Vietnam & Northern Laos
A Rollercoaster Mountain-Ride Through Remote Villages
After a long winter break
we’re back on the road again! We cycle through the north of Vietnam and Northern Laos, overcoming more than 25,000 metres in altitude, experiencing freezing cold and scorching heat, travelling through poverty-stricken mountain villages and wealthy tourist destinations. How my brakes almost fail and how we end up floating across a river with a cold beer in our hands? Find out in this article!
A Flying Visit to Vietnam
We spend almost three months in Vietnam, where my brother has started a new chapter in his life a couple of years ago. A lovely vacation with my family is followed by the two of us celebrating Christmas and New Year in the hot and humid climate. And that is all I am going to say about it. We all have enough friends and colleagues who constantly post pictures of their last vacation with coconut cocktails and beach loungers. I will keep this article about the bicycle touring. And that really isn’t about always sipping coconut cocktails!
Mid-January 2024, 10:30 a.m. As we head through small alleyways towards the main road, I am a bit nervous, for several reasons: Firstly, we haven’t ridden our bikes for over two months. Secondly, after flying to Vietnam from Tokyo, I reassembled my bike by myself… Fingers crossed! And thirdly, we are in Hanoi, a megacity with famously congested roads, where every junction becomes a challenge. Hundreds of scooters weave between honking cars in the slow-moving traffic on multiple-lane roads. The noise level accompanying the hustle and bustle is tremendous.
The air is hazy on this Monday morning. Thick smog lies over the city. Navigation on the busy main road turns out to be not that difficult, as long as we don’t have to turn left. There is enough space for faster road users and the cars are used to “Two-Wheeled-Vehicles”. Usually we attract quite the attention, when we stop at a red light. Not in Hanoi. Two bike packers are just as normal as scooters carrying families of five or six people, toilet bowls or plastic bags piled metres high.
Navigating Hanoi’s outlying districts is much more challenging. It rains all afternoon and the numerous potholes at the side of the road fill up with mud. We share one lane with fully laden lorries that would have certainly not passed a safety inspection in the UK.
In the evening, completely covered in mud, we arrive exhausted at the Little Bee Resort. It is a small hotel with several cute bamboo huts. Despite the cool temperatures, we turn the air conditioning on full blast – but our clothes are still dripping wet the next morning.
We ride for exactly 2 days, 2 hours and 15 minutes until we take our next break. We really must be the worst bikepackers in the world. The beautiful surroundings of the tourist town of Mai Châu and Lim’s Guesthouse in particular are just too perfect to leave the next day. For £11, we get a lovely double room with a terrace, bathroom and breakfast. The next leg of our trip will not offer us such luxury for a long time.
Curiosities out in the Vietnamese Sticks
The closer we get to the Lao border, the poorer the villages become. As we struggle up the increasingly steep hills in the steady drizzle, children run towards us from everywhere, waving and shouting “Hello!!!” from the roadside. We see a faded “Coffee” sign at the side of the road. A few minutes later we sip Vietnamese coffee with half the family in the front garden of a house. A mobile vegetable merchant passes by on her scooter packed with boxes, bags and sacks of vegetables. When the café-owner buys something, she even pulls some proper scales out from nowhere! Things are different here for sure. As we pay for the coffee and ride on, we’re still not sure whether the smiling, waving family really run a café or have simply offered us a drink to make some extra money. In any case, the coffee was tasty!
When we reach the border town of Na Meo in the evening, it is so cold that we put on our down jackets. Having eaten nothing but a watery noodle soup for lunch, we are starving! It is already dark when we set off in search of something to eat shortly after 6 p.m. We are looking for someone, who does takeaway really: In contrast to the draughty restaurants, which have a completely open front with no heating, our room in a small guesthouse is relatively warm.
We are lucky: An elderly lady is preparing fried spring rolls by the roadside. She also seems to own the neighbouring cafe, so we order a portion of rice with soy sauce as well. There’s just one problem: the woman doesn’t have any take-away containers. To our astonishment, she swiftly packs the rice and spring rolls into a couple of porcelain bowls, adds two metal spoons and asks us to bring everything back when we’re done. I doubt a restaurant in the UK would trust their customers so much as to lend them their kitchenware. Great for the environment though!
Corruption at the Border
We set off with the two Canadian Bikepackers Martin and Nicole, whom we met the previous evening in the guesthouse. The border is not very busy. When we approach the Vietnamese side, the border official doesn’t give us a second glance. We stand around tentatively and wait for him to take our passports. But nothing happens.
Instead, locals keep pushing their way forward and placing piles of passports, each containing a 100,000 Dong note (about €4), on the counter. These are processed directly by the official and the money is put in a drawer. In plain sight! Nobody even tries to keep the corruption a secret! After 20 minutes, we’ve had enough. We shove our passports directly under the nose of the bad-tempered official, without a bribe of course. He looks up briefly, then finally takes our documents and places them in the far corner of his desk. Then he busily turns his attention back to other things.
The message is clear: without us parting with some dough, nothing will happen anytime soon. We are happy to play the waiting game though. After more than an hour, during which banknotes keep changing hands, we are even told off for talking too loud! I can’t believe it! If we’re disturbing the guard so much, he should just stamp us out. After all, it’s about leaving the country, we are the ones that want to get out!
The Laotian side is even worse. The friendly official demands a fee of 15,000 KIP (about €0.80) per person as a “stamp fee”. If we don’t pay, he won’t let us enter the country. The man must use unbelievably expensive ink if a single stamp costs €0.80! To legitimise his claim, the man points to a printed sign behind us, which explains in Lao and rudimentary English that a 15,000 KIP fee is due for the “Lao Tourist Fund”. Wait, I thought we were talking about a stamp fee! The sign is clearly a scam. We have heard about this trick from other travellers. Border officials as scammers? It is unbelievable really.
If you’re thinking now: “Well, 80 cents isn’t much. Why don’t you just give the poor buggers the money?”, I would argue that corruption should never be supported or tolerated, however small the bribe. The cost of living in Laos is so low that the corrupt officials probably receive 9-10 times their normal salary in bribes. It is a well organised scam, involving high officials who cover it up or look the other way. The money benefits these corrupt organisations, not the people or infrastructure of the country. It supports the system of cronyism and exploitation. I’d rather tip for good service in the small villages than pay people abusing positions of power for absolutely zero service.
But: Saying No to corruption is exhausting. You have to argue, wait, act dumb and endure countless verbal attacks from the border officials. Most people simply pay the fee out of convenience. No fuss, pay and go. Luckily Joel and I have time. We are happy to keep playing the waiting game.
I haven’t reckoned with the Canadians though. It’s almost lunchtime and the two of them still want to cycle 80 km with over 1500 metres of elevation gain today. The waiting game becomes a time problem for them. Which is exactly what corrupt border officials are preying on. Martin studies the printed blue sign and exclaims with relief: “Guys, don’t worry! The sign lists a fee for the “Lao Turist Fund”! It has to be official!” Before I can interject, he is already negotiating with the border official as to whether he can pay the fee with his remaining Vietnamese money (approx. €2). Yes, he can. And it’s enough cash to get us all an entry stamp. That’s my good intentions out of the window.
A Forgotten City and a Secret War
Joel and I cycle on to Vieng Xay, 30 kilometres behind the border. Laos welcomes us with fallow fields of sticky rice, traditional wooden and bamboo houses on stilts and extremely steep roads through the jungle. Every few kilometres, we pass a village, where everyone – not just the children – shouts a friendly Sabaidii (“hello”) to us.
In the city of Vieng Xay we find a guesthouse that looks as if it hasn’t received guests for years. The lobby is empty apart from a broken table and the plaster is crumbling from the walls. There is not a soul to be seen, apart from the frail elderly gentleman showing us to a room on the first floor. It’s pretty run-down and the shower in the wet room doesn’t work very well. But for 100,000 KIP for the night – about £4 – we can’t complain. The temperatures drop a lot during the night, so we are glad we don’t have to sleep in the tent.
Vieng Xay, like many places in Laos, is suffering massively from the aftermaths of the coronavirus pandemic. Restaurants with English menus, now either completely empty or closed down, bear witness of a time where a good number of tourists must have visited. And for good reason: Vieng Xay has a fascinating history.
The city used to be the headquarters of the communist Pathet Lao during the Indochina War. As a sideshow of the Vietnam war, in a Secret War hidden from the world, the USA dropped almost one tonne of explosives per inhabitant (!) on Laos between 1965 and 1973. Laos is considered the most heavily bombed country (per inhabitant) in world history. Thousands of people hid in the caves of the limestone cliffs surrounding Vieng Xay and organised the resistance. Due to the heavy shelling, they were only able to graze their cows and cultivate the rice fields at night. There were even hospitals and schools in the caves.
Today, some of the caves have been converted into a museum open to the public (highly recommendable!). Apart from an elderly Japanese man, we are the only guests on this cold Friday morning.
To this day, accidents involving unexploded ordnance occur every month.
So. Much. Elevation.
We have clearly underestimated the Lao mountains. Per 30 kilometres we accumulate around 1000 elevation metres. That makes a total of 25,000 metres in altitude to reach the capital, Vientiane. For comparison: when we crossed the Alps in Austria, we only accumulated 4,000 elevation metres in total.
We enjoy the scenic views over the rolling hills and the rapid descents. The joy is only spoilt by the fact that every descent is instantly followed by another steep climb. There are no flat sections at all! Unfortunately, I also missed out on the chance of buying replacement brake pads in Hanoi. “Nah, it’ll be fine, I just changed them in South Korea,” I said at the time. It is coming back to haunt me now.
When we check the brakes in Sop Lao, the pads are so worn out that the metal clamps are touching the brake disc. I need new brake pads, fast. It’s only a matter of time before the brake disc gets damaged or, worse still, until the brakes fail completely. But where are we supposed to find new brake pads out here in the sticks? For now, all we can do is to exchange front and back brake pads to give the back ones some extra lifetime.
The sun is about to set when we are riding along a challenging stretch of road far from civilisation. Even the closest village is miles away. The lingering clouds shroud the hill in a dense, damp fog. Sight is limited to about 20 metres. In situations like this, we are glad to be carrying so much camping equipment. Between man-sized reeds, we find a grassy clearing in the jungle with just enough space for our tent. The ground is uneven, but we are glad that we don’t have to pitch our tent right next to the unlit road. Sweaty and shivering from the cold, we hungrily spoon up our instant noodles before trying to get comfortable on the uneven ground. Life as a bikepacker is not always glamorous.
Phonsavan and the Plain of Jars
When we arrive in the provincial capital of Phonsavan after countless more climbs, my brake pads officially give up. A metallic clicking and loud grinding noise now accompanies each of my pedal strokes. We have little hope of finding spare parts in Phonsavan. It looks like we will have to take a bus to the capital of Vientiane, around 600 kilometres away.
But we are incredibly lucky: Joel finds a bike shop at the traditional Lao market! Well, more like a second-hand shop that sells bicycles as well as sewing machines, e-scooters and irons. The owner, Touksele, manages to order brake pads for us from Vientiane. YEEES! We extend our stay and enjoy a few touristy days while we wait. After the freezing cold in the mountains, it takes us a while to get used to the 30 degrees down here.
We also have time to visit the Plain of Jars. Around the province of Xieng Khouang, there are clusters of huge stone pots covering an area the size of Northern Ireland. Archaeologists believe that these were used for secondary burial rituals over 2000 years ago. Apparently, the corpses of the dead were first stored in the jars before the decomposed remains were cremated and buried. What puzzles archaeologists to this day, however, is the complete lack of evidence of human settlements around the area. The mysterious aura surrounding the Plain of Jars is probably the reason many tourists come to visit it every year.
Today, huge craters and shards of destroyed jars bear witness to the Secret War in a much more recent past.
Dazzling Contrasts in Luang Prabang
After climbing another 5000 elevation metres in four days, we arrive exhausted in the former royal city of Luang Prabang. The picture-perfect town stands in stark contrast to the mountainous highlands we have been struggling through for almost three weeks. Instead of isolated villages, the town centre is lined with temples and French colonial-style houses. Small shops sell traditional handicrafts and there are plenty of pretty cafés, restaurants and small stalls with all kinds of delicacies. Hence attracting over 1 million tourists a year, Luang Prabang has developed into an important economic centre in the country. This also reflects in the prices for accommodation and food, which are around four times higher than in the countryside.
The Wall
Only the Kasi Pass separates us now from the notorious party town of Vang Vieng. Ahead of us lies an elevation gain of 1500 metres over a distance of 12 kilometres. 12 kilometres can mean a lot. On a flat tarmac road, 12 kilometres means that we will be there soon; on a dirt road with a 10% gradient, it means that we still have hours ahead of us.
We aren’t too worried as we set off from Pongdong shortly before 8 a.m. and cycle towards the pass on a tarmac road. Perhaps we’ve become a little bit too cocky after battling multiple mountain passes in Kyrgyzstan. Having conquered passes at 3800 altitude metres, such a tiny hill won’t be a challenge for us!
We are harshly brought back to reality. This mountain seems to be out to get us. With a constant gradient of 12-16%, we only manage to proceed 50 metres at a time using all our muscle power and concentration. Even pushing the 35kg bikes is so strenuous that it is not an option. We have to admit to ourselves that at this pace, we will be on it all day. Despite the tarmac and “only” 12 kilometres.
The mental challenge is at least as great as the physical one. I start to time my pedalling and break times: 20 breaths pedalling, 20 breaths break. It’s almost like being at the gym. But instead of three sets, we are doing 220! It’s devastating and a few times I’m on the verge of giving up. How tempting it would be to just sit down at the side of the road and take a nap! “It’s not possible,” my inner voice warns me, “We don’t have enough water nor food.” We carry on, metre by metre.
As tough as the challenge has been, the triumph is overwhelming when we reach the rest stop at the pass. We have an overly sweet but well deserved smoothie in a café who’s owner also allows us to pitch our tent in the backyard. A little later, the Chilean bikepackers Monica and Camilo, who we met two days earlier at the Kuang-Si waterfall, arrive as well. We all agree that today has been one of the toughest days of our respective trips. Camilo very appropriately names the mountain pass “The Wall”.
Tubing in Vang Vieng
Surrounded by majestic limestone cliffs and jungle lies the small town of Vang Vieng. In the 2010s, the town gained a notorious reputation through a series of tragic deaths. The once remote village on the Namsong River became increasingly popular with backpackers on the “Banana Pancake” trail in the 1980s due to its natural beauty. The locals adapted to tourism – Vang Vieng developed into a party town for budget travellers, where alcohol and drugs were abundant.
The most popular activity for the predominantly adolescent tourists was “Tubing” – floating down the river on a lorry inner tube, drinking Lao-Lao liquor from buckets at the bars on the banks and jumping into the water from swings and slings. What sounds like a lot of fun turned into a death trap for dozens of tourists who fell into the water drunk and drowned or hit their heads on sharp rocks. Under international pressure, the Laotian authorities finally intervened and banned tubing in 2012. Now, floating down the river in a tube is allowed again. However, the swings and slings have disappeared and there are only a couple of riverbank bars now, with strict regulations.
Vang Vieng is pretty ugly to be honest. It’s a dingy tourist town where drunken teenagers wander the streets in swimwear. Every second building is a shabby restaurant or a smoothie stand with dirt cheap prices. But not everything is bad: we find a great stone oven pizzeria. Our day off happens to fall on Valentine’s Day. It is ridiculously hot, so a few hours in the cool river just sound too tempting: We are giving Tubing a go! We are a bit sceptical at first. In the end, Tubing is one of our highlights in Laos. At 35°C, we float comfortably along the river in our lorry tubes and drink a chilled Beer Lao. It’s perfect!
Vang Vieng has managed to transform the notorious, almost barbaric activity ofTubing into a relaxed leisure activity. We can now recommend it!
Vientiane – First Leg of Laos Completed!!
The mountains of northern Laos are now behind us. Two days later we reach the capital Vientiane. The city resembles more of a village than a city. We treat ourselves to a few days of relaxation and extend our visa for another 30 days. We are not done with Laos just yet!
Vietnam and Northern Laos in Pictures
