Broken Down in Laos: A Waterfall Quest Gone Hilariously Wrong

Honda Click and myself in the back of a truck riding to the next town in rural Laos.

I decided to spice up my day in Luang Prabang by hiring a motorbike from the hostel and heading off to see a less popular waterfall. That phrase should have been a red flag. “Less popular” means not visited very often in Australia. In Laos, I later found out that it means “abandoned by hope and basic infrastructure.” But hey, I was there for an adventure!

The journey started off fine until the road began to dissolve before my eyes — potholes gave way to muddy sinkholes, which then evolved into full-on lunar craters. Throw in some rugby-ball-sized rocks, and it felt less like a scenic ride and more like I was off-roading on a piss-weak Honda click scooter that sounded like it was chewing gravel with every bump.

At one point, I passed three French tourists that looked thoroughly defeated. They told me they gave up — no signs, no locals who spoke French or English, just a dead-end village and despair. Naturally, I took this as a challenge. “Maybe I’ll see something they didn’t,” I thought, as if I were some kind of Southeast Asian Indiana Jones. I should have realised then that was the start of my waterfall quest going hilariously wrong.

I eventually hit the village and made it to a dead-end road. I waited a moment before attempting to ask a local woman for directions. She was hanging laundry and probably wondering why a sweaty foreigner in Crocs was miming “waterfall” with jazz hands. She pointed vaguely to a small footpath over to the side. So I set off into National Geographic: Bug Hell Edition. Midges, heat, humidity, and a bridge made of bamboo twigs held together by prayer and frayed rope. I heard water in the distance, but not enough to justify the suffering.

Eventually, I ended up on a goat trail that split like a confused GPS. Twice I hit dead ends and eventually I found a sign, nailed to a tree, that said in English: “Wrong way.” Not “no entry,” not “danger” — just “Wrong way.” Like the universe was trying to intervene politely.

On the way back, I noticed a spider the size of a dinner plate dangling at eye level. I had definitely walked under it earlier. I took that as a divine warning and retreated, drenched in sweat and existential doubt, back to the Honda Click. I smashed my emergency Snickers bar — always carry one — and got ready to ride back.

Only… I wasn’t going anywhere.

Too much throttle, no movement. I looked down — flat tyre. The rocky road had claimed its victim. My first thought: “FUUUUCK.” My second thought: “Still FUUUUUUCK.”

Honda Click with punctured tyre in rural Laos.

I managed to push the bike back to the edge of the village. No phone reception. Then a man emerged from the forest, wearing army camo and holding a hatchet. Naturally, my brain screamed True Crime Podcast! He tucked the hatchet into his pants and came to inspect the tyre. I hissed like a deflating balloon, he laughed, and motioned for me to follow him. 

We reached the village, and now I was the main attraction. Locals poured out of their homes to watch this muddy, broken tourist slowly melt in the 37C heat. It doesn’t seem like anyone speaks English but I gather they all know what the problem is. A young man eventually brings over a bicycle pump. I tried to explain that pumping a punctured tyre was like trying to inflate a balloon with a hole in it, but he insisted. He gave it a heroic go, and the tyre puffed up… then wheezed out all hope. The young man put out his hand and I handed over 40,000 Kip (~$1.80 USD) and said “thanks for that!”.

Rural village outside of Luang Prabang, Laos.

Then a guy appeared, proudly announcing “HELLO!” with the confidence of a fluent speaker. Turns out, that was the end of his English repertoire. He whipped out a translation app — which was useless, because there was no signal. Eventually, he reported that the tyre could be fixed in the “next village,” 4 kilometres away. I laughed maniacally. He looked concerned, as if the translation was wrong.

I asked if there was a truck. He nodded, got on his motorbike, and gestured for me to follow. A few hundred metres down the road, I yelled “STOP!” He pointed again: “Four kilometres.” No. I meant TRUCK. He nodded like he totally understood and then… drove away.

As I was preparing to settle into the idea of spending a night on some humble villager’s floor, a truck magically appeared from the opposite direction. I waved like a tourist who had just seen land after 84 years at sea. With help from “Hello Guy,” I arranged a lift to the next village for $10 USD.

In the back of the truck, bouncing back down the road that had murdered my Honda, I straddled the bike, white-knuckled the brakes, and used every muscle in my body to stop us both from being launched off the side. 

We reached the next village, the tyre guys are nowhere to be seen. I handed the driver another $10 to keep going toward Luang Prabang. It was dark. I was filthy. I was knackered.

Pit Stop Prodigy changing the tube on the Honda Click scooter.

Then, like a roadside miracle, we spotted a kid fixing a car outside his house. The driver said something to him, and next thing I knew, Pit Stop Prodigy was swapping out the tyre like he was in the Indy 500. He asked for $6. I gave him $10 and bowed as a sign of gratitude.

I finally rode back into town — dusty, dehydrated, starving — but grinning like an idiot. Because that day? That ridiculous, sweaty - disaster of a day. That was a damn good adventure. You couldn’t make that stuff up.

Have you had any funny travel experiences abroad you’d like to share?

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Thanks for reading! - Humble Traveller