The Journey With No Return Ticket: Seven Months in Thailand

Up until twelve years ago, I was following the usual path. At 20, I went on the traditional post-army trip to India, then started studying Computer Science and Information Systems. After graduating, I moved out and began working in tech.

Three years later, I changed jobs, and during that time I met Roman, who is now my husband. We both worked full-time, flew abroad a few times a year, and enjoyed weekend hikes.

Life was good, but something felt missing. On a trip to Georgia, where we did a nine-day trek, we kept thinking how amazing it would be to travel like that with no time limits and do something different in life, something beyond tech.

We started having serious talks and realized this was truly what we wanted: to quit our jobs and travel the world with no return ticket.

It wasn’t a spontaneous decision. We planned, calculated, made spreadsheets, and decided: in one year and two months, we would quit and buy a one-way ticket to Thailand. During that year, we lived on a tight budget, saved every shekel, and also got married, because how could I tell my parents we were leaving everything behind without a ring on my finger?

We kept the plan to ourselves until three months before leaving, then finally told family, work, and friends. There was some drama and tears, mostly from our moms, but in the end, everyone understood.

We sold our car and all our furniture and left with two backpacks. We arrived in Bangkok exhausted from flights and jet lag. Bangkok has many things to do, markets, temples, and crazy themed cafes. We spent days wandering the city, searching for street food stalls based on recommendations from Mark Wiens, a famous food blogger.

Navigating Bangkok wasn’t easy, the streets and alleys are confusing, sometimes you need to take the BTS skytrain or a boat, and Google Maps wasn’t always accurate. More than once, we arrived after closing or when the best dishes were sold out. But when we found them, it was worth every moment.

After Bangkok, we spent three weeks on the islands and decided this would be our “honeymoon month” (even though we got married six months earlier). Which meant: comfort. Nice hotels, a pampering resort, amazing food, constant fruit shakes, daily massages (mostly for me), a full moon party, and beautiful beaches. We knew that the next month we’d be more budget-conscious.

After a month of beachside relaxation, which was also our honeymoon, we flew to Chiang Mai in northern Thailand. We wanted to experience a more local and authentic side of Thailand. While searching online, I found a blog about volunteering on a farm up north. It spoke to me, so I suggested we try it.

We emailed the farm owner, got a positive reply, and went for it. The journey was tough — three hours on winding mountain roads, and I had a bad stomach. When we arrived, we found basic living conditions: bamboo huts, mattresses on the floor, squat toilets, bucket showers, no A/C or fan, and temperatures over 30 degrees by day and just 6 at night. I slept with two coats and five blankets to stay warm.

The farm owner, a former Buddhist monk, shared his tribal and spiritual heritage with us. He gave us a rulebook including “don’t talk too much” and “only talk about the present” — rules I often broke. Each day began at 6 AM with tea or coffee, followed by yoga, stretching, and meditation at the temple or on a hilltop. We worked the land, ate meals prepared by the owner’s wife, and in the evenings, listened to Buddhist stories with the owner.

We met amazing people from around the world, including a girl from Spain and a guy from Australia. Some stayed a day or two, others months. We stayed ten days. At first, I wanted to leave after one night because it was so cold and uncomfortable. But the experience was so deep and unique that I stayed.

No distractions, no internet, just nature and my thoughts. I learned how little it takes to feel fulfilled. I’m not sure I’ll do it again, but I try to carry with me the lessons about appreciating what I have and enjoying life’s simple things.

After ten days on the farm, we decided to continue to Pai, Thailand. There was a bus, but Roman wanted to make it more interesting by walking there and sleeping in villages along the way. The farm owner, Jim, said it was about 60 kilometres and doable in 2–3 days. He drew us a map with remote villages that didn’t appear on any tourist guides and told us to ask the village chief in Ban Plaong for a place to stay.

We set off early at 5:30 AM, walking through quiet and beautiful scenery. At first, everything went smoothly, villages appeared as on the map, and locals helped us find our way. But soon, the area changed. There were fewer homes, fewer people, many unmarked crossroads, and we lost track of the right path. We started worrying about reaching Pai before dark.

After several hours, we saw a village in the distance, maybe Ban Plaong. We found a small noodle stand to eat at, and locals began gathering around, curious to see Western tourists in such a remote place. Nobody spoke English, and there were no guesthouses. We tried to explain we needed a place to sleep using hand gestures. Luckily, a young man who spoke some English offered to help. He took us to his mother’s wooden house on the village edge, laid out mattresses, and invited us to stay.

Roman went to shower with a bucket outside while I sat quietly on the mattress. The mother and her friend tried talking to me, but the language barrier was tough. Later, the young man returned with friends, and we all sat on the kitchen floor drinking whiskey and sharing snacks. The father and sister joined, and the mother served us dinner. Despite the lack of common language, the evening felt natural and peaceful, an authentic experience.

In the morning, a friend who spoke a bit of English told us Pai was 80 kilometres away, not 60 as Jim had said. After breakfast, a simple meal made by the mother who gave us bananas for the road, we tried to pay, but they refused. These people had so little but gave so much. We left some money and started walking again.

After an hour, we hitchhiked a ride to another village. We walked for two more hours, got another ride, and reached a marked spot. But again, locals said Pai was still 80 kilometres away. We began realizing distances in this area were not what we expected.

Finally, a group of photographers gave us a ride over an hour to a main road. Roman thought we might be close, but Google Maps said otherwise, 60 kilometres still to go. Accepting it was time to stop, we flagged down a local minibus and reached Pai by afternoon.

We were exhausted from the heat, walking, and confusion, but left with one of the most memorable experiences of our trip. What started as a simple idea to walk turned into a lesson about adventure and patience.

From Pai, we continued our journey overland to Laos.

In the end, this journey wasn’t just about travel or a change in geography, but about a conscious choice to live differently — to let go of what’s familiar and comfortable, and make space for curiosity, simplicity, and uncertainty.

Thailand was the perfect place to begin. Not every moment was easy or planned, but over time, we realized that the real value lies in the unknown and in the willingness to keep going even without a clear direction.

Our trip lasted seven months and changed my life. It’s where my travel blog was born, which later became our business, and it’s also where we truly understood the kind of lifestyle we’re looking for and what really makes us happy.

Today we live in Cyprus with our two amazing daughters, and I have no doubt that soon we’ll head out together on our special journey through Asia.