Tired and cold from the previous night's hike from the city center to our homestay located in a village deep in the hillside of Sapa, I exulted at the sight of sunlight creeping into our spacious second-floor room. That meant the temperature was hovering near ten degrees compared to the almost two or negative two degrees that had chilled us the night before when I lay shaking even under a thick blanket.

During my first visit to Hanoi the year prior, I was able to ride its famous rickshaw, or "cyclo" as they called it there, on a brief pedal from the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum back to the Old Quarters. Other than that, I was not able to hop on it and pass through the busier parts of the city, as I opted to spend most of my time moving and dodging motorcycles on foot.

The vibe and the scenery surrounding Railay reminded me of the many beautiful islands in the Philippines, but with Thai food and more tourists. Shrugging the resemblance aside as a no-biggie, I felt excited about being there. The fact that I was then one step closer to visiting Maya Bay—a majestic dot on that planet which had become a fascination of mine since I first watched the Danny Boyle film (based on Alex Garland's novel) that all backpackers knew well about—made me consider Rai Leh a perfect pit stop.

I realized we were outside of Galle already when the scenery shifted to azure seas and unending white sands. I resisted telling my guide Sandrew to pull over on the side of the road so I could combat the strong waves battering the shore. I saw a couple of surfers high-five each other from afar, and after another kilometer, a Sri Lankan couple gazing at the beautiful formation of whitecaps caught my attention. The wind was incessant, attached with a yawning effect on me—on any other day, I would prefer to just doze off while listening to the thunderous rolling of the waves. But unfortunately, not this day.

The email popped into my inbox delivering an invitation to review a place called Palo Alto Bed and Breakfast in Puerto Princesa, Palawan. It came at the most opportune time because my girlfriend, Monnette, and I had been planning a trip somewhere together. Puerto Princesa in Palawan presenting itself as an option was a definitive 'Yes!' moment. Plus, the chance to witness her experience the subterranean river for the very first time made the trip even more meaningful.

It was around lunchtime, just as the sun was at its peak, when I got off from the tuk-tuk at the roadside fronting a small hill. I followed my hastily written directions, jotted down on a torn piece of paper, which led me to a spiral trail heading to the top of a coconut plantation tucked inside a forest—where I assumed Villa Templeberg was perched. The three-hour train ride from Colombo had left me in high spirits, as I enjoyed every bit of scenery along the way. But along with it came a weary body screaming for a soft bed and a short nap before I began my exploration of the city of Galle. I hiked a couple hundred meters, and while on the verge of huffing and puffing, I saw a man by the door near a sign that said Villa Templeberg. He waved at me and gestured something until he disappeared inside.

I knew it was 'winter' in the northern part of Vietnam at the time I arrived there in the middle of December the year prior. I remembered sleeping at the airport upon arrival with two layers of jackets until I was woken up by a freezing burst of wind I thought was emanating from the air-conditioning system. I looked around and saw the source of the cold—the automatic door that remained open. When I arrived at the Old French Quarters of Hanoi that morning, I welcomed the twelve-degree Celsius cold with delight. It was my first time experiencing that kind of cold in a city setting outside of my trips to Sagada and Mount Pulag—which were both in the highlands—before.

"Next time we see those, can you please stop the car so I could take a picture" I said to Monnette as we make a pass at those colorful miniature windmills by the side of the road. We're in Tagaytay already and the sky can never get bluer than what is above us that day. If the air has a texture it would be two notch smoother than the air from where we came from. I've never spent a night at Tagaytay before, just a handful of daytrips and nary of a chance to wake and feel its morning dew on my feet. This time though, an invite to stay at Taal Vista Hotel will mark that first time.

I've been on a river rafting ride three times already, each one not washing away any of the excitement—every ride brings forth a fresh feeling of thrill and a renewed sense of adventure. Although this was a slightly somber version compared to my first river rafting experience in CDO, where Lot, Tina, and I opted for the highly turbulent 'wild' ride—where we tumbled out and experienced the 'washing machine' effect at least half a dozen times—I still massively enjoyed this run I had with my fellow #TravelMindanao buddies.

Our party of eight was divided into two rafts, so I ended up with Lisa Marie, Alex, and Doi, while Ferdz, Shugah, Glen, and Nathalie boarded the other raft, where they were happily joined by our new travel buddies, Audrey and Teckie.

Coinciding our visit to Batanes on the windiest time of the year, the weather on Sabtang Island resembled an early winter setting. The scenery along the way to the old village of Chavayan was some of the prettiest I've ever seen. It's impossible to blink my eyes as we pass through seemingly limitless green fields studded by lingering munching cows and goats foregrounding immense blue waters. We arrived in town an hour before sundown, leaving us with little time for exploration that day.

Ever since I came home from Sri Lanka my lower back has been bothering me. It isn't painful but the muscles kinda stiffen each time I would stand. It also doesn't help doing most of my work sitting in front of my laptop - reason why my back screams of a soothing therapy. I'm not big on the art of massage that I even skipped getting one at Khao San Road in Bangkok a couple of years ago. However, upon prodding from my girlfriend Monnette and an invite to try out Nuat Thai's newest branch located at Banawe Street in Quezon City, the universe conspired for my body to get its well deserved treatment after numerous miles of backpacking abuse on the road.

Here I am sipping a hot cup of Dilmah tea on a gloomy afternoon. I know for sure that it will take a while before I start writing a lengthy narrative about my Sri Lanka trip. I am still simmering the wonderful memories in my mind. It's been quite a year so far; after India, I had no idea I would follow up with a trip to this beautiful, teardrop-shaped nation brimming with cultural and historical wealth, capped off by its friendly people. Other than the five kilos of tea that I brought home, I am most grateful for amassing a new perspective that finally replaced the image of the brutal civil war I used to associate with Sri Lanka.

After my temple run concluded in Yogyakarta, I went back to Jakarta for a couple of days before my Cebu Pacific flight back to Manila. At the hostel, I met two other Filipinas who became my accidental tourist buddies. Since we were all going home the same night, we decided to spend our last day just roaming the city aboard a tuk-tuk, stopping for some sights and shopping along the way. After walking out of the National Monument park (Merdeka Square), we were approached by a thin, middle-aged man wearing blue slacks and a tucked-in polo, introducing himself as an employee of the local tourism office.

One of the many amazing things about traveling was the opportunity to meet new people on the road. During my trip to Hanoi, I met Hoang, a cheerful woman who worked at one of the many Sihn Tourist offices in the city. Recommended by another traveler friend, Jerik, I sought her out after I arrived to avail of a Halong Bay and Sapa tour. We met and conducted business, but by the end of our transaction, she unexpectedly extended an invitation for me to join her and some friends for dinner at her place. Shy and feeling a bit paranoid, brought on by a number of Asian gore movies, a series of images involving hacksaws, chains, and giant hammers flashed before me. "Hello Mark, you want to come, yes?" Hoang tapped me on my arm with a glistening smile, and I was back in the real world. "Sure, what time? I would love to go," I told her.

"... here at Sarnath he turned twelve wheels of Dharma ...

Keep in mind this most beautiful wood,
named by the great rishi,
where ninety-one thousand kotis of Buddhas
formerly turned the Wheel.
This place is matchless, perfectly calm,
contemplating, always frequented by deer.
In this most beautiful of parks,
whose name was given by the rishi,
I will turn the holy Wheel."

— Voice of the Buddha

Despite being considered one of the major pilgrimage sites for Buddhists all over the world, I only heard of Sarnath from Pallavi—the owner of Stops Hostels in Varanasi—when we asked for recommendations of other places to visit. Imagine my fascination rising to an ultimate high when I found out that the Isipatana, or the deer park in Sarnath, was the place where Gautama Buddha first taught the Dharma, a key behavioral concept widely included in the teachings of several faiths, namely Buddhism, Hinduism, Jainism, and Sikhism.

Tucked deep within the busy streets of Jaipur is an architectural marvel standing pyramidal 50 feet high. Constructed of red and pink sandstone, it is adorned with 953 jharokha windows, designed intricately with complex latticework. Built in 1799 under the direct orders of Maharaja Sawai Pratap Singh, the Hawa Mahal ("The Palace of the Winds") was beautifully designed by the architect of Jaipur City, Lal Chand Ustad, and stands as a prime example of Rajput architecture highly prevalent in the state of Rajasthan.

In the olden times, peeking quietly behind those windows were the royal ladies practicing the purdah—safely observing the busy happenings on the street without ever getting seen. The specific direction to which the windows of Hawa Mahal open allows a strong, cooling breeze of wind to naturally flow through the hallway, which measures just the width of an arm.

Globe Telecoms' TattAwards has been recognizing social media influencers in the past few years and for three in a row, Nomadic Experiences has had the great fortune of being among the finalists short listed for different categories. In 2012 it was named as one of the five Visualizers, the category that recognizes that year’s best photography websites and last year it crashed the party of five included in the Best Food and Travel Blog category. Being acknowledged again this year is a big surprise considering I'm tapering off from writing travel narratives since I started my freelance writing job last year. If ever, this new recognition shall serve as a kick in the groin for me to continue living up to "Tattoo's fiery passion for greatness, founded on individuality and the courage to inspire 35 million Filipino netizens and the rest of the world." as aptly expressed by the Tatt Award’s concept.

Instinctively or intentionally, the giant creature known as the 'creator of all things' strewed countless poppy and sunflower seeds over a bowl of water. With a puzzled look on their faces, his guests wondered if these were meant for the hot bread served on the table. Before someone could raise a question, dozens of graceful belly dancers entered the room bringing free-flowing wine, and soon the purpose of the poppy and sunflower seeds was forgotten. Over time—like thousands of years later—the scattered seeds evolved into thousands of limestone karsts spread over more than 1,500 square kilometers of Ha Long Bay.

I know it's completely ridiculous to choose just ten as the best places to photograph in the Philippines from the endless list of stunning locations I've set foot in the past. Also, I've yet to visit other equally and even more visually orgasm inducing locations - but I've heard the echoes of oohs and aahs originating from my well traveled friends. I hope someday to add more to this list. Meanwhile, these are the places that gave my wanna-be-photographer pants some wet spots by experiencing the equivalent of a non-sexual wet dream, while shooting the most eye popping landscape and seascape one can imagine.

My fascination with going to India started even before I was fully bitten by the travel bug. Five or six years ago, I deemed going there as almost next to impossible, as there were so many factors to consider: the long-haul flight, the expensive airfare, being heavily tied up with a demanding corporate job, and the fact that for a country as massive as India, a mere five-day trip simply wouldn't cut it—unless you go there just to snap a photo of the Taj Mahal in Agra.

However, life circumstances have a strangely beautiful way of conspiring to bring me directly to the very country I had long sought to see.

Apart from the thousands of limestone karsts and small isles dotting the whole of Halong Bay, there were small islands that also provided additional attractions like the Dau Go Cave (Wooden Stakes Cave). According to a local story, while planning a counterattack against their Mongolian enemies in 1288, the men of General Tran Hung Dao hid an enormous number of wooden stakes inside that cave. The wooden stakes were then streamed into the Bach Dang River to serve as obstacles against the attacking Mongols. It was a risky plan that tricked the enemy, as the men of Kublai Khan got entangled with the wooden stakes while crossing through the treacherous riverbed, drowning a number of Mongolian warriors.

When one mentions 'rappelling', I always remember the classic scene in the first Universal Soldier film where the characters of Dolph Lundgren and Jean-Claude Van Damme attempted a daring Australian rappel assault straight down the Hoover Dam. Though our experience at the 155-foot-high Pulangui Bridge at Quezon, Bukidnon ain't nowhere near a UniSol's feat, I definitely felt a massive rat throbbing from inside my chest as our guide prepared my safety gears.

"Are you nervous?" he repeated to me. "Are you nervous?" I gave him a thumbs-up sign, completely betraying what I was truly feeling, just before I kicked my feet off the edge and catapulted my body mid-air. With only a single sturdy rope saving me from a three-second free fall into massive broken bones or worse—death—I quietly recited a short prayer.

Remember the two ladies who made a cameo in my flight-to-Jakarta narrative? Well, they stayed in the capital of Indonesia while I took a train to Yogyakarta. I thought the story ended there, but to my wonderful surprise, I bumped into them again a few days later. After spending four days in Yogyakarta, I went back to Jakarta for the tail-end of my trip and ended up staying at the same hostel as those two lovelies. They answered to the names Tania Gonzales and Carmel So. I was downstairs at the hostel lounge working on my laptop when I saw them come down; I almost fell out of my seat and just froze. I heard them talking about eating in a Korean restaurant before they walked out the door.

Anytime you found your way to the largest Buddhist temple in the world, you felt like toasting your kismet for bringing you there. Just the mere fact of stepping foot on a structure built with stunning craftsmanship and creativity dating back to the ninth century was already a significant moment for myself. Borobudur was the primary reason why I journeyed to the city of Yogyakarta—which at the time was my longest train ride from Jakarta. It was one of those places forever etched in my mind as something I must see.

A lot of factors helped us psyche up our upcoming travels. From movies to novels to travel articles, they all painted an image in our minds of how our trips would go down. Most of the time, we ended up experiencing a series of bumps on the road, sometimes the polar opposite of it, depending on what we expected—either such adventurous, epic failure-filled wandering or a walk-in-the-park stroll throughout the path we drew on our itinerary map.

Tucked underground at the Taman Sari Water Castle was a mosque accessible only in the past by a maze of underwater passageways. I first heard of its existence from my friend Gaye Emami a few days before I left Manila for Jakarta. The moment she described it, I was instantly fascinated. I told myself I must never leave Yogyakarta without seeing that mosque. The place was not easy to find as there were no signs saying "Underground Mosque this way". Following a hunch, I followed a group of young Indonesian students who seemed to be on a field trip as they trudged through the back alleyways of Taman Sari. I saw them debating which direction to take, so I reckoned they were also trying to find the mosque. I tried asking a local, but unfortunately, she could not understand English, so I chased the group of students as they entered a small arched hallway. Inside, we had to duck our heads so as not to hit the ceiling, and after a short length of striding and bending forward, we met a dead-end wall.