Now that I’m not chained to city living or an office, I’ve been booking more pet sits in the countryside and taking nice long walks. My most recent booking took me to Oxford, to care for a lovely dog called Murphy, and had me reflecting on the romanticism of university life.
I had been rejected from Oxford and UCL at 18 to study English Literature – the year student loans rose from £3k to £9k per year. I didn’t have a clue about the working world, the cost of living, or wages at this point.
I don’t even remember thinking about university in much detail, and actually wanted to go to drama school. No one in my family went to uni. But the influence of parents, teachers, Jack Wills and Evelyn Waugh, soon had me applying, even with the massive hike in tuition fees.
Champagne was swapped for Bucky after I accepted a place at the University of Glasgow, which offered me a four-year degree at £27K, as opposed to the £36K I’d have paid at Edinburgh. Bargain!
10 years later, I still owe Student Finance England £60K and live out of a suitcase.
In the context of rising youth unemployment, potential student loan increases, and the growing use of AI in entry-level roles, this had me thinking – would I go to university now?
I could definitely write press releases at 18, but I didn’t start earning a pay cheque until I was 23 (before that, I worked for three months for free as an “intern”).
If the opportunity had been presented, I could have joined a PR agency after school, learned the ropes, and generated a lot of earning power in that five-year gap. I can’t think of one agency that offers this option, but I’m happy to be contradicted on this.
Maybe I’d have done a part-time degree later. Maybe I’d have changed career paths. Who knows. But I might have built financial stability earlier – whether that meant savings, a deposit, or simply more flexibility. Not that life is just about those markers, but they do shape your options.
Instead, at 32, I’m roaming from house to house as a full time pet sitter. Not because I have to, but because I made a choice to redesign my overheads. “Best to do it whilst I’m an OINK, Dad!”, I remember saying (one income, no kids). Hey, I may as well turn single life into an earner.
Pet sitting saves me around £1,000 per month. That dramatically lowers my fixed costs, which means I can freelance fewer days, build other skillsets, and reduce the repayments that rise and fall with my income.
As a result, my repayments reduce by around £3K per year, too.
According to a report from the Education reporter Hazel Shearing on the BBC today, I’m not the only millennial thinking like this.
One person featured in the report today (24th Feb) cut his working week to four days so that he could spend more time doing up his house. The extra day cost him around £80 per week due to the smaller repayment, but he also saved money by not commuting to work – and gained time.
Obviously I recognise that in order to gain that privilege, you need a job first. But university isn’t the only path to competence or stability anymore. There are many ways to earn and live these days that don’t require you to spend £50k before you’ve entered the payroll – paths that have always been there, but maybe didn’t seem as “glamorous” at 18.
I feel a lot of compassion for recent graduates struggling to get jobs and it’ll be interesting to see what the knock-on effect of their experience will be for lifestyles, workplaces and cities.
But I’m hopeful. Necessity is the mother of invention, after all, and if any generation has proven the power of the phrase “work smarter, not harder”, it’s them.
“Why have I done this?” I thought, looking up at the dirt track ahead of me. Some thirty minutes earlier, I’d left the gleaming white sands of Saracen Bay, on the Cambodian island of Koh Rong Sanloem. Now I was headed to the other side of the island for a digital detox. But I hadn’t expected the inner landscape to be so – well – natural.
With no internet connection, I was relying on a screenshot of the map to get me through the brush before dusk. Noticing how late it was, I pulled my backpack higher on my shoulders, and ploughed onward.
Crossing from Saracen Bay to Sunset Beach on the other side
Bingo. A bit further along, someone had painted ‘Sunset Beach’ on a piece of wood, pointing down to the right. I headed into a copse of trees and started clambering back down toward the coastline. Five minutes later, I arrived at a big bamboo structure. Sunboo Beach Bungalows. “This better be worth it.” I thought.
Saved by the board
“Georgina! Welcome!” A voice stopped me in my tracks. It was Paulo, the owner. “I’ve got you a lemonade.” Gasping with gratitude, I gulped down the liquid and thus began an adventure that would leave me reflecting deeply on the power of serendipity.
“A decade ago, nothing was here.” Paulo told me. Portuguese by birth, he came to Sunset Beach around this time to support a friend launching a hotel business. The result was Sunboo, a mix of tipis and bamboo dorms situated right on the beach (thank you, solar power) complete with a restaurant, kitchen, yoga platform, tiki bar and hammocks.
Despite feeling luxurious, there’s nothing posey about Sunboo. It has a cosy, rustic feel, led in part by its small team, who have been there since the start. It’s the kind of place where you’ll find yourself chatting to them all by name (and vice versa) and actively spending time with the staff during the week. You’re not just a faceless guest here, which felt very reassuring to me, after six weeks alone.
Robinson Crusoe eat your heart out
The bay itself, with its pink, green, blue and yellow hues, is otherworldly. At only 500 metres long, it feels like a safe little cocoon. Every evening, people come together on the beach to watch the sunsets, which are the best on the island (expect different colours depending on the weather).
Hues of heaven – the view from Sunboo
Flanked either side of Sunboo, is a handful of other small businesses including a surf and dive shop, some small restaurants, and some other places to stay. Paulo was quick to inform me who they are, and what they do: “we help each other out.” He said.
For instance, Sunboo doesn’t provide WiFi, but we could get a little bit next door as long as we bought a coffee (fair). Later in the week we found ourselves swapping games with another place down the beach: “ah, Kamaku has it!” They said. If they couldn’t fit you into the dorm another night, they’d see who else has a free room. Everyone worked together as opposed to against each other.
I was particularly lucky the week I was there. There were only a handful of guests, and they were mostly solo like me.
One day I was watching the bright white lighting on the beach from a blacked out hut, before seeking refuge at Sunboo’s protective bamboo fortress.
As the hot, heavy rain hit the sand, Paulo, Nadia and Cori (spearheading yoga) sealed the walls with material shutters, and we settled in for a pizza from Sunboo’s incredible kitchen, and a cosy game of Catan.
Taking shelter from the storm
Forming a fast bond after that, we spent eight glorious days doing yoga, playing games, eating fresh fish, snorkelling, kayaking, reading and getting progressively drunk at the Tiki Bar with Hiro.
Ready for my nightcap
It was the highlight of my time in South East Asia and it all happened by chance.
I’d actually made plans to visit the Thai islands instead, but changed my mind after spending a rather depressing day in Phnom Penh seeing the Killing Fields and S21 (essential learning).
Then it was a choice of Koh Rong or Koh Rong Sanloem. I knew nothing about either of them, but had heard that the latter is smaller, less developed and had just gotten an internet connection a couple of months prior (and that’s only at Saracen Bay.) After a miserable bout of food poisoning in Vang Vieng, Laos, it felt like the right decision.
Whether it was the setting, timing, or company, our special week was the result of many factors working in quiet harmony. And that analogy speaks to Sunset Beach as well.
Yes it’s beautiful. But that’s not the only thing that makes it stand out. It’s the history; the mix of Cambodian and international businesses; the relationships that have been formed over years. The people all come with a unique story and personality, adding colour to the place that is their home. And this blend of ingredients cannot be replaced or taken for granted.
Devastatingly though, it is. Because the businesses here have been asked to pack up and leave within the next four years to make way for developments.
Whilst they’re hopeful for more time, if the landlord decides to sell the land to investors, the bamboo structure, which the founders of Sunboo lovingly and painstakingly assembled into their home and livelihood, will be dismantled.
The hammocks will be taken down, the games packed away, and this magical community divided. All to make way for bigger, glossier, pricier hotels.
We’ve probably all read or watched The Beach by Alex Garland.
As I looked out at the Gulf of Thailand one day, I thought about how that story captured hearts, and its parallels to Sunset Beach. Despite descending into darkness, the concept of a legendary self-contained community fascinates people. As a result, many tourists went searching for it – ultimately destroying the “real” magic Maya Bay in Thailand, where it was filmed.
You cannot recreate the lived experience, the serendipity, or connections that make a place alive.
That’s why the idea of wiping out Sunset Beach in favour of a bunch of soulless hotels feels appalling. Meaningful places, whether for travel or in everyday life, are rarely manufactured. They are nurtured over time, by people, stories, and happenstance – so they need to be appreciated for what they are, in the moment.
Because I stayed longer than anticipated, on my second to last day, I had to return to Saracen Bay to work. After another thirty minute walk across the island to Sunset Beach, I arrived once again at the uphill dirt track. But I wasn’t frustrated this time. I was energised. Because I knew, on the other side I’d be met with a cold lemonade and a slice of paradise.
Most people go to Vietnam with intention – whether that’s to enjoy the history, the food or the landscapes. But too much planning can kill the thrill of travel, so when I arrived in April 2025, following a week of pure luxury on the golden sands of Koh Rong Sanloem in Cambodia I didn’t have much of a view as to what to expect.
What I did know is that it would be very busy (or “cognitively demanding” as this article puts it) – and pulling into Saigon after eight days on a paradise island was certainly an assault on the senses.
Real life Mario Kart
In some ways, my biggest takeaway from those first few days was simply the traffic. I’d been quite cavalier about jumping on motorcycles (Grabs) through Thailand, Laos and Cambodia so didn’t change my routine initially. But if you’re going to Ho Chi Minh City, I’d actually advise taking cars wherever you can (see my instagram reel for chaos in 4K).
The density of traffic here is some of the worst in the world, and whilst the idea of playing real-life Mario Kart sounds fun, it’s best enjoyed against friends from the sofa in my book and I wish I’d been more careful (though I clearly survived to tell the tale!). Don’t risk your life to save a couple of pounds on a Grab. I’d also think twice before riding your own bike in Ho Chi Minh (!) unless you truly understand this part of the world.
If you need more convincing, even my Uber driver was visibly scared picking me up during rush hour. And crossing the road? Don’t even try it. Saigon does not stop for you, and I nearly learned that the hard way.
A long overdue history lesson
Anyone that’s spent time in Asian cities will understand how overwhelming they can be. Rather than attempt to get to know Ho Chi Minh in much detail, I preserved my energy with visits to two of the city’s most important historic attractions – the War Remnants Museum and the Cu Chi tunnels.
I’d been having a great time on my trip, soaking up the recent history of Laos and Cambodia. The Vietnam war – or as they’d call it, the “American war” – is something I was never really taught at school, and I felt a pull to understand it better.
If you like to dig into the weeds of things like I do, my biggest tip for the museum would be to go there with some background context. On the 9 hour coach trip from Sihanoukville, I had been listening to The Rest Is History series on the conflict (something I continued with whilst on the Ha Giang Loop) which gave me a helpful grounding in the events leading up to it. Otherwise, it could feel overwhelming – it did go on for twenty years, after all!
In my naivety, I didn’t expect the museum to be so anti American. It’s obviously curated from a communist Vietnamese perspective, and being able to compare the two narratives side by side, was one of the most interesting parts of the experience. Whilst it helped me hold both viewpoints in balance, the long and short of it is that it was a painfully drawn out shit show, especially right at the end.
Keen to deepen my knowledge, I took a tour to the Cu Chi tunnels, where the Viet Cong (communist resistance) lived underground during the war. Crawling through the tunnels, and hearing about how terrible it was for them (and also the soldiers they killed) really provides a reality check of how brutal that conflict must have been. I noticed a lot of Vietnamese people I spoke to still used the name Saigon to describe the city, which speaks to the differing political viewpoints people there still have.
Re-energising myself with a cooked breaky
But aside from my history lessons – and some very good vegan bánh mì – I didn’t spend a huge amount of time exploring Ho Chi Minh, so apologies that I can’t give more of a deep dive. Simply put, ‘travel fatigue’ had set in, and it was especially acute given I’d just had a wonderful time in Cambodia.
I’d been travelling around Asia as a digital nomad for about six weeks. I wasn’t working full-time, but moving constantly, leaving people behind, meeting new ones, and planning every next step was a lot to process, both mentally and physically. At just over a month in, it was starting to take its toll, and I simply didn’t have the same energy for new experiences as I had at the beginning.
Rightly or wrongly, this most likely shaped my first impressions of Vietnam. For an insight into my head space – on my second morning, I got in an Uber and asked to be taken to Melbourne Café for a fry-up. My first Western meal of the trip, in Vietnam! Some might find that sacrilege, but you’ve got to have those home comforts some times. I’d never been so happy to see a baked bean, but I assure you that I went straight back to eating local food after that.
Breakfast at the Melbourne Cafe in Ho Chi Minh
It’s good to know your limits, and given that so much ‘nomad’ content is overly positive, I’m happy to share that perspective. After all, I want this blog to be an honest reflection of my experience. So, after two days, I headed north, arriving in the lantern-lit streets of Hoi An – where things immediately brightened up.
Plus, how does Lisbon’s cool sister fair for remote workers?
Following an inaugural three-month stint as a digital nomad in Asia in early 2025, I returned home invigorated – but a little exhausted – by my new freelance lifestyle. Curious to understand what the European scene looked like, I started exploring options closer to the UK.
Europe is, unsurprisingly, not as cheap as Asia or South America for nomads; but some countries are waking up to the advantages of hosting foreign remote workers. Portugal is one of them.
Home to the first so-called “digital nomad village” on Madeira island, the country has made a concerted effort to attract location-independent workers. In 2026, it even introduced a dedicated D8 visa to make living and working there easier. With around 16,000 foreign remote workers, Lisbon has become so popular that the influx is now proving controversial, with concerns around gentrification and a siloed economy growing (see my blog about Chiang Mai in Thailand, where I touch on this).
Outside of these hotspots, though, I hadn’t heard much about Portugal’s second favourite city, Porto. Porto sits on the west coast, in the north of Portugal; around three hours away from Lisbon by train. In olden times, Portugal was one of England’s more important allies, according to my favourite podcast, The Rest Is History. Nowadays, it’s best known for its Douro wines (including Port), pastries and (love her or hate her) J.K. Rowling, who lived there in the nineties.
Curious, and having already had some success with pet sitting in the UK, I managed to secure a sit in Porto during October (full blog on how to get into this coming soon); making for a far more affordable trip. So, off I trotted for a week of exploration in the country’s wine capital.
Is there a nomad scene?
Unlike Lisbon, which has flourished as a long-term base for remote workers, Porto tends to attract fewer digital nomads setting up here permanently, it seems.
Based on my time there, my sense is that this is partly cultural; many cafés don’t encourage laptops for long stretches, and the nomad community isn’t yet large enough to sustain the same density of coworking spaces and regular meetups. Some nomads will no doubt disagree – but for now, Porto feels less geared towards full-time remote work. Of course, that may well change if Lisbon continues to feel over-saturated.
Coming at this from the perspective of someone who isn’t working full time, I found Porto to be a pleasant and peaceful location to work from, however. There’s reliable Wi-Fi, comfortable places to dip in and out of work (that allow for at least a few hours of focused work), and I felt like I was merging with local life. For freelancers, creatives, or anyone balancing work with travel (perhaps for shorter periods like me) – rather than clocking a strict nine-to-five – it was a good setup.
How I spent my time in Porto
There’s plenty to do in Porto, and it felt like a truly liveable city to me. Visiting in October meant it was mild (but a little rainy!) and wasn’t overrun with tourists. Locals were incredibly friendly and keen to make conversation, which really struck me. Here are some fun activities to add to your list if you’re visiting:
Admire the terracotta rooftops from the Dom Luis Bridge
Personally, the first thing I look for on a city break or solo trip is a walking tour. I booked one via my hostel, which took us around the local sites, including the fanciest McDonald’s in the world (which is nothing to write home about, but fun to see) and some beautiful viewing spots, including Sé (Porto’s cathedral) and the Dom Luís bridge, which crossed the Douro River.
The mix of ageing white and amber buildings lining the riverbank in the Ribeira district makes for a gorgeous sight and you’ll even find that the famous amber roofs sparkling in the sunlight, thanks to the sharp seagull deterrents. Magic!
Worth noting that Porto sits on a steep slope beside the river; its narrow roads and staircases don’t make it easy to manoeuvre around – even with Ubers – so bear this in mind if you have health or mobility issues.
Try a Francesinha
I hadn’t put much planning at all into this trip, but luckily a pal of mine was in Porto at the same time visiting a local pal. After sharing a couple of bottles of rosé at a bar called Bosco (recommended for its views of the city!), she advised that we head out for something called a Francesinha.
This is an indulgent Portuguese sandwich originating from Porto, featuring layers of bread, steak, ham, linguiça (sausage) and chipolata, smothered in melted cheese and a thick, savoury beer-and-tomato sauce. It tastes like eating a ham sandwich covered in spaghetti hoops. Bit weird, but sort of a must-try whilst in Porto.
Aside from the Francesinha, I can recommend the warm pork and cheese sandwich from Bó Tá Quente on R. do Souto – another good spot for traditional cuisine.
Sample the pastries
People like to celebrate French pastries, but wow do the Portuguese know a thing or two about sweet, flaky snacks.
One of the joyful things about Porto is that you don’t need to look far for a good pastry selection; although Confeitaria de Bolhão was busy, and had a big spread of goodies to choose from. Highlights have to be the pastel de nata (custard tarts with blistered pastry) and the ovos moles (a soft, sweet egg-yolk filling, traditionally wrapped in rice paper).
Visit the Mercado de Balhao
Described as a “recovered gem” following its restoration in 2023, this is a bustling indoor food market open every day other than Sunday. It’s a great place to grab a coffee and sample local treats, as well as do a bit of gift shopping.
On my list for next time
Walking the Camino
Ah, the famous walking pilgrimage. This is on my wish list this year, although I’m still undecided on my route. The Camino Portugués from Porto offers three main, well-marked routes to Santiago de Compostela – Coastal, Central and Litoral – all starting at the Sé Cathedral. The Coastal and Litoral routes feature ocean views, while the Central goes inland through historic towns. All routes typically converge in Redondela, Spain, before reaching Santiago.
Visit the Douro wine region
It’s not just fortified wine made in Porto. Northern Portugal is famous for its Douro Valley, a UNESCO World Heritage site that’s easily accessible from the city. If you’re a wine fan, it’s easy to take day trips to the vineyards (which sit alongside the river) from the city.
Pastel de nata cooking class
Why not find out how to make the wee eggy tarts yourself? I spotted an advertisement for this in the city and it struck me as a fun thing to do. I’d be genuinely fascinated to know how they’re made but sadly ran out of time for this, myself.
Final thoughts: don’t let the lack of “scene” put you off
So, is Porto digital-nomad friendly? Certainly – but I wouldn’t call it a “hub”.
If you’re looking for a slick coworking scene, endless laptop cafés and a ready-made remote-work community, Lisbon will likely suit you better.
But if your work fits around travel – a few focused hours here and there – Porto offers something quieter, more grounded and perhaps less performative. I’m looking forward to visiting Lisbon soon so I can compare them.
Whether it was a war, invasion, or act of terror, ideological conflicts dominated the news agenda when I was in school. Keen to understand more, I took Religious Studies to A level, studying the world’s major faiths in relative depth.
At their core, they share similar moral frameworks. But between the lack of wars, focus on selflessness and preservation of animal life, Buddhism was the easiest one to actively “lean into” (and – critically – didn’t involve worshipping some bloke).
So when I visited Thailand earlier this year to experience life as a digital nomad, I was excited to hear that you can book time to speak to monks there, as part of a nationwide scheme called “Monk Chat“.
How prevalent is Buddhism in Thailand?
With a temple around every corner, it’s not hard to see that Buddhism is still the dominant religion in Thailand. The country is home to around 200,000 monks and 85,000 novices at most times of the year, according to Buddhanet.
Strikingly for me, is the fact that most Thai men ordain at least once in their lives. They’ll typically join a wat (monastery) before starting work or university – sometimes even returning mid way through life – and can leave, or rejoin, whenever they want. Like spiritual rehab.
The “Monk Chat” scheme specifically, allows people to learn how monastic life shapes Thai society, in exchange for a bit of English language practice. Chiang Mai – in the North – is considered the centre of the movement, so I booked a half-day meditation retreat at Wat Suan Dok, in the centre of the old town, when I visited last February.
Introduction to Buddhism
After a quick cup of tea, our teacher, the head monk, began by outlining the basic history and core principles of Buddhism.
A lot of people assume Buddhists worship Buddha, but that is not true. They do not worship a creator God or idol – not even the Buddha himself, although his journey toward enlightenment, and teaching of Nirvana, is central to the philosophy.
Instead, Buddhism is better understood as a practice rather than a belief-based religion. “Train against doing bad; train to do good; and train to purify the mind,” he wrote on the whiteboard, summarising its ethical framework. Simple, right?
It’s all about balance
As to how much of this the average Thai person follows, I’m not sure. But it’s widely understood that 90% of the population define themselves as Buddhist, and pay close attention to the main principles.
Meditation specifically, our teacher explained, is a tool for observing and regulating emotional responses, helping practitioners return to these principles rather than act against them in moments of difficulty.
We then had a go at this ourselves – sitting for no less than 40 minutes – as he guided us through a seated meditation. I’ve always found meditation easier in a group, and after an emotionally charged first ten days of travel, the enforced stillness provided a rare opportunity to switch off.
Question time
Following this introduction, there was a group Q&A where you’re allowed to speak to the junior monks. I’ve been looking forward to this the most because I was genuinely interested in their way of life.
Can you watch Netflix? Can you discuss the news? Play video games in your spare time? We found ourselves asking.
I really wanted to understand what their habitual lives are like – especially at a novice level – as well as the role that monks play in the community. If I compare to the UK, for example, the Church is very active, and runs sort of like a charity / business. And who could forget the Benedictine’s at Buckfast Abbey? They’re making booze!
We didn’t get far with these questions. Our hosts were happy to talk about the importance of meditation but overall, I felt there was a slightly missed opportunity to understand the social contribution that monks make in the modern age.
But I guess it’s not their job to explain some of this, and we wanted to be respectful. There was also a language barrier, which is fair and understandable.
What about the women?
We did make headway on the topic of female monks (nuns), which felt significant, because they are not officially recognised by the state.
According to a 2019 article I read in Reuters, though, more Thai Buddhist women are seeking to become full-fledged “bhikkunis”, or female monks, by getting ordained overseas, usually in Sri Lanka or India.
Our companion clearly viewed these women as legitimate, but explained that nuns are required to follow 311 rules, compared with 227 for their male counterparts. This distinction comes from the Vinaya Pitaka – specifically the Pāṭimokkha – which sets out the monastic code of conduct. Like the men, women shave their heads and eyebrows upon ordination.
This interview on the topic expands on why this is, and how this landscape is shifting. I’ve also added some videos from the sessions on my instagram (@womanmeetsw0rld).
Is it worth attending?
If you’re curious to understand Buddhism and meditation at a surface level, I’d absolutely recommend trying Monk Chat whilst in Chiang Mai.
I’m interested in religious teachings and philosophies without any real intention to practise, so this half-day experience suited me well – though more in-depth meditation retreats are available for those looking to go deeper.
It’s a donation-based scheme offered at numerous temples across Thailand, and I imagine each one feels slightly different: some more open and modern, others more structured and traditional.
It was a genuinely enjoyable thing to do in Chiang Mai, and even if the session felt a little too focused on meditation for me personally, I found myself reflecting deeply on the topics covered afterwards.
It’s not a bad way to spend a day off from work, is it?
I cross from Thailand to Laos, for a proper weekend off.
I wasn’t even planning to visit Laos during my South East Asia trip last year. Then one day in November, whilst hunched over my desk planning my route, I saw a deeply enticing picture – a wooden treehouse, surrounded by leaves, and doused in sunshine.
It was a snap from The Gibbon Experience – a tourism-based conservation programme that allows people to stay in tree houses and zip wire across Nam Kan national park in Northern Laos.
The organisation protects the area from logging by creating an alternative income, and gives the locals here a way of life. Guests that come here have a small chance of spotting endangered black-crested Gibbons (did we see them? Read on to find out).
After a quick scan of reddit and TripAdvisor – my go-to for travel advice – it seemed legit. And as luck would have it, there was availability during the weekend I had planned to leave Chiang Mai (but not before – so book at least three months ahead!).
Without much further thought, I booked a two night stay (the “Classic” tour) for around £300. This was the most expensive thing I bought during my time in South East Asia, where I worked for three months as a digital nomad – so I didn’t hold back. How else does one spend their weekends off in Asia?
This was my first land border crossing of the trip, so I was a little nervous, especially as I’ve mostly travelled in Europe which is pretty straightforward as a Brit.
But having my passport photos and PRINTED e-visa in hand, made the process pretty simple. If you don’t bring this with you, ensure you have $50 crisp dollar notes so that you can pay for your visa.
Laos is a developing nation, so a little preparation goes far.
Most people heading into Laos this way will stop first at the nearest small town, Huay Xai (pronounced “Hox Aye”). Once I had crossed the border, a couple of buses took us into the town, making the process fairly straightforward and easy to navigate as a solo traveller.
Luckily, you don’t need to get Lao kip (LAK) before entering the country – they accept Thai baht, and sometimes even US dollars. So do NOT use up all your Baht when leaving Thailand. You’ll need some to pay for the bus over the Friendship Bridge, and the driver in Laos (it cost us around 200 baht each).
Once your baht is gone though, you’ll need cash. The kip isn’t a strong currency, and the country is cheap as chips – a clean dorm bed will set you back around £6–8, and meals are £1–3. The max you can get out of the ATM is 2M kip (around £70), so just grab the lot, and use it up – don’t get little amounts.
Another big tip – the ATMs in Laos can’t be trusted. Take your money from the machine as soon as it comes out. I was with a girl whose cash got swallowed back in and one took my bank card later in Vang Vieng (a story for another time).
Laos feels much smaller and rural after Thailand, because it is. Memories of the first five minutes include being overtaken by children on motorbikes, and wall to wall adverts for Beerlao.
With this in mind, I had pre-booked a dorm room at “Little Hostel”. I needed a good night’s sleep, and wanted somewhere clean and comfortable.
It really delivered, and the girl running it (who spoke excellent English) even made us a wonderful porridge breakfast. There’s a number of nice options for dinner too, but bear in mind, service will be VERY slow. That’s just what it’s like in Laos!
Heading to the park, and facing my fear of heights
The Gibbon Experience office is easy to find, and we headed there at around 8am to swap our bigger bags for overnight packs. After a rather glitchy safety video, we put our lives in the hands of the staff and started the two hour drive up the mountains.
The next four hours was a blur that consisted of weeing in holes in the ground (common all over Laos), swapping extremely rudimentary small talk with our guides (mostly just smiling and nodding) and not looking each other in the eye until we stopped at the Gibbon Exp. Headquarters for lunch.
There were eight people in my group (just three couples, and two solo travellers, including me), and after a filling lunch of glass noodles, we started to wake up, and managed to exchange names and back stories (long story short, we had a wonderful time together).
Stopping for lunch at the headquarters
The trip requires a fair bit of hiking, so be prepared
We then took a shortish trek into the forest, where we were taught how to use the zip lines.
It was a little nerve wracking to begin with, because – if you’ve seen the footage from my instagram – you’re extremely high up. In the tree tops, no less! In addition, neither of our guides spoke good English. For full transparency, there was a death in 2017, but since then, the organisation has tightened it’s health and safety (and critically, weight limit). I knew this ahead of time and felt comfortable, but do your research and consider what feels right to you.
I’m actually slightly afraid of heights, but the minute I jumped off the ledge, I was just buzzing. Nothing can prepare you for the incredible views of the canopies, and the quiet sound of the forest around you as you’re speeding along the wire – that’s for sure.
After a couple of hours, we zip wired towards our treehouse and retired for the evening (at around 4pm).
Dinner at our treehouse
As the sun started setting, it was time to explore our home for the weekend.
The treehouses, raised over 40 metres off the ground, are wonderful. It was just like being in Swallows and Amazons, but with modern accompaniments. I’m talking a flushing toilet, electric lights, and a waterfall shower. Yes it’s cold – but it comes with a view of the jungle, so compromises must be made!
Dinner consisted of spring rolls, eggs, rice, noodles and coffee, and was wired in by the guides, who also joined us for traditional shots of rice wine.
Zip wiring for days on end is tiring, so when the guides left, after helping us with our beds, we deftly located the biscuit box and guzzled them down whilst playing card games.
When darkness truly fell, the six of us turned off the lights and listened to the sounds of the dense wildlife, before getting into our enclosed ‘bed tents’ and settling into a deeply comfortable sleep.
The forest is noisy at night, so bring ear plugs if that bothers you (I quite enjoyed it).
Bonding with the wildlife
Up at 7am for brekky, which – given it was a repeat of the last evening – was a bit of a shock to the European tummy. The food remained the same for the next 3 days, with slight variations each time, and allowances for the vegans in the group.
After coffee, we were back out on the zip lines until 11.30, with a fair bit of hiking in between. Not unmanageable, but something to keep in mind – you don’t slow down much, and even our group (20s–30s) was getting tired. Luckily we had a solid three-hour break back at treehouse five for lunch and a nap.
In the afternoon we explored the other treehouses – the 50m-high one, the big 11-person one, and the honeymoon suite where we met a lovely retired couple that had met in Cambodia. All were wonderful, but we still felt that ours had the best view.
We spent the evening looking at the giant spiders in the rafters and trying to catch a rat we saw deep-throating our ketchup bottle. There were also some bats flying through – they didn’t bother us, but definitely get your rabies jabs before coming. I will stress that the sleeping situation unnerved me before I left, but the mosquito nets around our tents were solid, and nothing was getting in. It was plenty warm, and pretty cosy!
After another brilliant sunset, we were up at 5.30 the next morning for a final hike to the viewpoint. This time we headed toward a special viewpoint where the gibbons tend to feed. Unfortunately, despite lingering for some time, we did not see any – but we did hear them singing in the distance, which was a highlight.
We packed in a little more ziplining that day, and by midday, we were back at the village for lunch, photo swapping, and the journey home. We were absolutely shattered by this point, but having bonded on the trip, much laughter was had on the way home – a sea change from the way there!
It really was a wonderful and unique experience, for not that much money by UK standards. You can take a one night trip, but the “Classic” two night tour is less popular, more intimate, and only slightly more expensive, so I would suggest doing this. Just ensure that you book well ahead (at least three months in advance).
My top tips:
Bed sharing – As a solo traveller, I did have to share a bed with a guy my age. I was comfortable with this because we got on very well, but some people might not be
Wildlife – Whilst I was anxious about spiders and rats, they didn’t prove to be a problem. The beds are really secure, and as long as you put your net right around it (which we did), you’ll be fine. For the spiders, my advice is to simply not look at the rafters. We did see a rat but the experience turned out to be more amusing than scary. Don’t bring snacks though, as they will eat through your bag. There are bats flying around, so get your rabies jab!
Games – Bring card games for evening time. I advocate for Monopoly deal
Timing – I’d opt for dry season, but the trips do run in the rainy season too
Clothes – Pack as little as you can manage, but long sleeves for the evening (I went in dry season / February). Bikini for the shower (although there is a curtain)
Gibbons – Accept that you probably won’t see them, but you’ll still have fun
Length – Do the Classic / longer tour (not the Giant Loop)! It’s a more intimate group and you see a lot more
