Just when I thought we had experienced the ultimate transit challenge with our 30-hour bus ride to Laos, the universe decided to test our physical endurance once again. Our backpacking journey was far from over; it was time to cross into our third country: Thailand.
Our expedition continued via railway, but if you are imagining a plush, comfortable sleeper train where you can stretch your legs and gently doze off, you are completely mistaken. We booked tickets for an economy-class train. When we boarded the carriage and found our assigned spots at around 6:00 PM, my heart sank just a little bit.
The seats were designed with absolutely zero regard for human anatomy. The backrests were stiff, unforgiving, and positioned at an agonizingly perfect 90-degree angle. There was no reclining, no soft cushioning, and barely any legroom to adjust our tired bodies.
Knowing that we were going to be trapped in these perfectly upright seats for the next 12 hours was a tough pill to swallow. As the train’s whistle blew and we began to roll out of the station, the reality of the night set in. Trying to sleep was an absolute comedy of errors.
I would close my eyes, finally drift off for about ten minutes, and then immediately wake up because my head violently bobbed forward or my neck started cramping. We constantly shifted in our seats, trying to lean on our backpacks, resting our heads on our folded arms, or awkwardly slumping against the windows. It was a long, restless night filled with the rhythmic clacking of the tracks and the collective groans of backpackers trying to find a comfortable position that simply didn't exist.
After an incredibly long and punishing night, the morning sun finally began to peek through the train windows. At exactly 6:00 AM, the train screeched to a halt at a major railway station in Thailand. We grabbed our heavy backpacks, our bodies stiff and aching in places we didn't even know could ache, and stumbled out onto the platform.
Before we could even think about exploring the city, we desperately needed to feel human again. We were groggy, sweaty, and our mouths tasted like a 12-hour train ride. We immediately marched as a group toward the station's public restrooms. We lined up at the sinks, pulled out our toiletries, and began our morning ritual.
Brushing our teeth, splashing freezing cold water on our faces, and emptying our bladders right there in the middle of a busy Thai transit hub felt unbelievably refreshing. It was a chaotic, unglamorous backpacker moment, but washing away the grime of the overnight journey gave us the sudden burst of energy we needed to face the day.
Once we were somewhat cleaned up, we gathered around our mentors outside the station. It was time to figure out our next move. Our accommodation was still quite far away, and a serious discussion began on how we were going to get there.
The mentors stood in a circle, debating our options. Option A was to order several Grab cars. My aching shoulders and sleep-deprived brain were internally screaming, "Yes! Please, let's just take a Grab!" It would have been fast, air-conditioned, and effortless. Option B, however, was to navigate the local public transportation system.
After a few minutes of intense deliberation, calculating budgets, and considering the educational aspect of the trip, the verdict was delivered. We were taking public transit. I let out a quiet sigh, adjusted the heavy straps of my backpack, and prepared my legs for more walking.
Our journey to the accommodation turned into a multi-step marathon. First, we had to walk from the railway station to the nearest MRT station. Carrying two massive bags while navigating the unfamiliar, bustling morning streets of Thailand was a massive shock to the system.
We finally made it to the MRT, bought our tokens, and enjoyed the glorious, freezing blast of the subway air conditioning for a few stops. But the subway wasn't our final mode of transport. After exiting the MRT, we were introduced to one of the most unique and thrilling public transportation systems in the world. For your information, Bangkok has an incredibly extensive network of canals and rivers, and locals use massive passenger boats to bypass the notorious city traffic.
We walked to a nearby pier and waited. When the long wooden boat roared toward the dock, the water violently splashed against the concrete. We had to quickly jump on board before it sped off again. Riding the river boat was an absolute sensory overload. The engine was deafeningly loud, the wind whipped through our hair, and a fine mist of canal water occasionally splashed our faces. It was gritty, fast-paced, and incredibly exciting. Using a boat to travel long distances through the heart of a massive metropolis was a brilliant experience and easily made up for the pain of the 90-degree train seats.
After jumping off the boat at our designated pier, we still couldn't check into our accommodation because we were way too early. Thankfully, we found a local mosque nearby. As backpackers, mosques are not just places of worship; they are the ultimate sanctuaries.
We took off our shoes, dropped our impossibly heavy bags on the floor, and collapsed in the quiet, shaded corners of the mosque. But the greatest discovery of the morning was the mosque's water dispenser. We eagerly lined up, pulling out our empty tumblers, and chugged down the crisp, cold, free water. We rested there for a couple of hours, enjoying the peace and quiet, until we finally got the green light that our rooms were ready.
We marched in our assigned groups to the accommodation, hauled our luggage inside, and finally claimed our beds. Just taking the backpack off my shoulders felt like gravity had suddenly been turned off. But there was no time to sleep just yet. We quickly washed up, changed into fresh clothes, and headed back outside to explore our new neighborhood.
As we walked around, looking at the street food vendors and local shops, a sudden realization hit me: I didn't have a single Thai Baht in my pocket. I couldn't buy anything. I immediately excused myself and hunted down the nearest ATM to withdraw some cash.
I had mentally calculated my budget and decided to withdraw 2,000 Baht, which was roughly equivalent to 1,000,000 Indonesian Rupiah at the time. I planned for this amount to somehow last me for the entire three weeks we were going to spend in Thailand. It was going to be a very tight financial challenge. However, right around the time I made the withdrawal, my mother—perhaps sensing my impending struggles from miles away—kindly transferred an additional 500 Baht to my account. That unexpected top-up brought my total physical cash to 2,500 Baht, or roughly 1,250,000 Rupiah.
Having that thick stack of colorful Baht notes in my wallet gave me a huge sense of relief. But I knew I had to be smart. I made a strict mental rule right then and there: physical cash was strictly for street food, local markets, and emergencies. For everything else, I had a strategic backup plan. Thailand is packed with modern convenience stores and massive supermarkets that accept international cards. Whenever I needed to buy groceries, snacks, or daily necessities, I would heavily rely on my debit card. By funneling my major expenses through my card, I could protect my physical cash and ensure that my 2,500 Baht would comfortably survive the next three weeks.
With my wallet full, my transit marathon complete, and my strategy locked in, I walked back out onto the vibrant streets of Thailand, completely ready for whatever this new country was going to throw at me.