Overland Journal Day 143-158: Laos Road Trip

After 143 days and 24.000 kilometers, we drive into Southeast Asia—marking the final chapter of our overland expedition. It’s time for a road trip through Laos. The transition is striking after China’s fast pace. Life here is slower, the roads are rougher, and tourists suddenly seem to be everywhere. Yet, Laos also feels familiar. We traveled here as backpackers seven years ago and recognize the emerald rice terraces, misty mountains, colonial towns, and dense jungle. But the torrential rain makes wild camping impossible, and among the backpackers, we feel a bit out of place. Maybe, for the first time on this journey, the fatigue of traveling is creeping in? Still, we’re not about to slow down. We have a goal, and we’re going to reach it!

From The Netherlands to Southeast Asia by car

After 143 days and 24.000 kilometers, we finally reach Southeast Asia. Crossing the border is easy—no complicated procedures like in China. A visa on arrival, a few stamps, and we’re in. It still feels surreal. For years, we took flights to this part of the world for vacations. And now we DROVE here. Let’s get it on with a Laos road trip. We’ll drive from north to south, heading to the border with Cambodia.

As we cross the border from China into Laos, our convoy erupts in cheers with high-fives all around. Who would have thought we’d make it this far? And so quickly, as well. In just five months, we’ve covered over two-thirds of the total distance. It’s amazing how much you can achieve when you give it your all.

Laos forces us to slow down. Life moves at a different pace here. The smooth Chinese highways are gone, replaced by cracked asphalt full of potholes—or worse, endless stretches of deep mud. And then there’s the rain. It just never stops. The infrastructure struggles to cope: dirt roads flood in minutes, landslides block the way, and power outages are constant. Everything is covered in mud: people, roads, cars, houses. There’s no escaping it.

Laos road trip: driving through the mud

We push through the muddy, broken roads of northern Laos. Bamboo huts on stilts flash by, and curious eyes follow us. Locals must be wondering what this grey Toyota with Dutch license plates—and two foreigners inside—is doing here. Honestly? We wonder the same. Are we chasing adventure? Are we really on our way to Singapore? Here, deep in the jungle, in the pouring rain and knee-deep mud, that goal feels more distant than ever. Even though we’ve never been this close.

But the views along the way make up for everything. The endless rain turns the rice terraces into a glowing green landscape. Mountains hide behind low hanging clouds, giving everything a mystical feel. And every now and then, a decorated, golden temple or a group of monks in orange robes appear, like something out of a dream.

Charelle takes the wheel and tackles the thick, sticky mud for the first time. She quickly realizes how slippery it is, with the car sliding left and right and suffering from a lot of oversteer. Marcel watches nervously, itching to take over. But Charelle knows by now: there’s only one way to learn. So she keeps going, slowly but determined. No crashes, no getting stuck. Though a little more practice wouldn’t hurt.

Travel fatigue and homesickness

The first days in Southeast Asia feel like a sudden shift. In Central Asia, we had total freedom. Pitching our tent anywhere, camping under the stars. Here, the rain is relentless, the heat is stifling, and the humidity makes every move sticky and exhausting. Wild camping? Not exactly appealing. In China, we covered hundreds of kilometers a day, racing from one world-famous sight to the next. Now, in Laos, progress is slow. After weeks of moving at full speed, it feels like we’ve hit the brakes.

For the first time on this journey, homesickness creeps in. We think more and more about life back home and catch ourselves wondering—what are we actually doing? Maybe we’re just feeling worn out? Still, quitting isn’t an option. Singapore is the goal, and we’re not about to stop now.

To recharge, we spend a few days in the Namkat Yorla Pa Resort, surrounded by bright green rice terraces. It’s low season, so luxury is surprisingly affordable. Our wooden bungalow hangs over a rushing river, hidden deep in the jungle. Rain taps softly on the roof as we get lost in books. We discover that swimming in the rain is oddly refreshing, lift weights in a jungle gym, and indulge in Laotian massages. And of course, we toast with cocktails and feast on lavish dinners. A little reset never hurts. Time to get back on the road.

Dancing in the rain

We no longer have visa deadlines hanging over us, yet we still feel an inexplicable urge to keep moving. Maybe we think a change of scenery will lift our mood? Or perhaps we’ve gotten so used to fast travel that we’re just pushing ahead without thinking? Whatever the reason, we cover a lot of ground heading south.

Along the way, we pass familiar places we visited 7 years ago as backpackers: Nong Khiaw and Luang Prabang. But this time we’re behind the wheel of our own car! The roads improve as we go, and we see more and more tourists.  Wide-eyed backpackers stare at our Dutch license plate, clearly wondering how on earth we got here. We can’t help but laugh at their puzzled looks. And we’re just as surprised to see them. After all, we haven’t seen another Westerner for weeks. It feels like we’ve entered a completely different world.

And eventually… we even get used to the rain. When a monsoon hits as we walk back to our hotel, we don’t even bother running. Instead, we play the song La Vie Est Belle by Diggy Dex, grab each other’s hands, and dance through the downpour. La vie really can be belle, even when it never stops raining.

Psychedelics in backpacker paradise Vang Vieng

Halfway between Luang Prabang and Vientiane lies Vang Vieng, a village once infamous for its wild parties and drug scene. Curiosity gets the better of us, so we decide to spend the night and see what’s left of it now.

In the evening, we head to Jaidee’s Bar, where a “special menu” circulates alongside the regular one. Happy Shakes, LSD, funky balls, ketamine… plenty of choice. Most backpackers in the bar dive right in. Before we know it, people are upside down on tables, completely out of this world. We have a great time in our corner, sipping on a beer and watching the spectacle unfold. How did we end up here?

A few weeks later, we hear that several backpackers have died in the village from alcohol poisoning. The news hits hard, especially knowing we were just there. One night in this crazy place is more than enough for us.

The next day, we continue to the Vientiane. French bakeries line the streets, and a Lao version of the Arc de Triomphe towers over the city. It’s amusing, but otherwise, not much happens in this sleepy capital. So we don’t linger long before moving on again.

Kong Lor Cave, the highlight of Laos

It’s one of those moments when our Lonely Planet flips open to the right page. Kong Lor Cave—one of the longest navigable river cave systems in the world—stares back at us. We don’t know much about it, but that’s the beauty of it. We’re in. 

By 8 a.m., we’re standing at the cave’s entrace, a narrow wooden boat bobbing gently in the water. We’re the first ones here. Our guide gives a quiet nod, fires up the engine, and just like that, we glide into total darkness. Even our headlamps seem to fade into nothing. It’s just the soft slap of water against the boat and the low hum of the engine echoing off the walls. For seven kilometers, we make our way through the black, the air cool and heavy, until a sliver of light breaks through. We emerge into a jungle-lined river, the world suddenly alive again. Kong Lor Cave turns out to be our highlight of the country.

Riding the Thakhek Loop on a motorbike

The Kong Lor Cave is part of the Thakhek Loop, a multiday 500-kilometer motorbike route that winds through Laos’ wild heart. Marcel doesn’t think twice—he’s on a Yamaha dirt bike before Charelle can even blink. Charelle sticks with our trusty Toyota 4Runner. If the bike can handle it, so can our car. And just like that, we’re a two-person convoy, rolling through rice paddies and limestone karsts like true overlanders.

The landscape is breathtaking, but it’s not without its ghosts. Over the past 15 years, dams have reshaped this place, flooding villages and forests to create a sprawling reservoir. Now, skeletal treetops claw at the sky, their roots drowned below. That evening, we rent a boat and drift across the still water, beers in hand. The captain points to where villages once stood. As the sun dips low, we dive into the cool water, swimming among the ghostly trees. It’s beautiful and eerie at the same time.

Laos to Cambodia: Asia’s Most Corrupt Border

After just 2.5 weeks in Laos, we set our sights on Cambodia. Somehow Laos doesn’t hit the same way it did seven years ago, but we know that’s more because of our state of mind than the place itself. There’s just one catch: we have no idea if we can cross the border into Cambodia with our car. Online info is scarce, except for one thing: this border is infamous for being the most corrupt in Asia. 

The Laotian side wastes no time living up to its reputation. Customs officers demand money just to stamp our passports. We hold our ground and refuse to pay, which slows things down but feels worth it. On the Cambodian side, everything changes. The staff are friendly and guide us through the paperwork. A few hours later, we’ve got our visas and the car’s temporary import sorted. We’re officially in! Soon we’ll be driving our own car to the iconic Angkor Wat temple. Wow, not many people from back home can say that they’ve done that.

Experiences of a lifetime

In just a few months, we’ve gathered experiences that would usually take a lifetime. It’s an incredible feeling, though at times a little overwhelming. The non-stop surprises and thrills we had before Laos, seem to have slowed down here. We catch ourselves reminiscing: “Remember that time in Kyrgyzstan? Or in China?”

After a few days, we realize that dwelling on the past isn’t helping us. Sure, this area is more touristy and less adventurous. And yes, with the rain, heat, and humidity, wild camping is often off the table. But it’s not about longing for the good times we’ve already had. It’s about being deeply grateful for those moments—and embracing everything Southeast Asia has to offer right now.

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