A 60-year-old tuk-tuk that breaks down after just one kilometer on its very first test drive. An exhaust pipe that breaks four times in eight days. And Jolisa van Leeuwen, who sets off for Pakistan anyway. She’s quite a headstrong woman, has a great sense of humor, and apparently a special talent for breaking down on the road. Luckily. Because the best stories sometimes start right where everything comes to a halt.
OLLI Friends are people who get out there and do their own thing. We tell their stories—about being on the road, about arriving, and about everything that happens in between.
Tell me, who are you? And what do you do when you’re not out and about in your tuk-tuk?
My name is Jolisa van Leeuwen, and I fell in love with traveling and the mountains when I was 17. Ever since then, I’ve spent my free time and money traveling. I’d search Google Maps for places with mountains—and that’s exactly where I’d go.
I made my money organizing festivals. Between projects, I traveled as often as possible and discovered new places. At some point, I started working as a tour guide. In addition to adventure trips, I also led tours for people with learning disabilities. And that’s exactly what I love doing most!
When I lost my freelance work in the festival and travel industry during the COVID-19 pandemic, my sister, two friends, and I bought a British double-decker bus from the 1970s and converted it into a traveling hostel.
Today, five years later, my sister and I still organize active trips and road trips to a different country every year. We organize both “regular” trips and trips for people with learning disabilities and for people with visual impairments.
We like to think in terms of possibilities and consider what we can organize for people who normally have fewer options to choose from. And besides, we can learn an incredible amount from them ourselves!
"Not giving up is one thing. Recognizing when it's time for Plan B is another."
Do you remember the moment when you knew, “I’m really going to do this”? In a tuk-tuk!
I’d been to Iran once before and absolutely loved the country. Ever since then, I knew I wanted to see more of this region—and that I wanted to travel there overland.
At first, I thought I’d make the trip in our double-decker bus. But when I took a closer look at the route, I quickly realized that I didn’t want any guests with me on this trip—no matter how much I like them. I just didn’t want to be responsible for anyone. That would have taken away my sense of freedom.
So the plan to travel to Pakistan was set. Now I just had to find the right vehicle. I knew I wanted a very open vehicle that wouldn’t create a barrier between me and my surroundings. In a car or van, you still have your comfortable, enclosed space where you can retreat as soon as it gets cold or starts to rain. On a motorcycle, on the other hand, you wear a helmet—which, for me, also creates a barrier between people and me. I thought about a moped. I’d done that once before in Norway. But I knew that on this trip, I wanted to give other people a ride—at least some of the time.
Then, in Sri Lanka, I found myself riding in a tuk-tuk.
And suddenly I knew: This is exactly how I want to travel! It’s open, has a friendly vibe, you can give people rides, and it can even be converted into a camper. Perfect! For me, traveling by tuk-tuk made sense right from the start.
"There's always a reason to put something off. But at some point, you just have to get started."
How did family and friends react? Were they thrilled, or did they shake their heads?
They weren’t particularly surprised. After all, they know me pretty well. ;)
What was the hardest part about actually setting off?
Not much, really. For me, it was harder not to leave too early. Haha.
My friends told me, “Shouldn’t you work on it a little more? It’s not even really finished yet!” But I think there’s always some reason not to do something or to put it off. At some point, you just have to get going.
You can figure most things out along the way. And as long as you believe that everything will turn out okay in the end, you’ll get pretty far.
How did the first few weeks go with your 60-year-old tuk-tuk?
In February 2025, I set off on my solo tuk-tuk trip. I had bought a 60-year-old tuk-tuk that wasn’t working, repaired it with the help of a friend, and converted it into a small camper.
Then I hit the road—after breaking down just one kilometer into my first test drive. And to be honest, I had a breakdown about every other day after that.
My exhaust pipe broke four times in the first eight days, the engine overheated, my brakes didn’t work, and by the time I reached Cologne, I couldn’t shift gears anymore. The ignition stopped working, and the electrical system started failing as well.
After spending a few days trying to fix the problems on my own, I realized I didn’t know enough about my tuk-tuk’s mechanics yet and needed help.
I drove to a friend’s repair shop, ordered some replacement parts from Thailand, and there they explained to me how to fix the problems. I followed their advice and repaired everything myself—the perfect way to learn!
After that, I was ready to hit the road again. After spending two weeks working on my tuk-tuk, I had a much better idea of how to solve future problems on my own.
And there were future problems.
The tuk-tuk kept breaking down all the time. Literally every single part of my tuk-tuk broke at some point—everything from the gas tank to the exhaust. And then there were the brakes.
When I looked at the map, I knew: My brakes had to be working by the time I reached the Alps, at the very latest. Salzburg was my deadline.
In the end, I had to order brake shoes from Thailand. After two days, I’d managed to install them, and I was ready to continue my journey.
Now came the Alps. I had no idea if my tuk-tuk would even be able to make it up those mountains!
Where did you stay much longer than planned—simply because you didn't want to leave?
I often stayed longer because my tuk-tuk broke down. But in Bad Ischl, where I was stuck for twelve days, I also really enjoyed the beautiful mountain scenery!
In the meantime, my sister had joined me. She wanted to accompany me for four weeks. We started the first climb, but soon lost power. A look under the hood revealed that we’d lost the air filter. So we started pushing my tuk-tuk up the hill.
A friendly stranger stopped and offered to help us. “We just have to make it all the way to the top. Then we can roll back down,” we told him. He was so kind and offered to help us later as well, in case we needed him.
After we’d rolled down the hill, however, the tuk-tuk wouldn’t go any faster than ten kilometers per hour.
In the end, we spent the night at his place with him and his girlfriend.
“Just for one night.” Twelve days later, we drove on.
By then, we knew all the owners of the auto and motorcycle parts shops, had become friends with the brother of their retired neighbor—who had run an auto repair shop for 40 years—found two wonderful new friends, learned a bit about hunting—and even made it into the local newspaper.
Twelve days of trial and error. Every time we found a problem, there was hope: there was something we could fix! And every time the repair didn’t make a difference afterward, frustration set in.
By then, literally every other mode of transportation was faster than my tuk-tuk. Even the 80-year-old man who walked past us with his walking stick.
I was on the verge of giving up. And then, of all things, the very last thing we tried actually worked. For the first time in my life, I cried tears of joy.
By then, my mother had joined us as well. Perfect timing: The tuk-tuk was working again, and we were about to cross these beautiful Alps. So the three of us continued on our way, our suitcases on the roof.
We said goodbye to Xenia, Moritz, and Albert, who by then were just as excited about our tuk-tuk as we were.
It was time to keep going. Time to put Tuk’s brakes and power to the test and conquer the Alps. Even though two of us had to get out of the vehicle every now and then, we actually made it up the switchbacks. Cheered on by the other drivers—and by ourselves—we made it all the way to the top!
Once we reached the top, after taking countless photos, the regulars at a bar offered us a drink. Tuk needed a break anyway—and we gladly accepted the offer.
After a few more hiccups, we finally made it to Slovenia—woop woop—the next milestone!
And how did the trip continue on to Slovenia?
From Slovenia, my journey continued through the mountains to Croatia, where bears kept us awake at night. After that, we drove along the beautiful coastline, where the mountains meet the sea. We practically had the road all to ourselves—quite different from traveling here in the summer.
From there, I slowly made my way on to Bosnia, while more and more parts were giving out. By then, I had to change the spark plugs about every ten kilometers just to get any power at all.
The number of times I had to be towed up the mountains was also steadily increasing. So I decided to weld an extra tow hook onto my tuk-tuk.
And let me tell you: It turned out to be pretty useful, hahaha.
I rolled down countless mountains with the engine turned off or no longer working before I finally made it to Srebrenica.
There, Rob took me in and gave me a place where I could work on my tuk-tuk.
Once again, I had to order replacement parts from Thailand. And this time I decided: This is the last time.
Every order cost me time and money, and with so many breakdowns—by then we were back to practically one a day—I wanted to try using new parts just one more time.
After that, it would be Plan B. Whatever Plan B might be.
I had to wait several weeks for the spare parts, so I decided to hike through Montenegro in the meantime.
Afterward, I bought a used bike from a street vendor in Albania. It was probably about as old as my tuk-tuk and, with its steel frame, just as heavy. But it sparkled, and “Libertas” was written on it in pink and purple. That settled it: This was my bike!
I bought it and rode it through Albania and Greece. Along the way, I learned everything about its gears and brakes—because you always learn something about the things that break.
It seems to be a recurring theme: gear shifts and brakes.
After that, I returned to my Tuk Tuk in Bosnia and spent several weeks in Sarajevo trying to repair it together with Kudra. For eleven days, I slept in his attic.
Every day we hoped we’d finally be able to fix Tuk. And every time, unfortunately, it didn’t work out.
Then it started to snow.
And I knew: It’s time for Plan B.
Not giving up is one thing. But you also have to be able to recognize when the balance is completely off and it’s time to move on.
"Without time pressure or a set plan, everything that happens and everyone you meet becomes part of your adventure."
So what was Plan B?
I flew to Cambodia, bought a new tuk-tuk, converted it back into a camper, and customized everything so it would be ready for the trip.
In addition to the LPG system, I installed a gasoline supply, got spare tires, and all the spare parts I thought I might need along the way.
What a luxury!
The plan was to drive it from Cambodia all the way back to the Netherlands. But plans are, after all, meant to be changed. So who knows where I’d end up.
I managed to register the tuk-tuk in my name, took it apart, and put it back together to get to know the mechanics of this particular model. After that, I was more than ready to set off for Laos.
But first, I enjoyed Cambodia with my tuk-tuk. I just drove into random tiny villages where some people had never seen a tourist before.
The children and women touched the hair on my arms and stared at my nose as if it were something completely strange.
“When they saw me sleeping on top of the roof rack of my tuk-tuk, they could hardly believe their eyes.”
Often I’d wake up the next morning to find half the village gathered around my tuk-tuk.
Shortly before I was about to leave Cambodia, I was near the border between Thailand and Cambodia when Thailand dropped bombs on Cambodia—just a few hundred meters from where I was sleeping in my tuk-tuk.
The borders were closed, and suddenly my only option for leaving Cambodia was Laos.
I thought I wouldn’t run into any problems there, so I drove to the border—only to find out that they wouldn’t let me through. I spent four days there, trying everything I could to get them to let me cross the border.
However, since I wasn’t willing to accept their deal and pay up, I didn’t stand a chance. They started ignoring me, laughing at me, making up all sorts of excuses, and then ignoring me even more. I remained patient while they flexed their authority.
But after they’d made me wait for six hours, at some point I had no choice but to fry an egg in my tuk-tuk kitchen right at their border post.
They probably didn’t find it very funny that I was frying my egg right in the middle of the border, blocking about half the passageway.
So I’m afraid they’ll still remember me next year.
But since this is the only border crossing out of Cambodia as long as the Thai border remains closed, that doesn’t necessarily work in my favor.
Since nothing was working out, I eventually flew to New Zealand, hiked part of the Te Araroa on the South Island, and then returned to the Netherlands for a few La-Karavana trips that I organize.
"Sometimes complete strangers show you just how much kindness and openness there is in this world."
Would you set out on a tuk-tuk trip again today? And what's next?
I’d like to travel with my tuk-tuk again—but without the old, rare engine that caused me so many problems.
Right now, I’m getting ready for my next trip in the tuk-tuk in early 2027. I want to convert it to electric power and travel the world using solar energy. I think that would be awesome!
Because, actually, it did exactly what I’d hoped it would—aside from the mechanical problems, hahaha.
It’s a fantastic way to travel, meet people, and discover all these different countries through the locals you encounter along the way.
Were there moments on your trip that probably would never have happened without your tuk-tuk—for better or for worse?
Absolutely everything.
All the people I met. The special people I encountered precisely because of my countless breakdowns.
To be honest, my entire trip revolved around the tuk-tuk—and its breakdowns.
How do people react to your vehicle? Were there encounters that happened specifically because of it?
Everyone waves and smiles.
And I couldn’t really stop anywhere without people striking up a conversation with me—whether at a gas station, in front of a supermarket, or even at a red light.
At one traffic light, I was even invited to dinner and offered a place to sleep.
"Life is made up of chapters. Each one holds something new—and we only have a limited number of years to experience them."
What does a typical day on the road look like for you?
Most of the time, I had no idea where I’d be sleeping that same evening.
In Germany, though, it was still winter, and I was taken in by incredibly kind people. I didn’t know any of them personally—they were all connections through mutual acquaintances.
So during that time, I usually knew where my day would end. Otherwise, I’d just set off whenever I felt like it and stop whenever I felt like it.
After the first week, it dawned on me: I’m not going to rush anymore. And when you’re not under any time pressure and don’t have a set plan, everything that happens and every person you meet becomes part of the adventure.
Tell us about an evening you’ll never forget.
That was probably the night I was woken up by bomb blasts all around me. I was in Cambodia, on the border with Thailand, sleeping alone in my tuk-tuk when I suddenly heard incredibly loud noises in the middle of the night.
I still remember waking up and thinking, “What the heck are the neighbors doing?” It was that close! When the second blast hit, I realized it had to be something else. I got out of my tuk-tuk and walked to the beach, about 50 meters away. There were a few bungalows for rent there.
The others had woken up too, and I asked, “Is this the war you’ve been talking about…?” We looked out at the sea and saw flashes of light from a ship that was perhaps a few hundred meters away from us.
Then the power went out. And so did the Wi-Fi. The few who still had some reception were able to read a message in which Trump claimed he had “negotiated peace between Thailand and Cambodia.” Meanwhile, bombs were exploding right under our noses!
I went out to the street and saw more and more Cambodians riding by on their scooters. They were fleeing into the night with nothing but a small bag and, often, a child in their arms.
That made me incredibly sad. They were leaving everything behind, without knowing when—or if—they’d ever be able to return home. I could just drive away in my tuk-tuk. But for the people there, the consequences were far worse. It was the first time I’d experienced the aftermath of a war up close. It’s always the civilian population that suffers the most from all these senseless wars.
"Being able to travel wherever you want is a privilege. For many people, this freedom is out of reach."
When did you think, “What on earth am I doing here?” What happened?
When I was riding up a hill at eight kilometers per hour while the rain was pouring down on me like crazy and lightning and thunder lit up the sky.
And when did you think exactly the opposite: “That’s exactly why I’m doing this”?
Every time I met wonderful people. So, basically, almost every day.
What story do you keep telling over and over—even though by now everyone at home really knows it?
Haha, I love that question. There are quite a few. I just have way too much to tell. But let’s see…
When I was driving through Germany in my first yellow tuk-tuk, I met Janine. She flagged me down on the side of the road to show me the way.
Ten minutes later, she passed me again and stopped once more. She said, “I forgot two things: to ask you for a photo—and to ask if you need anything. Food, a place to sleep, anything.”
We kept talking, and I was touched that someone I didn’t know at all would offer me something like that. She told me that her fiancé had just died and that she herself had been diagnosed with cancer shortly before. Still, she wanted to buy a camper and travel to Scotland.
We talked about how life is too short and that we should enjoy it while it lasts. It was a beautiful conversation between two people who didn’t really know each other at all. And it has always stayed with me.
A few months later, I was in Cambodia and was just looking for a name for my new pink tuk-tuk when I received a message from Janine’s niece.
She wrote to tell me that Janine had passed away. I asked her if Janine had made it to Scotland. Unfortunately, she hadn’t.
So I decided to name my new tuk-tuk “Jannie” after Janine. Together, we’d still travel the world.
"Sometimes, just one evening at a stranger's dinner table is enough to see your own world through different eyes."
Let's be honest, what was the most expensive lesson your trip taught you—and by that we don't just mean financially?
I wouldn’t call it an expensive lesson.
Even when I set out on this trip, I knew it wouldn’t be easy—and it wouldn’t always be pleasant either. Traveling this way isn’t the easy path—but that’s okay.
I believe that anything bad or negative that happens to you always depends on how bad you let it get.
At the same time, you learn from everything you experience. Even—or especially—when it was difficult. That’s a comforting thought for me, because it makes everything seem a little “less bad.”
What would you do completely differently today—and why?
Maybe I’d make sure to bring a few more spare parts with me. I didn’t have any at all. But other than that, I wouldn’t change a thing.
I’m glad I set out even though my tuk-tuk wasn’t finished yet. Along the way, I experienced so many amazing things that I would never have experienced if I’d stayed home and kept working on my tuk-tuk.
Who is the one person you still can't stop thinking about? Why?
Janine. I’ve already told you about her.
And as I sit here, I find myself thinking again of all the wonderful people I’ve met along the way. They’re all people I’ll never forget. It’s wonderful to experience just how helpful and friendly people can be when you need help.
Did anyone help you along the way, even though there really was no reason for them to?
All the time.
Some of the truly special people were: Xenia, Moritz, and Albert in Bad Ischl; Milan and Polona in Ljubljana; Rob in Srebrenica; and Kudra in Sarajevo.
Was there an encounter that changed you?
To be honest, I can’t think of any single encounter. But what I appreciate so much about this trip is that you show up in other people’s lives completely unannounced and, as a result, get a little glimpse into their everyday lives.
You sit with them at the dinner table and talk about the big issues: politics, their country, their beliefs. But at the same time, you also talk about everyday things. You see how they live, what their ordinary evenings are like, and how different that often is compared to my own world.
All these little glimpses into other people’s lives help me time and again to see things from a different perspective.
How do you pay for this lifestyle? And how do you deal with the uncertainty that sometimes comes with it?
The most important trick is not to spend too much money. My life in the Netherlands is significantly more expensive than my life on the road. When I’m traveling, I spend maybe 15 euros a day.
I sleep and cook in my tuk-tuk and often spend the night in people’s gardens or camp in the wild.
I sublet my apartment, which eliminates those high costs.
I also have my van and organize a beach cleanup tour. Both bring in some income.
As a result, my financial uncertainty is relatively low because my living expenses while traveling are so low.
What was the greatest luxury you’ve experienced while traveling, even though it didn’t cost a single cent?
Not having any appointments or a set plan.
Just being free and able to do whatever I want.
For example, finally having time to read books again!
"By then, literally every other mode of transportation was faster than my tuk-tuk. Even the 80-year-old man who walked past us with his walking stick."
You're traveling alone. What's the best part about it?
How many people you get to meet—and the freedom that comes with it.
And what really gets on my nerves sometimes?
Not having any friends around when I’m having a bad day myself. Luckily, that doesn’t happen very often. But that’s definitely the downside.
Do you think your trip would have turned out differently if you’d shared it with someone?
Yes, definitely. I would have met fewer people. On the other hand, some things would certainly have been easier.
Be honest: What’s one question you’re really sick of hearing?
Actually, no question really bothers me. But there’s one I hear a lot: “Aren’t you afraid to travel alone as a woman?”
What do most people assume about your life on the road, even though it’s simply not true?
That it’s scary and dangerous. To me, it doesn’t feel that way at all. In 99 percent of cases, people want to help—probably even more so because I’m a woman.
What does social media romanticize about travel, even though the reality is completely different?
Waking up in the morning when you really, really have to pee—and having parked, of all places, right where everyone’s already out walking their dogs.
It’s just not always that “lying in bed in my underwear, looking out at the ocean” photo.
What has traveling taught you that no school in the world could have taught you?
Not necessarily to follow what they teach you in school ;) Life is made up of chapters. Each one holds something new—and we only have a limited number of years to experience them.
As long as you believe that everything will turn out okay in the end, you’ll dare to do more. And that leads to an incredible number of wonderful encounters and experiences.
What was one opinion you had before your trip that you’d completely disagree with today?
I thought hunters didn’t really care much about animals. But in fact, they do care a great deal. Probably even more than many people who just buy their meat at the supermarket. There are many rules and ethical principles, and the hunters I’ve met make use of everything they hunt.
If you could give your pre-trip self just one piece of advice—what would it be?
If I could give someone else one piece of advice, it would be: Just go! There are always reasons not to do something. But sometimes you just have to go. “What’s the worst that could happen?” is often a pretty good question to ask yourself.
When was the last time you thought, “Damn… I’m so lucky to be able to live this life”? What was happening at that moment?
Last week, when I was traveling through Ireland in my double-decker bus with people who have learning disabilities.
Being on the road with them makes me incredibly happy. For one thing, because I can make this trip possible for them. But just as much because I get to travel with them myself and we can learn from each other.
And more generally, I think quite often about what a great privilege it is to have been born in the Netherlands.
Our passport is very powerful and allows us to travel practically anywhere we want. That’s a luxury—and, unfortunately, for many people, it’s not something they can take for granted at all.
What does “One Life. Live It.” mean to you personally?
Janine touched me deeply. Even though we barely knew each other, she treated me with incredible warmth. She herself had just learned how precious and fragile life is—and wanted to finally live out her dreams. Unfortunately, she never got the chance.
She reminded me that we shouldn’t wait until the time is “right.” We only have one life. We should live it while we can.
That’s why my second tuk-tuk now bears her name: JANNIE. Together, we’ll discover the world. ❤️
If someone reads your story and finally finds the courage to set out on their own adventure—what would you like to say to that person?
YES! That alone would be amazing, wouldn’t it? I’d say: Don’t worry too much. Enjoy it, be open to meeting new people—and in the end, everything will turn out fine.
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