LAOS (6)
429 Km – 5 Days
13 – 18 September 2017
MAP
PHOTOS - LAOS
Prologue
I should have known
this stretch of the journey would be trouble the moment I realised I still had
a functioning Lao SIM card. Nothing good ever comes from being too prepared.
Within days, we’d be illegally cycling across an international bridge, becoming
Kip millionaires, hiding from a typhoon that wasn’t technically ours, and
discovering that guesthouse power supplies have the emotional stability of a
toddler.
Khemerat, Thailand to
Savannakhet, Laos (105 km) – An Illegal Crossing
The ride from Khemerat,
Thailand, to Savannakhet, Laos, felt like cycling through syrup — the kind of
sluggishness that whispers, “Remember
those hills yesterday?” We did.
We drifted lazily toward the Thai–Laos border, admiring locals who were out
foraging with baskets like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Meanwhile, I can barely forage through my panniers without losing something
important. The Thais, however, pluck leaves from shrubs and somehow turn them
into Michelin-star meals. It’s honestly rude how talented they are.
Lunch was a glorious
noodle soup accompanied by a basket of greens so fresh it practically
introduced itself. Every slurp tasted like a tiny celebration. Then came
immigration — the usual stamps, the usual bureaucracy, and the unusual rule
that cycling across the Thai–Laos Friendship Bridge is forbidden. Apparently,
the bridge is for cars, pedestrians, and bus-transported
cyclists, but not actual
cyclists. Naturally, this made us want to cycle across it immediately.
So we did. We hopped on
our bikes and shot across the bridge like two teenagers escaping boarding
school. Border officials were not amused. We, however, were delighted with
ourselves, laughing like fugitives who’d stolen nothing but a moment of joy.
Laos welcomed us with a
$30 visa and a charming guesthouse called Savanpathana. The ATM was the real
highlight: withdrawing 1,000,000 Kip made me feel like a millionaire, even
though it barely bought me any snacks. And, in a rare moment of organisational
triumph, I still had my old Lao SIM card — just needed a top-up. A small
victory.
Savannakhet - A Visa, a River Stroll, and a Banana‑Leaf‑Wrapped Pig Brain
Savannakhet turned out to
be full of surprises, starting with the Vietnamese consulate, which made
getting a visa absurdly easy. For $45 you get 30 days; for $55 you get 90 days.
Obviously, we chose the 90-day option because we are nothing if not
value-driven wanderers.
We wandered the leafy old
quarter along the Mekong, where time seems to have politely stopped and refused
to move on. The riverbank eateries were gorgeous, though one menu item — pig’s
brain wrapped in a banana leaf — reminded me that culinary bravery has limits.
Mine, specifically.
Savannakhet - Typhoon Panic, Power Outages and Comfort Food
Rumours of a typhoon off
Vietnam’s coast had us mildly panicked, despite being 300 km inland. The rain,
however, behaved as if the typhoon were right outside our window. So we
surrendered to an indoor day, which mostly involved eating comfort food and
pretending we were being productive.
We collected our visas at
3 PM, just in time for the guesthouse's power to go out. The building plunged
into darkness, just as I accidentally locked us out of our room.
Perfect timing. Fortunately, guesthouses like these always have spare keys —
unfortunately, they are stored in the most obscure places imaginable. After a
long, comedic search in the dark, the key was found, and we were reunited with
our room like long-lost lovers.
The rain continued the
next day, so we stayed put, embracing the cosy gloom like two cats refusing to
go outside.
Savannakhet to Muang
Phalanxay (119 km) - Early‑Bird Tania and Late‑Bird Me.
We left Savannakhet early
as Tania was ready at 5:50 AM, bright-eyed and efficient. I, on the other hand,
was trapped in a vortex of last-minute packing — the kind where you keep
zipping and unzipping bags because you’re convinced you’ve forgotten something
important, like your passport or your dignity.
We headed east toward the
Vietnamese border, rolling through peaceful countryside. Just outside
Savannakhet, we found a rural path leading to Ban Bungva, where a lake
shimmered prettily and restaurants perched on stilts begged us to stop for
lunch. We didn’t, but we admired them like art.
Next came That Ing Hang, a
stupa said to house a relic from Buddha’s spine. We took photos, feeling
appropriately reverent, before continuing through landscapes so green they
looked Photoshopped. Tiny villages, lively markets, and endless fields kept us
entertained.
After bike about 120 km we
found a rustic guesthouse for 60,000 Kip (about $7) in Muang Phalanxay. It had
the essentials: a bed, a roof, and the faint hope that nothing would crawl on
us in the night. For the price, we couldn’t complain.
Muang Phalanxay to Ban
Dong (115 km) - Mud,
Markets, Bare‑Bottomed Children, and Livestock With Zero Respect for
Traffic Rule
Rain hammered the roof all
night, and by morning the world was still soggy. We pedalled out of Muang
Phalanxay through a muddy, potholed road that sliced straight through the
morning market. Locals stared at us like we were rare migrating birds. Children
giggled. Adults giggled. Honestly, everyone giggled. “Farangs” clearly don’t
pass through often.
The day unfolded like a
documentary about rural life, narrated by someone who keeps getting distracted
by adorable children and livestock. Houses on stilts, woven baskets slung over
shoulders, meals cooked over open fires all felt timeless. Kids herded cattle
with the confidence of tiny CEOs. The smell of woodsmoke drifted everywhere.
We passed people heading
to market in wooden carts, and longboats gliding upriver with the grace of
creatures that have never known traffic jams. Bare-bottomed children played in
the dirt, shrieking with laughter, while their parents sold bamboo slivers used
to tie up rice. It was all wonderfully, beautifully real.
Lunch was another bowl of
noodle soup from a roadside stall, eaten while admiring the scenery like two
queens surveying their kingdom.
Arriving in Ban Dong, we
navigated a cheerful chaos of chickens, goats, and black pigs who clearly
believed they owned the road. We found a guesthouse conveniently located across
from a food vendor — the kind of strategic placement that makes you feel the
universe is on your side. A simple, satisfying end to another day of pedalling
through 115 kilometres of magic.
Ban Dong, Laos to
Cho Cam Lo, Vietnam (90 km)
Breakfast came
from a lady across the street who produced food with the speed and confidence
of someone who had been feeding confused foreigners for decades. Fuelled by
mystery noodles, we pedalled toward the Laos–Vietnam border, where Vietnam
welcomed us with a SIM card shop and an ATM that spat out 3,000,000 VND. Nothing
makes you feel like a billionaire quite like Vietnamese currency.
Barely out of
Lao Bao, Tania’s chain snapped with the dramatic flair of a soap‑opera breakup.
Luckily, the road back into town was downhill, allowing us to free‑wheel into
civilisation like two exhausted swans gliding into harbour. The bicycle shop we
found was more of a “motorbike graveyard” than a “bicycle repair facility”, but
the owner was cheerful and unfazed. Then came the real plot twist: Tania’s
derailleur was cracked. At this point, the bike was basically held together by
optimism and cable ties.
Still, the
countryside was gorgeous. Motorbikes zoomed past carrying improbable quantities
of bananas — entire mobile fruit empires balanced on two wheels. We passed the
Rockpile, a dramatic karst outcrop once used by the U.S. Army, now looking like
a moody geological influencer posing for photos.
Epilogue
By the time we rolled
into Ban Dong—dodging pigs, goats, chickens, and the occasional existential
crisis—we’d survived rainstorms, border bureaucracy, noodle‑soup dependency, and my talent for
locking us out of rooms. We were muddy, mildly confused, and deeply satisfied.
Laos made us millionaires, albeit only in Kip; it also gave us children who
found us funnier than we deserved. One thing was clear: the road ahead would be
just as chaotic, just as beautiful, and almost certainly just as damp.
