We set off at dawn, before the island had fully cleared its throat. Phuket at this hour is all soft edges: fishermen rinsing decks, monks walking the roadside, the sea holding its breath. The dogs – Basil and Polly – stood on the back seat, noses twitching, convinced that every passing motorbike carried smelly food treats specifically for them. As I drove, my battered mountain bike rattled reassuringly on its rack, and the Andaman coast ahead beckoned like an unfolding dream.
Driving in Phuket is an exercise in concentration which borders on the yogic. You breathe deeply, you anticipate, you accept impermanence – particularly of lane markings and codes of safe behaviour! Motorbikes appear from nowhere, then disappear just as quickly, often transporting entire families, white goods, or improbable lengths of piping. The dogs regarded all this with a keen professional interest. Jack Russells are nothing if not connoisseurs of chaos.
I intended to stop often wherever there was a beguiling biking or yoga spot. That’s the luxury of having no real destination beyond “somewhere pleasant to cycle and breath deeply.”
Once north of the airport, our first such locale was Micky Monkey Beach at Mai Khao. I walked the doggies, then tethered them to a shady palm, unloaded my bike and set off to loop the quiet lake keeping to as much shade as possible. Cycling here was an intimate act: legs turning, breath syncing with the smell of hot tarmac and sea air. The Andaman was always nearby, flashing silver traces through the palms like an encouraging mistress.
The dogs don’t cycle, obviously. They supervise. From the shade. Loudly. Jack Russells have strong views on everything and feel compelled to share them with passing cows, chickens, and occasionally monks. When the ride was done – shorter than planned, heat being the ultimate authority – we reconvened at the car for copious rehydration, doggie treats then some yogic stretches by the beach under the palm fronds.
I rolled out my mat, dropped into the ‘downward facing dog’ pose and immediately found myself accompanied by two actual dogs who believed the pose was an invitation rather than a metaphor. Polly attempted to lick my ear in encouragement, while Basil sat sedately on my mat radiating the serene confidence of a being who knows he has a deep connection to the cosmos!
Stunning vista
As evening beckoned, we drove across the Sarasin Bridge and north along the Andaman coast. The scenery shifted subtly, as Phuket’s maniacal frenzy faded into Phang Nga’s quieter latitudes. We took the quieter road which hugs Natai Beach along the coast, occasionally glimpsing lovely sea vistas. At dusk we arrived at Thai Mueang’s glorious beach and the dogs suddenly became quiet. Even Jack Russells recognised a stunning vista.
Life on the road with dogs imposes a certain rhythm. You don’t rush. You have to be flexible and you learn the location of shady cafés tolerant of muddy paws. You measure days not in kilometres, but in swims, rides, yogic stretches, and naps. Cycling keeps you honest. Yoga keeps you flexible. The dogs keep you laughing, usually at yourself.
Two days later when we looped back into Phuket, the car was dustier, the dogs leaner and my hamstrings marginally more cooperative. The island welcomed us back with traffic and the familiar chaos of home. I parked, unloaded, and sat for a moment with the engine off, listening to the ticking silence.
Travel, I’ve learned, doesn’t need grand gestures. Sometimes it’s enough to drive slowly, cycle often, stretch where you can, and share the road with two ebullient doggies who believe that every journey is improved by barking at it.
Up the Andaman coast, with the endless silver sea, my two Jackies and my yoga mat, that was more than enough for me.