Big Rambling Ride

Leaving Samut Songkhram, we travelled along lovely back roads and rural tracks. The region is riddled with small waterways and irrigation canals that branch off the main river, and run into the dense plantations. Coconut palm plantations were most common. The trees are laid out in rows and are planted on slight mounds, divided by trenches that are filled with water and created to provide year round irrigation.
Many crops were set out like this, positioned on ‘islands’. I wondered how the crop was harvested? By hand maybe? We have seen little in the way of mass mechanised aids.

One thing apparent in Thailand is how many Buddhist Temples there are. We passed by numerous Wats. Even in the middle of this rural countryside there are beautifully decorated and ornate temples.
We stopped at Wat Bang Kung spontaneously as we passed by. It looked unusual and piqued our interest. It had an ancient sanctuary. A shrine to a king, effigies of monks and numerous animal figurines, in a melting pot of spirituality, with a splash of theme park.
The temple grounds were populated by life size figurines of male Muay Thai fighters, frozen in dynamic poses.
Worshippers busied themselves with offerings and prayers, paying respect to the golden Buddha that resides inside the small shrine that looks as if it is inside a tree. The sanctuary has been enveloped by the pho, sai, khai and krang trees. Types of fig whose roots have invaded the fabric of 300 year brickwork. Wood and stone now bedfellows, each offering to be a crutch for the other.
Stepping inside, ancient and faded murals of the walls were visible. The warm amber light reflected in the gold leaf adorned by the Nila Manee Buddha Statue emphasised the figures expression. Serene and calm, with a hint of a half smile, this Buddha dreams good dreams, or has thoughts that are happy. Pleased, or content, maybe, that those who visit continue to gild him for merit or good luck, keeping him warm with their hope and wishes.

Riding onward we slipped into the flow of small roads, weaving between shady glades of trees, over small humpback bridges. We arrived at another Wat with a temple of bright red and gold.
Greeted by the village dogs (who would not stop barking despite talking to them to show we were just friendly humans but on bicycles).
A constant presence throughout our trip, they have barked at us in many different ways.
Initially we thought that the feral dogs of Thailand were the ‘stoners’ of the dog world. Often lying down (sometimes in the middle of the road), chill and sleepy. Generally not bothered by us, too relaxed and subdued by the heat to make an effort.
I have found that the the canines of Thailand mostly fall into one of the the following character categories:
1) Lazy bark - dog remains sitting or lying down. I will bark but I’m not getting up.
2) Warning bark - I will bark but remain on my property. My bark is just to make a point. I know you are there, and to let my owner know I am not sleeping on the job, and also to let you know I know.
3) Neighbourhood clarion call chorus bark. One dog barks and others join in. This alerts other dogs in the vicinity, a sort of chain reaction of woofing that echoes across the village. Annoying for any locals who may want to sleep in.
4) Sorry I didn’t recognise you as a human bark. Enthusiastic barking, slightly confrontational but ceases when we stop cycling and talk to them. The penny drops that we are just like their owner. Tail wagging means we are all good and then they tend to get bored and go back to what they were doing.
5) The last word bark. Can be quite aggressive, incessant and prolonged. Despite stopping and exchanging pleasantries, the dog continues to bark. It can often be several dogs, all of whom want to make their presence felt, the pack egging each other on. The barks can stop and then start again when we remount our bikes. The dogs follow us for a bit, barking along, as we cycle away into the distance.
6) Silent bark. The worst kind. Some dogs don’t bark. They chase after us first as we cycle along, darting out from property. They move quickly with stealth, the tiny pitter patter of claws on tarmac barely audible to us. They are on you before you know it. Barking often follows at close quarters. It can be a bit unpleasant and also a shock!

We headed on but stopped to watch some men harvest coconuts from the palm trees by the side of the road. Armed with a long pole of bamboo with a sickle blade attached, they were using it to separate the nut from its tree. The pole is as high as the tree boughs (about 10-12m) and requires a deft touch to position it and also strength to pull down the pole and force the blade to sever the coconut.
We watched as one farmer cut a couple, letting them fall to the ground. No head protection in sight! The sound of the heavy husk as it hit the floor had me thinking that these guys need to be nimble!

We arrived in Nakhon Pathom late afternoon. We could see the large shape of a stupa as we approached even from far away. Phra Pathommachedi is the second tallest stupa in the world and sits inside the Wat located in the centre of the city.
We checked in and unloaded the bikes. This hotel had a lift, for which we were thankful as our room was up on the 6th floor. We grabbed some food from a street vendor outside the front of the 7-Eleven, and ate at a small makeshift table on the forecourt on what was a lovely warm evening.

Next day we were up and out in time to catch a train from Nakhon Pathom station to Namtok. The functionally named ‘Ordinary No.257’ local service, due to leave at 9:30am, would take us all the way to Namtok, the end of the line.
A journey of 3-4 hours with an hours break at Namtok, we would catch the same train back on the return journey.
The reason for the day trip train ride was my wish to ride part of the Siam–Burma Railway, also known by the name Thai–Burma Railway and also the ‘Death Railway’.
It ran for 258 miles between Thanbyuzayat, Burma (Myanmar) and Nong Pladuk junction, just outside Nakhon Pathom.
The last link in the chain of the Empire of Japans project to link Rangoon to Bangkok and aid their war effort in South East Asia - improving their supply lines, disrupting that of the Chinese forces between China and Burma and placing the Japanese right on the threshold of British India.
I had seen a documentary on the railway and also an old black and white film directed by David Lean, with Alec Guiness in the lead. It was based on a French Novel, The Bridge over the River Kwai. A fictional tale but based on a real river, real bridge and the historical fact of the use of Commonwealth POW’s to build the railway. Captured Allied troops including Australians, Americans, British and Dutch worked alongside forced labour from across SE Asia, to provide the Japanese a large workforce to build the line as quickly as possible. More than 100,000 died during the 16 months it took to complete it.
I wanted to visit for my mum. She was interested in military history, did some voluntary research work for Commonwealth War Graves, and was very passionate about remembering those that died on all sides during the wars.
She often reminded me of the importance of our history, what it teaches us and what we should learn from it.
I know that my mum would want me to pay her respects to those that died here. My mum died in 2023 so I wanted to visit in memory of her.

The real life river Khwae Yai exists. The railway at Kanchanburi crosses the river via the actual Bridge mentioned in the novel. Spanning the River Khwae Yai, just above the confluence of it and another river which join, and become the Mae Klong, the very river we had crossed in Samut Songkhram a couple of days ago.

A little late running, the train left Nakhon Pathom station a bit behind and as the journey went on, slipped ever more tardily from its schedule, meaning we wouldn’t get much time at the end of the line before returning.
Crossing through flat fields of rice, the open expanse of the valley provided views to distant hills appearing like a line of jagged teeth in the far distance.
The landscape became more arid as our train shook its way along the track. Yellow and brown colours started to dominate, emphasising the dryness of the terrain and heat of the day.
The train was old. A mixture of carriages. Some with padded seats and others with hard wooden bench style seating with a carriage painted in a sort of daffodil yellow. Roof fans whirred, working overtime to blow the warm dusty air entering through the open windows onto my head and face.
So removed from a UK train. Windows that you could open. Leaning from windows to take pictures was not discouraged and you could pass between the carriages, walking past open external doors and the large step down to a fast uncomfortable exit to the terrafirma and landscape whizzing by. The tracks were visible below in the gaps where mechanical couplings and cables rattled and wheezed. The very back carriage of the train reserved for monks only. Monk Class!
Food vendors passed up and down the train hastily, working each carriage, selling drinks and snacks, each of them with a particular speciality.

The hills became much nearer as the track squeezed in between steep slopes and the river, flowing slowly below, dark olive in colour. Slowing down, the train hugged the hillside, the track propped up precariously on a trestle. The jungle pressed in. A harsh environment in which to exist as a prisoner or conscript, working slavishly in the heat, during monsoon, and exposure to mosquitoes, disease and malnutrition. Brutal conditions.
Passing closely to the river I could see floating resort hotels, and approaching Kanchanaburi Station, market stalls selling gifts ran in a line next to the track. The passing stations had seen an influx of tourists joining to ride the famous section of railway.
Tour guides or train officials on board would point out which side to sit, when to look out to see the points of interest, such as Thamkrasae Bridge.
The train slowed and we approached the famous ‘Kwai’ bridge, a line of steel and concrete arcing over the river. Tourists had walked out onto the bridge to viewing platforms (you can simply walk out along the track). They waved and took pictures as we crawled past them. So close that we could have shaken hands.
The experience felt strange for me. Although there are many historical places associated with war and death that have become tourist destinations, I couldn’t shake the feeling of melancholy. My respect and admiration for those that toiled, suffered and died to build this railway matched that of the sadness I felt as I stared out of the window. The thousands of human beings that died were on my mind, along with thoughts of my mum and I had mixed emotions about this days journey.

The train moved on through a stunning landscape. Still dry and arid, we passed through wooded valleys, with trees dressed in yellow and red leaves, reminding me of the British Autumn. Distant temples perched atop of hills and Amanda and I realised we were closest we would come to the border with Myanmar, which lay beyond the mountain range to our west.

Arriving at the end of the line at Namtok, everyone disembarked at the station, surrounded by a small collection of buildings, some to continue their journey onward to their resort, or excursion and others like us, to get fed and watered.
With only 25 mins before the train was set to depart on the return journey, we made a mistake in a) not bringing enough snacks and b) going to a ‘restaurant’ where there were only two staff members - one cook and one waiter.
A group of tourists had arrived simultaneously and the lady took orders from all. We realised we had gone about it wrongly. Ordering the wrong type of food from a place that did its best to give us our order as take away but simply couldn’t cope. Our fault mainly. We were a bit tired and hungry and our judgement failed. We ended up with one item from our order, a totally impractical red curry, in a bag that arrived and was thrust at us in a bag as we had to run for the train! The hot curry sloshing around whilst climbing onto a slowly departing train pulling away was not the best way to leave. Flustered and a tad grumpy, we were thankful to the man who sold donuts on the return journey. He had been working on the trains selling donuts since he was a teenager and we were thankful for his doughy, sugary snacks (that helped pacify the ‘hangries’) as well as his happy smile.
The journey back that afternoon was much quieter. With less people and Amanda and I in contemplative mood, we relaxed and dozed as the landscape passed by.
Kanchanaburi province was indeed a beautiful place and one that I wish we had more time to explore.
Maybe one day.Baca lagi