s speedometer and all its dials went blank—our ride had stalled, in the middle of the highway. In the past, I might’ve panicked, but these days, I trust the universe’s sense of timing, even when it throws me a curveball.

Spotting a row of bulldozers nearby, I guessed there might be a mechanic somewhere close. Leaving Missy with the bike, I walked down to a nearby locality. It had the feel of a middle-class neighborhood, closer to the chawl-like setups in Mumbai—humble, but full of life. I noticed a man engrossed in his newspaper and used Google Translate to ask if he knew of a mechanic nearby. Though he struggled with English, he kindly called a young woman over, who spoke enough English to help.

After a bit of translation gymnastics, they offered to lead us to a repair shop about two kilometers away. The man brought out his scooter, and in an unexpectedly cooperative maneuver, pushed our bike with his leg, guiding us all the way there. Once at the shop, the diagnosis was a simple battery failure. As the mechanic worked, the woman asked if we had the funds for the repair, which cost 2,600 Thai baht. While I had enough cash on hand, her offer to cover it was generous, showing the depth of hospitality that often goes unnoticed.

I decided to keep the old battery as proof for the bike rental owner, just in case. The woman even recorded a video message in Thai for me to show him later. To express our gratitude, Missy offered her a keychain she’d picked up as a keepsake from Pattaya. She accepted it with a smile, and off they went.

By the time we reached Bangkok, we felt fulfilled. It’s moments like these—the bridge beneath which fishermen laugh, a roadside bowl of noodles, and strangers who help push your bike on a random Thai road—that make travel an unforgettable adventure.

If you enjoyed reading this post, watch the vlogs on YouTube: Off the Beaten Path, The Bike Breakdown.

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