Kong Lo, Laos

Over eight hours we were jolted to Kong Lo on the backs of struggling tuk tuks and unforgiving seats.

By hour six, surrounded by incredible panoramas and a setting sun, the pain was almost forgotten.

Most who venture this far continue their travels before the day is over. A fleeting visit to grab a selfie, and off again.

The farmers working the tobacco fields, children making mischief, and wives preparing supper make it hard for us to leave. We book three nights.

It’s the caves people come for. Miles of pitch black caverns, navigated by a dug-out canoe and a smoking on-board motor.

As evening sets in, a old local man assures us it’s safe to leap from the rocks. We oblige until hunger draws us out of the water.

In the evenings, a few other Western faces appear. Weathered and smeared in dirt, they’ve fallen in love with this place. Decided to stay in a nearby hut, lending a hand to earn their keep. Four months and counting.

A couple of days later we leave Kong Lo. Locals wave as we drive by, tempting us to stay longer. Maybe sleep in a hut. Help on a farm. Make this place home.