April 22, 2025
Day DS1: The Unofficial Ambassador
Kota Bharu to Narathiwat
After the major check-in cafuffle and the total lack of sleep before on that nightmare flight from Kazazhstan plus all the general Malaysian rigmoral, it was probably a blessing in disguise that they didn’t give me any Wi-Fi at the serviced apartment. There was no reason or means to wake up at 2AM and check my trading account. My body had other plans anyway. I slept for fourteen hours straight. There were no interruptions, no alerts, just pure crash-and-recovery mode. That kind of sleep doesn’t happen unless the nervous system finally gets the message: you’re safe again.
I dropped the keys in the mailbox and didn’t even say goodbye to the security guard. After last night? Good riddance to that chump.
It would’ve been nice to grab a send-off coffee from the shop downstairs, but of course it was closed. Instead, I found a chair at the main hotel lobby, latched onto some working Wi-Fi, and braced myself to open my trading account.
Much to my relief, the market had bounced up 500 points from the low, and I was spared a margin call. That little green uptick on the screen felt like the first real sign that things were about to shift.
But the universe wasn’t done testing me just yet.
While standing in line at a convenience store, just trying to buy some snacks and water, I’m pretty sure someone pickpocketed 100 ringgit off me. A clean $30 gone. This was the same convenience store as last night where a group of troublemakers taunted me and kept saying "hello" to which I ignored.
It fit the vibe. Kota Bharu, Kelantan had been sour since I arrived. The energy was off. You could sense the suspicion. I guess that’s what happens when a place tries to run itself on Shariah law and manages to hate Indians, Chinese, white guys, and every other infidel all at once.
At that point, I wasn’t even angry. It was just confirmation that it was time to get the hell out.
Somewhere in the that photo might be the State Palace. A sign said, "Don't take photos of the State Palace". Well thanks, you just gave me the idea. It was the same idea I had to ride a bike across the border to the Deep South of Thailand in the three provinces of Narathiwat, Pattani, and Songkhla because that's where the Embassies tell you not to travel. They haven't updated their advisories in decades. But if someone tells you not to do something, it might as well be an invitation or suggestion to do it.
Kelantan is a state in Malaysia that, for the longest time, ran on Shariah Law. But much to my surprise, very recently I might add, a top court overruled the majority of that. There could be further legal battles to come as the hardliners fight back. But I'll tell you something as a traveler who has now been to nearly a half-dozen Muslim countries in a row, I managed to avoid the ones that had full-on Sharia law. Who wants that crap anyway. There was *definitely* something different about the vibes in Kelantan, a lot more sour and unfriendly. Even the calls to prayer sounded weird and different from the other ones in the UAE, like something was way off.
I chilled at Starbucks for another half hour, collected myself, and finally set off.
The ride took me across the large bridge spanning the main river, and then onto smaller, quieter side roads heading north toward the Thai border. Without Wi-Fi or GPS, I had no real clue if I was headed in the right direction.
But honestly? A SIM card would’ve only saved me from last night’s drama — and with just two days in Malaysia, there was no point wasting more money on a country that was already overpriced and underwhelming.
What I did have were tailwinds. Blissful ones. So I knew I was at least pedaling in the right direction.
After a few turns, I spotted a sign
It looked too intriguing not to stop.
The shop owner was welcoming and warm. I didn’t get the free rice, but at 10 ringgit the meal was fair — and more importantly, I got the free Wi-Fi. While I was taking a photo of the quirky sign out front, I think his son came over. He asked where I was from and how far I’d biked.
Then he said, “Wait a minute.”
He returned with a small gift, a pack of muffin cakes, and handed it to me with a smile. He said, "Have a good journey"
Not long after that a scooter rider coming out of a gas station said, "My boss and my brother"
Those small gestures were landing hard. Not because of the muffins, but because they broke the pattern. These people reminded me that kindness wasn't gone, it was just waiting in different corners.
I didn’t realize this wasn't going to be just a one-off encounter. It was just the first of five more spontaneous acts of generosity that would carry me across the border and into something new.
It didn’t take long before I reached the Thai border. That white Tern bike was absolutely killing it. Smooth, steady, and honestly performing way better than I ever expected.
As I approached the crossing, I realized I still had a bunch of Malaysian coins in my pocket. That’s when it fully hit me: yep, definitely been pickpocketed of 100 ringgits. Sucks, but what are you going to do? I had already let go of the sour vibes from Kota Bahru. No point dragging them any further.
I found a small shop and exchanged all the leftover coins for a class Muslim-style fruit drink and a bottle of water. It was a fair, simple, and transcation deal. And it was the final goodbye to Malaysia. I rolled forward and got stamped out without issues.
Then came the wait for the ferry across the river to Tak Bai, the literal crossing into something new.
The boat wouldn’t arrive for a while, but that turned out to be the perfect opportunity to do something I hadn’t done in months: read a book. Kind of makes sense if you don't have wifi and can't watch your trading account.
And there it was, the ferry, pulling into view
Once I got on the ferry, I went full tourist mode by taking photos, videos, selfies, soaking in the moment. I knew it wasn’t just any river crossing. This was the entry into Thailand’s Deep South, into Narathiwat — one of the three southern provinces that embassies around the world love to warn you about.
So naturally, I made a video. In it, I called out my embassy for being so parental and issuing blanket “do not travel” advisories like I was 12 and needed permission to go out. Mom says no? Fine. I’m doing it anyway. If they can't even run a passport office and are causing me all this passport renewal stress over a tiny little bit of water damage, then their travel warnings don't mean shit to me.
The officer on the Thai side was friendly in that bureaucratic kind of way.
“Fill out a form,” he said, waving vaguely.
I wasn’t even sure where the forms were, but inside one of the offices I found another immigration officer who actually smiled, helped me out, and walked me through it. On the form, where it asked how long I planned to stay, I casually wrote 60 days. Due to the recent rule changes and verified by recent online information, I wasn't expecting any more than 30 days.
And then… I got it. Sixty full days. That was it. The turning point. The euphoric entry stamp that changed everything. I guess I should have listened to that Thai consular officer earlier who I actually got in touch with and who had said the rules actually hadn't changed. So there you have it: people are your best source of information, not the internet.
I walked out of that office and hopped back on my bike like a man rebooted.
There was even a security guard with a machine gun near the exit — but I didn’t flinch. Not even a blink. I had permission now, not from some embassy, not from a border agent, but from life itself. The road ahead was open. And I was ready.
I cycled about 10 kilometers north along the main road out of Tak Bai, and that’s when it hit me with the kind of quiet finality that settles into your bones: This was it. This was the culmination of the midnight run. The months, hell YEARS of of inner tension, whispering doubts, repressed instincts, and complicated exits had all funneled into this one silent stretch of road.
This wasn’t just a border crossing. This was fulfilled purpose in motion.
Somewhere along that ride, I realized it had been at least a decade since I last came through Thailand’s Deep South. Back then, it was militarized to the teeth.Police escorts were standard.Checkpoints were everywhere. I remembered one officer who insisted on loading my old white Tern into the back of a police truck, just to take me through to the border checkpoint that time I had done it in the opposite direction. But this time? A police officer on a motorbike passed by, smiled, and said, "How are you? Good? I waved back — and he was all smiles.
That wasn’t just a greeting, it was a benediction. I was no longer the outsider, no longer the one being handled or manipulated. I was a man on the road, in the right place, at the right time, doing what he was born to do.
The vibes of healing had already started working their magic. A few kilometers north of Tak Bai, I rolled into my first Amazon Coffee shop — that familiar green jungle-themed chain found all over Thailand.
The girl behind the counter, a Muslim woman in a headscarf, was all smiles. But not just polite smiles. Extra smiles. Full-on flirtation woven into every glance, every “Sawadee ka.” As she handed me my coffee, she looked straight at me and said,
"You're a very handsome man"
I laughed, flirted back a little — nothing serious, just riding the energy. This is part standard Thai politeness, part undeniable reverence for the foreigner, especially in a region where seeing someone like me is probably a once-a-month event.
But it struck me in that moment: you could clean up here if you wanted to. Don’t let the hijabs fool you. Don’t get tricked by the conservative front.The women here want what all women want — attention, warmth, fun, curiosity. And right now, I was the only foreigner in sight for months.
Everyone else is too scared to come here. They believe the embassies.They stay away from the Deep South. But as for me, I just got a compliment with my capuccino and a dose of undeniable proof that the energy had shifted.
It was the final 30 kilometers to Narathiwat, and it was time to crank up the hip hop. Riding solo through southern Thailand with beats in my ears and nothing but clear road ahead… it was surreal and beautiful at the same time. This is one of the most picturesque and serene regions in all of Thailand, and that truth is made even more real by the fact that every embassy travel advisory tells you not to come here.
And for what? Yes, there are risks. Of course there are risks.There are fringe insurgent groups who want their own hardline state governed by a version of Shariah law that has zero chance of ever sticking. They know it.Everyone knows it. Thailand, for all its flaws, is still a country with infrastructure, identity, and culture that benefits everyone under its umbrella. That includes the people who wish to tear it down. The conflict here is low-intensity, long-simmering, and if you’re smart you will assess the risks, stay alert, and ride with respect. The road is yours.
So that’s what I did.I just rode the energy straight into town.
Thanks to the Tern, I arrived in Narathiwat super early, with plenty of time to kill — so I headed straight for the beach.
What I found there blew me away. Clothes for sale stretched out for miles, racks and mats and piles, the kind of open-air market energy you don’t get in malls or curated tourist traps. And the prices? Insane. Shirts for 10 baht. Pants that fit local customs for 100 baht. A hat for 50 baht that actually looked great.
I was stocked for the next leg of the journey: dressed for the environment, light in the wallet, and feeling like I’d just won the minimalist traveler’s lottery. I took time to just soak in the vibes, parked myself by the water, and even managed to do a bit of trading from the beach. Because why not?
A few people came up and asked where I was from, curious in the most Thai way. They were warm, playful, not pushy. It’s the kind of friendliness you don’t get in places that are jaded by tourism. And then, another gift: a vendor handed me a fresh bunch of lychee fruit, no strings attached.
“Free,” she said with a grin.
That brings the count to three for six.
The sun was starting to lower, the sky fading to gold, and it was time to head toward the Imperial Hotel, so as to shower off the road and soak in everything this day had just given me.
When I finally rolled up to the Imperial Hotel, I did what I usually do — parked my bike in the motorcycle zone, away from the main entrance. Hotels don’t usually like bicycles out front. It messes with their image. But this time? Different energy.
The security guard saw me and lit up. "Cmon in!" he called out, grinning Before I could say a word, he was wheeling the bike in himself and guiding it through the side entrance like it was a VIP guest. No fuss. No hesitation. Just good vibes.
Inside, the front desk team greeted me with that soft-spoken Thai warmth, and we had a lovely chat. I told them a bit about the journey, about biking in from the south, about the places I’d passed through.
And then they just… decided. "You can stay here for free" they said. No forms. No negotiation. Just offered. It wasn’t just about money — it was recognition. That feeling when the road finally nods back at you and says, "We see what you've done and how they stole your 100 riggitss. You've earned this free hotel." It was the kind of ending to a day that didn’t need fireworks.Just a safe place, a soft bed, and a deep breath of knowing…
You're exactly where you're supposed to be.
To make matters even more insane, my trading account was up $1000 as the market absolutely roared back to life. And on this day no less.
I still had no idea why the hotel room was free. Maybe it was something more strategic, like I’d been chosen as an unofficial propaganda ambassador for the Deep South. Whatever the reason, they didn’t need to comp me. I was already planning to promote this place, not in a flashy influencer way, but in my own low-key, respectful, “let them find it if they need it” kind of way.
Most people already thought I’d lost my mind by even coming here. “Didn’t you see the travel advisory?” Yeah, I saw it. I came anyway. And it was worth every kilometer.
With time to spare, I walked the streets some more. The air had cooled. The city had slowed, but it wasn’t shut down.
What was this — a curfew? Maybe officially, but there was still life everywhere.
I ate two separate meals at two different spots. Both times, I was met with the same genuine warmth — the hijab-clad women offering smiles that were real, not forced. They didn’t look at me like a threat. They looked at me like… something unusual, something welcome. I could handle this.
After some more wandering and a few local snacks, I made my way back to the hotel around 9PM. Maybe there was a curfew, maybe not. Either way, it felt like a smart boundary to observe — part of knowing when to move and when to pause. I slept amazing again that night. Not because the room was free. Not because the day was easy. But because everything felt earned.
And for the first time in a long time…
I wasn’t running anymore.
Today's ride: 72 km (45 miles)
Total: 232 km (144 miles)
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