12. – 25.07.2025
Hardly had we crossed the border from China into Laos when we were hit with a shock: after thousands of kilometers of perfectly paved highways, there is nothing left—the asphalt just stops! After the rain, the road has turned into a mud field, dotted with huge potholes, the depth of which is impossible to tell.
At a snail’s pace, we follow trucks and cars, watching how deeply the lorry in front of us sinks—and hoping that our Lucas will survive the next puddle.
Men on motorcycles, covered head to toe in mud, ride past us. They are generally in shorts, barefoot, or in flip-flops; long pants and shoes would be useless in this mud. Again and again, they have to get off and push their bikes, loaded with baskets, through knee-deep puddles.
The landscape and especially the villages we drive through have changed too. Suddenly, we are in the middle of the rainforest—everything is green and lush. The nature we missed a bit in China is here in full force. Yet the villages are poor, the houses simple wooden structures, rarely made of stone, often built on stilts. The lower third of the walls is brown with splashed mud from the road. It is warm and humid. Children play naked in the puddles while adults sit lazily in the doorways. Towering, forested mountains, rice fields, and mist clouds shape the scenery.
Together with the Australian family and the two Italians in their Unimog, who had already been part of our China group, we drive to Nong Kiaw, keeping our travel group together a little longer.
The Australians and Italians booked a hotel with air conditioning in Nong Kiaw. We thought we wouldn’t need that…
Our fellow travelers wish us luck on the terrible roads in Laos and wonder if we will make it through with our Lucas, which isn’t exactly built for off-road adventures.
But then it’s the Unimog, right behind the Chinese border, that gets into trouble! While avoiding a pothole, it veers off the road and sinks deep into a ditch. When Andrea gets out to inspect the mess, he is waist-deep in water! A passing truck pulls him out in no time—completely ignoring Andrea’s “Be careful!” Luckily, the Unimog comes out unscathed!
Bumping along but without problems, we make it through the puddles. In the evening, Philip checks the car, looks at the levels, and inspects everything. He would have been better off skipping that—because that’s exactly what lands us in trouble!
The next day, the road takes us through the mountains of Laos. The road climbs steeply again and again. I watch the engine temperature gauge creep toward the red zone. Something’s not right! “It’s normal,” Philip claims. “It’s warm here, and the engine is working hard!” I’m not so sure… I turn on the heater—the gauge drops slightly, but then we just absolutely can’t stand the heat…
The gauge keeps climbing into the red zone despite the heater running. This is not normal. Slowly, Philip begins to worry too. Soon we plan to stop at a restaurant—but we should make it there first.
We make it exactly to the restaurant. As Philip slows down to park, the engine dies—and won’t start again. So now we are stuck diagonally across both lanes, just before a bend uphill.
I quickly get the kids out and send them running into the restaurant to keep them safe from any trucks that might come around the curve.
The restaurant owners come out and help us push Lucas off the road. Steam is billowing from the hood.
A glance under the hood immediately explains the problem: when checking the fluid levels yesterday, Philip forgot to close the radiator cap! The coolant has completely spilled out!
We carefully cool the engine with water—not too fast, so it doesn’t crack—and then, utterly exhausted, we finally have something to eat. Either we’re unlucky and the engine is ruined (hadn’t that just happened recently?!) or we’re lucky, and once everything has cooled, we can continue. For now, all we can do is wait and have some tea. Our Italians see Lucas with the hood open by the roadside and come to help. After a shared, delicious meal, Andrea cleans our air filters, oil and coolant are refilled, and Lucas roars back to life as if nothing ever happened! What a car! I could kiss him right then!
In pouring rain, we reach Nong Kiaw, find a place for the night—and immediately notice how unbearably warm it is. How about that hotel with the air conditioning?
After all those weeks without hiking in China, we agree with the Australians on a small trek to a viewpoint. The weather is supposed to be dry in the morning.
I realize after just a few meters that this was a bad idea… while the Lioness keeps whining that she doesn’t want to walk, sweat streams down all our bodies. On top of that, tiny biting mosquitoes -everything itches! I’ve never felt so gross in my life! Everything is soaked in sweat.
The Lioness and her Australian friend give up quickly—they go back to the hotel room to craft under the air conditioning. Good decision!
The rest of us are determined to reach the viewpoint! Every step through the mud is agony (of course, the hiking trail is no better than the roads), but if I turn back now, all the effort would have been wasted!
So we push on, step after step. It feels like we’re walking for hours. One step—three drops of sweat. Another step. My camera is so wet that I worry it might get damaged by water—or rather, sweat. And this is without any rain; the weather report was right. But now I could really use a proper shower from above.
Finally at the top, I don’t even know how I made it. I must have sweated hundreds of liters. My shirt doesn’t have sweat stains—it’s one giant sweat patch—ugh!
The descent is much easier, but once at the bottom, I head straight for our shower. Fully clothed—no point in taking anything off.
No sooner am I out of the shower than I’m already soaked in sweat again. In the car, it’s even worse than outside.
I go outside—but the sun is everywhere, worse than before. Back inside, lie flat, as low as possible, on the floor. The heat rises. Nothing helps. I drink something, but even the water is warm. No matter what I do, I can’t escape the heat, and suddenly, nothing works. I can’t breathe properly, I don’t know how to endure this heat. Philip recently put water bottles in the freezer, presses them to my forehead, wet cloths help too, and I slowly recover. When did I last eat?
Oh man—Laos is pushing me to my limits.
The kids craft with the Australians while we finaly go to have something to eat. Slowly, I start to feel better. It’s not so bad after all.
After a shared breakfast, the next day we decide together with the Australians and Italians to rent a boat to the remote village Muang Ngoy.
The boat ride is pleasant—the breeze feels good, and when it gets too hot, we just pour a handful of river water over our heads.
Arriving in the village, we explore the town, strolling through the small streets, past one touristy shop after another. And then it happens again. It’s too hot. I can’t take it anymore. The kids are cranky and fighting, we’re hungry, the restaurant chosen by the others doesn’t work for Philip, the one he picked doesn’t even exist… Exhausted, I sit down—again without eating—on the jetty and wait until we finally return. And when we get back? An overheated car awaits us.
We set off again to drive into the mountains of Laos, where it’s a bit cooler.
We don’t get far: shortly after Nong Kiaw, a pothole does us in!
Philip rumbles through—one bump, and I hear a loud hissing!
“Stop, Philip!” — “Oh, that’s just the sound from the workshop over there.”
“No, that’s our car!”
We stop. All four tires are fine, but Philip quickly realizes the hissing comes from the spare wheel.
Philip wants to continue driving despite the damaged spare, but I insist we find a workshop. On these roads, I refuse to be without a spare—if we need it anywhere, it’s here!
We find a small workshop and discover the wheel valve is broken. The guys quickly fit a new one.
We can’t make it to the mountains – it’s too late, we’re exhausted.
We find a parking spot next to a gas station. Good spots are rare—like the roads, most places are mud pits or fields we’d probably get stuck in with Lucas.
The spot next to the gas station is passable, but right next to the local disco.
We are completely spent, sweaty, arguing, no one can sleep – we just want to go home.
Fortunately, the disco eventually closes, we get a few hours of sleep, and then head to Luang Prabang – there’s an airport there, maybe also hotels.
By the time we arrive, I’ve picked a hotel. As we check it, I back out immediately: rooms moldy, sheets dirty, air conditioning broken.
The next hotel is better: there’s a pool, rooms smell normal, sheets are fresh, bathrooms are spacious, and the price is more than fair.
We park Lucas, crank up the AC, the kids disappear into the pool, and I dive into the shower. Oh my God—never has a shower felt so good! I stand under the cool water for ages, and for the first time since arriving in Laos, I feel really good.
We sleep in, enjoy a leisurely hotel breakfast, the kids play in the pool again while we catch some more rest. Only now do we realize how exhausted we are. For four days, the rhythm repeats: sleep, pool, rest—we enjoy the break and recharge.
We think about how to move forward. We can’t continue living in the van in Laos—the heat is too much. We want to leave Laos as quickly as possible. Every drive worries us: will we make it safely on the roads? Below Laos lies Cambodia, which we had wanted to visit, but it’s also hot and humid, and the route through Laos is now too long. Importing our van into Thailand is too expensive and complicated; Vietnam is nearly impossible. It’s clear: for Lucas, this is the end. Does that mean the end of our journey too?
What do we do with Lucas? He can stay in Laos for a maximum of three months, and selling used foreign cars is prohibited.
Through the Australians, we contact an American-Iranian couple stranded in Laos with their two huskies. Their overlander vehicle broke down, and they have no means to leave the country.
After much back and forth, we decide to give Lucas to them. We feel we have no other choice. Driving back through China is out of the question—too much driving, too expensive—and we want to go to New Zealand!
We start emptying Lucas and come to terms with leaving Laos without him.
Meanwhile, the Australians arrive in Luang Prabang. Refreshed and energetic, we explore Laos with them: we take a boat tour on the Mekong, visit colorful markets, do a cooking class, repair the hotel bicycles for small excursions into town, and even celebrate Marc’s birthday with a homemade cake. The kids spend plenty of time in the pool, and every day we have a small cooking challenge – creating meals from our van supplies. Instant noodles with pesto, couscous, and canned corn taste surprisingly good when eaten straight from the pot on the hotel bed.
Then it’s time to say goodbye—to Laos and to Lucas.
We send a package to Germany, buy two new suitcases, give away clothes and toys to hotel staff, and distribute drawing supplies to local children.
We visit a final temple, join the monks for Tak Bat (the alms-giving ceremony) early in the morning, and then Lucy comes to pick up Lucas. The gift contract is signed, everything in the van is checked and explained—then we head to the airport. Two new suitcases, four backpacks, and a carry-on bag—that’s all we have left. Lucas drives away, and we shed tears. This chapter of the journey is over.
Goodbye, Lucas, faithful companion. You always brought surprises, showed us workshops around the world, and accompanied us through countless adventures. We wish you all the best, helping your new owners get safely home!
Laos pushed us to our limits—and showed us how much we can endure. What a country. What an adventure—and what a lesson in patience and calm.
From Luang Prabang, we fly to Hanoi, Vietnam, to meet my dad for a classic tourist trip. How will that feel after all this van life?