Today was shaping up to be a busy one.  But in true Thai fashion, any hard work must come with generous breaks. It’s practically cultural law.

I woke up late (standard operating procedure), only to be greeted by a scene that looked like a luggage explosion had gone off in the room. There were two pannier bags, two backpacks, and an avalanche of random gear I’d picked up the night before at Jen’s friend’s place downtown.

It was peak chaos.But strangely, I wasn’t panicked—just calmly overwhelmed. Like, “Yes, this is insane, but I can fix it.”

Just getting that gear was a whole wild side quest in itself… 

For some reason, I thought hiring a driver would “save time.”Classic mistake.

Instead of cutting through Bangkok like a local ninja on a bike, we crawled through all the worst roads the city had to offer. My plan was to hit up a fitness class first… but Bangkok traffic had other ideas. Class canceled. Schedule nuked.

So I pivoted and headed straight to Jen’s friend’s place directly, the one where her stuff had been stored since that unforgettable saga of immigration detention and deportation (Thailand really gave her the full VIP exit package).

Her friend was super chill. Handed me the bags and said, “Hey, thanks for doing this. Also—we’re hosting a social event tonight near Nana if you’re around.”I was like, “Sure, why not? Sounds better than brooding about traffic.”

And since the workout was a bust, I treated myself to a massage instead—Thailand’s unofficial coping mechanism.

Then came the social event. Absolute gem. Easily 10x better than those awkward meetups I’ve been to in Bangkok before where everyone stays in their cliques and pretends that networking is fun. This one? Good people, good vibes, good drinks. Big win.

I must’ve looked like an absolute legend—or a walking contradiction—lugging a girly backpack and a cardboard box through massage parlors and social mixers. But hey, this is Bangkok. No one bats an eye. You could walk down Sukhumvit dressed as a pineapple and still get offered a SIM card and a foot massage.

Eventually, I hired yet another car to haul this growing mountain of stuff back to base. That’s when reality set in: I now officially owned more chaos than luggage.

Waking up the next morning to this heap of bags, boxes, and mysterious items from another person’s life, I knew I had to face it. So I gave myself an hour—just one—to dive in and start sorting. Not to finish it, just to generate enough momentum to stop the anxiety from building into an avalanche.  Sometimes, the key to surviving travel isn’t strategy. It’s just starting.

Things took an even more random turn—because of course they did.

Right before all the chaos with the luggage acrobatics, I ran into Ross outside the hotel. Total chance encounter. We clicked immediately.  This guy had no plans, wanted to get his bearings, and quickly realized I wasn’t just passing through…I was basically local.

When I mentioned I was heading to Big C to “deal with some banking crap,” he perked up:“Mind if I tag along?”

Sure, why not. Turns out my “banking crap” involved proving my real name matched my SIM card registration, then showing a receipt to the bank so they wouldn’t freeze my account.

Why? Because in modern-day Thailand, if your name doesn’t match up, they think you’re running a scam factory for a shady operation in Myanmar. No joke. The government’s cracking down on mule accounts and apparently, I look too efficient to be innocent.

Ross was fascinated. He watched me navigate the whole thing like some kind of expat Jason Bourne:bank receipts, Thai ID protocols, anti-money-laundering acrobatics—all before dinner.

We agreed to meet the next day for beers back at the hotel. Because when you accidentally become someone’s Bangkok mentor, you don’t leave them hanging.

With the clock ticking and my Thailand exit looming, I crafted the ultimate pre-exit battle plan:  equal parts logistics, cardio, and barely-contained chaos.

Step 1:  Crush an F45 fitness class.Because nothing says "I'm ready to flee the country" like sweating through burpees at 12:15pm

Step 2:  Hop on a motorbike taxi straight to ProBike.My trusty Tern folding bike had been rehabbed and was finally ready for pickup.  No time for traffic—this was a two-wheels-only mission.

Step 3: Ride the Tern all the way back  to Sananwan Palace like some kind of budget triathlete.   25 km

Step 4: Finish packing the hurricane zone of gear still exploding across my room.

Step 5: Meet Ross for our long-awaited farewell beers. Because even on evacuation day, there’s time for a proper send-off.

Step 6: Both of us grab a cab to the nearby airport.

Because, yes—I had to leave Thailand that day. No extensions, no take-backs, no “one more night.” This was it. The final ride, the final rep, the final beer... all before wheels-up.

Amazingly, everything unfolded with military-level precision.

The F45 workout? Crushed.The Tern bike? Fixed up beautifully but the left pedal bearings couldn't get a complete fix.  The shop didn’t have the parts but shrugged and said,“Come back anytime—just give us a heads-up after your visa resets.”

Translation: See you soon, yo-yo man.

Huge win either way. One more excuse to bike across the city like a courier in an action movie.

And speaking of returns—I’ll also need to cycle back to Si Racha, my official “home branch,” because apparently, getting a new passport triggers some banking ritual where they need to stare at you in person and bless your documents.

Fine. I’ll add that to the return tour. Thailand clearly isn’t done with me yet.

After wrapping up the last of my Thailand side quests, I hit the road on the Tern bike and immediately regretted it.

Bangkok traffic on a Friday?  Good luck.  Even on a bike, it was pure, unrelenting mayhem. Total gridlock. Motorbikes weaving, cars honking, street chaos cranked to 11. Somehow, it’s even worse than I remembered—and that’s saying something.  There were several accidents I saw too.

Eventually, I reached my breaking point. I needed a breather. And right then, like a mirage of sanity at the end of Sukhumvit, I spotted a Buddy’s Bar—a branch I swear I’d never noticed before, despite biking this stretch a dozen times.

I walked into the bar and bellied on up to the table.  I barely had time to blink before I was welcomed by Miles, a retired expat from Long Island with the energy of a barstool philosopher and the voice of a guy who hasn’t lost an argument in 40 years.

“Great day to be alive, huh? Best day we’ve had in ages. Welcome to Buddy’s!” 

Solid opener. I echoed the sentiment.

Then, with zero hesitation, he hit me with,“You’re a Yank, aren’t ya?”

I chuckled. “Actually Canadian… but honestly, even Americans think I’m American, so I’ve stopped correcting people.”He laughed like that confirmed something deeper.

Next breath—no transition—he goes:“We’re just inches away from World War III, can you believe it? That Netanyahu’s a terrorist.”

Aaaaand there it was. From "cheers to life!" to "brace for apocalypse!" in under sixty seconds.Buddy’s Bar: where small talk takes a sharp left.

I wasn’t about to start a geopolitical debate.  This was Buddy’s Bar in Bangkok, not the goddamn UN roundtable. Miles could believe whatever he wanted. I just nodded, smiled, and steered the convo into safer waters.

We found some more neutral topics, but I knew I couldn’t linger. Time was ticking, and the Bangkok traffic beast was still out there… waiting.  So I said my goodbyes, saddled up, and dove back into the chaos.

It was hell. Absolute vehicular hell.  But somehow I made it. Sweaty, slightly broken, and spiritually drained, I rolled up to my spot and said the words every traveler mutters at least once in Thailand:

“I’m done with this bicycle.”

But of course, I wasn’t done. Packing still loomed, and Ross was already chomping at the bit for those farewell beers. So I did what any half-sane traveler would do: crammed the rest of my stuff together as best I could and started hauling it out to the poolside like a sweaty nomad on moving day.

Ross, naturally, traveled with nothing but a backpack and a Zen-like calm. Now that is the endgame. Light, lean, and unbothered. He’s at least 20 years older than me, in annoyingly good shape, and basically living proof that you can eventually exit the chaos with dignity.

Me? I’m still in transition—lugging around emotional baggage and 30kg of physical crap. It’s wearing me down. The stress, the constant motion, the weight gain… yeah, it’s all starting to show. And let’s be honest: the beers probably aren't helping either.

In the end, it all came together. The guesthouse agreed to store my three bags and both folding bikes—an absolute lifesaver. I felt genuinely grateful. At some point, out of both courtesy and practicality, I’ll need a real plan to clear it all out… but for now, this was a godsend.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the truth: after more than 20 years, things were circling the drain at that guesthouse. This place just wasn’t a sustainable base anymore—for a dozen reasons. The vibe had changed. 

But in that moment, I still deeply appreciated what they could offer: a final bit of support, a place to land, and a smooth exit. In fact, it was the smoothest departure yet—they called a taxi right on cue, and Ross and I hopped in like it was just another casual airport run.

It wasn't going to be that easy.  The traffic? It had gotten so bad it was backed up all the way to the guesthouse driveway—literally. Bangkok was doing its best to trap me one final time.

Thankfully, our driver was a total pro—local guy with shortcut superpowers. He took back alleys, mystery side streets, and turns so obscure even I had never seen them. The route was so meandering it felt like a secret level on a GPS you had to unlock.

But it worked. We actually made it to the airport early.Naturally, we tipped him like he’d just performed an exorcism on the Bangkok traffic gods.

Ross and I shared a few more laughs, one more story, and then it was time to part ways. I headed off to check in, and he disappeared into the departures hall—another character from the saga heading off to his next chapter.

Flying Emirates with a Vietnam visa in hand meant nobody batted an eye, despite the weird combo of gear I was checking in. Not a single question. Security? No issue either.

My only real concern was immigration, but turns out… I didn’t need to worry. Just like the pros at the immigration center in town weeks earlier told me: bring both passports, don’t chase extra stamps or extensions, and let them handle it.

And they did.

They called in a senior officer—clearly the boss—and she waved me over to a back corner like it was a VIP fast-track for bureaucratic oddballs. She flipped through both passports, muttered something, did a little backend wizardry, and stamped my new one with a retroactive entry from 60 days ago.

She even changed the port of entry to Tak Bai—which made her pause, glance at me sideways, and mutter “Narathiwat…” under her breath.

Translation:“What the hell was this foreigner doing way out in an insurgent zone?”

But in true Thai fashion, she shrugged it off.No drama. Two quiet stamps. One clean exit.

Mission complete.