Output of: post my-office-fits-in-one-backpack
My office fits in one backpack
I am writing this from Mang Den. It is Sunday, not Friday. The Friday post slipped again, and the rule I already wrote covers this: post on the next day I can, no guilt, no reset. So here it is.
We were supposed to turn back at Hoi An. That was the plan. Hanoi to Hoi An, then home. We are past Hoi An. We are in a small town in the Central Highlands that I had to look up on the map before we drove here. Over a thousand kilometres done, six stops behind us, and the trip that was supposed to be a there-and-back became a one-way.
one bag for everything except clothes
Before I left, I bought a Tomtoc T77 backpack. I did not buy it because of a review. I bought it because I needed one bag that could hold everything I need to live and work on the road, minus my clothes.
The clamshell opening is the part that matters. The whole bag opens flat like a book, so nothing is buried at the bottom. Toiletry kit on one side, tech gear on the other, laptop in the sleeve, passports and power banks in the front compartment. Coffee maker, eyeglasses, chargers, cables, all of it visible the moment I unzip. I do not unpack into drawers. I unpack into the bag's own layout, and the bag sits on a chair or a desk for the one or two nights we stay.
the car is the warehouse
We are four people. Me, my wife, a ten-year-old, a three-year-old. Everything we need for three weeks fits into two small suitcases, three duffel bags, and a pile of canvas bags. All of it lives in the car.
At every stop, we leave most of it in the trunk and carry in only my backpack, two essential bags, and one or two canvas bags. The rest waits. We sleep, we eat, we explore the area, and when it is time to move again, everything goes back in the car in ten minutes. Nobody repacks. Nobody digs through a suitcase to find one pair of socks. The system is dumb on purpose, and dumb on purpose is what survives when you are tired and the three-year-old has had enough of the car seat.
four hours and a good connection
I drive in the morning. Three, four hours, done before the day gets hot. Then we stop, and the afternoon is a work session.
Not eight hours. Four, maybe five on a good day. But four hours with AI coding tools is not what four hours used to be. I resolve tasks, review diffs, attend meetings, jump into chats, manage different company projects. Everything reports on time. The meetings happen with whatever background the homestay has. Sometimes it is a concrete wall. Sometimes it is a window looking at pine trees in Mang Den, and I have to angle the camera so nobody asks where I am.
I appreciate my manager for letting me live like this. Not every company would. Not every manager would trust someone who is a thousand kilometres from the office and driving further every day. The trust is the part that makes the whole thing possible. Without it, the bag is just a bag.
what is next
Six stops so far. Vinh, Dong Hoi, Hue, Da Nang, Hoi An, Mang Den. The plan said Hoi An and back. We are past Hoi An and still moving.
The next stretch is not decided yet, but the shape of it is clear. Pleiku, Buon Ma Thuot, Da Lat, Phan Thiet, Mui Ne, then Ho Chi Minh City. From there, I fly home and send the car back with a transport service. The trip ends when the road runs out, and the road still has room.
the rule
The bag is not gear. The bag is the system. One backpack that opens flat, holds everything I need to work and live, and moves from car to room in one trip. That is what makes remote work on the road possible. Not the laptop, not the AI tools, not the flexible manager, though all of that matters. The thing that makes it work is that when I arrive somewhere, I am operational in ten minutes. Unzip, plug in, open the laptop, and I am at the office.
The constraint of one bag is not a compromise. It is the reason any of this holds together.