During the four mornings I spent in the city of Hanoi in-between my jaunts to Halong Bay and Sapa, my favorite part was walking around the Hoan Kiem Lake. Being under sunny skies, feeling the winter wind and being embraced by the 12 degree Celsius cold is the perfect condition to romp and stomp and get to know a new city. The occasional showers which show up at an interlude of a couple of hours had me sheltering under the tall trees that surround the lake. Otherwise, I would have gone round and round and round the lake. Sometimes I would walk towards a random street ending up another side of the Old French Quarters, but each time I would always follow a path back to Hoan Kiem Lake.

On my last morning in Hanoi while walking again around the lake park, a local man approached me and offered me 'beautiful ladies knows massage, very good" while motioning a thumbs up sign to me. Already running on an empty pocket, I settled only on buying a dozen and a half postcards from him. Afterward I crossed the street and sat on a small cafe and wrote down a short note to each postcard recipients from back home. While I'm trying to put words into writing on the card about my trip there, I wondered about how long before they will receive my card. I am quite certain on one thing though, I needed to sell them the idea that they must visit this city in the future.

Nobody has told me to visit Hanoi, it has been forever been in my mind since my childhood fascination with Vietnam war movies, to me Hanoi is where girls would chase American soldiers and declare "GI number 1", it was the retelling of Vietnam's dark history that was etched in my mind that made me so interested in finding out the modern and peace time Hanoi, so I could finally have a memory of my own to associate the city with.

What I saw now is a bustling city that is like a representation of the world. People from all over the globe walks among each other like citizens of this planet ought to exist. There are the smiles and nodding of the head when you made eye contact with them, the locals offering you something to sell and would be delighted and thank you to high heavens if you buy something, but nonetheless would still give you a smile if you politely beg off from buying.

The cold of the winter has that way of stabbing myself, as I walk around and see couples posing for the pre-nuptials photo-shoot I certainly felt a twinge of loneliness. This place is better shared with someone I thought to myself. That idea quickly vaporized in the freezing mist of the afternoon as I move my feet forward and felt freedom as I go by and discovered more nooks and crannies of the old quarters.

The four mornings and afternoons seems like a week or two as I've seen a lot and did a lot during that time span. I drank beer on side street pub houses, had Vietnamese coffee on a number of well-decorated cafes and warmed myself with hot Pho in a long list of sit-down-on-the-sidewalk makeshift noodle stalls. I had an overdose of visual feast same thing with consuming caffeine overdrive.

Inside bookstores, souvenir and thrift shops, I rummaged my fingers just to surprise myself with what I will find. After that, then its more walking around, feeling the cold and breathing out fog as the sun shines from above only to let drizzles of rain to fall by late afternoon. During that time I would feel my fingers starting to get stiff so I'd find a bench and sit down and do people watching. One time I walked all the way to Ho Chi Minh memorial about a few kilometers away and upon consulting my map, I ended up walking the opposite direction on my way back.

I backtracked and ditched the map inside my pocket, I just went ahead through narrow and wider streets until I found myself yet again at Hoan Kiem Lake. My feet ached, my heart beat faster and my breathing heavy but all my senses are alive and bursting with fervor of processing the city, the people and the experience of knowing Hanoi outside of those Vietnam war films.

Even towards my last remaining hours in the city I took yet another walk before I boarded the taxi waiting for me in front of Sihn Tourist Cafe that was arranged by the colleague of my new found friend Hoang. Oh did I told you she invited me for a dinner at her place and hanged out with her friends during my first night in Hanoi? That was one another great memory I would write about here pretty soon. The winter cold didn't bother me, thanks to my double layered My Philippines Lifestyle Jacket, what bothers me though, is the length of time I would have to wait again to go back to Hanoi.

After achieving a zen state of mind at the 9th century Buddhist temple complex of Borobudur, we proceeded to another throwback landmark from that century–this time, the Hindu temple called the Candi Prambanan. My interest level in seeing more temples that day fluctuated below the .50 mark since I've already had my house-of-worship fix. However, upon stepping out of our van, the sight of the sharp tips of Prambanan's stupas, ushered in a new wave of curiosity as to what fascinating discoveries awaits me inside.

It was scorching hot during that day and as I made a dash to the gate, one of my tour group mates, Yeen, a South Korean, motioned for me to take her photograph. Not wanting to disappoint her, I directed her to stand against the backdrop of the towering Hindu temples of Prambanan. Despite being exposed under the sun, I took my time and ended up shooting half a dozen shots of her in various poses–including a silly jump shot. After reviewing the images, she gave me a thumbs up sign and requested if she could take my picture, to which I reluctantly oblige.

Like a kid inside a toy store, everywhere I looked are like eye-popping toys and candies. I snapped a couple of pictures before deciding to let my memory do the documenting. I separated myself from our small tour group which was composed of Yeen, a young couple from Portugal, a honeymooners from Netherlands and Switzerland (whose original idea of a honeymoon was a week-long trip in Phuket, Thailand - until they decided to screw the idea and continue traveling around Asia. The result? is an on-going six-month traveling) and two middle age ladies from England. While on my own, I went to climb the first temple south of the entrance and rested briefly while I let everything sink in.

The temples at Prambanan were lavished with more intricate designs as shown by its surrounding pointed spires. Compared to Borobudur though, it has lesser detailed bass relief narrative panels. Here however, you can enter each temple and entered I did. The most memorable for me was when I stepped foot inside a Shiva temple, when the light seem to have been turned off in an instant. With darkness around me, I was shut off from the world hearing nothing but deafening silence. It felt like a hidden set of eyes from the shadows behind the statue were watching me. Twitching my body further inside, I saw a ray of light shining on the Shiva Statue. I stared at it and entertained the wild possibility of coming out of the temple in a different time.

Hurriedly, I got out and almost tripped down the stairs before I regained my balance. It was still present day 2013 by the looks of the tourists outside. I sat at the bottom step and just directed my gaze at the other temples as I gulped half of the mineral water inside my drinking bottle. Though, I acknowledged the emergence of starvation as my rumbling stomach suggests, I couldn't deny the rush of visual feasts coming my way is more nourishing to my soul than any food.

It's not only the satisfaction of having another UNESCO World Heritage site stored inside my memory vault gives me joy, there is also this accumulation of elation when I touch the walls of these temples that has stood the rugged test of time. The volcanic eruption of nearby Mount Merapi and other forces of nature all happened trying to knock these 9th century complex down to no success.

Although, since its rediscovery by the surveying group of Sir Thomas Raffles in early 19th century, it has undergone massive restoration to replace original sculptures and stone foundation stolen by natives. Still, being here still makes the experience extraordinary, as it serves as my bridge to bygone thousands of years when Rakai Pikatan ordered the construction of Prambanan to symbolize the power of the Hindu Sanjaya Dynasty.

A couple of hours later as the sun hovers above head showering intensifying heat, I start feeling lethargy forming in my legs as my skin begins to hurt. I circled to the back to look for a shade and a ten minute sit down rest. Satisfied with what I've seen so far, I started clicking away to take some photographs. On my way back to the parking lot where our tour operator Anjeeni was waiting for us, I stopped by the rows of canteen near the exit and ordered myself a random dish on the menu written in Bahasa. It turned out to be spicy chicken with fried rice.

Anjeeni is a college student working part-time for a tour agency. She explained how she enjoy her job because she get to practice her English speaking skills. Listening to her, I grade her English as better than mine.

One can say that once you've seen the other archaeological sites in Angkor Wat, Ayutthaya in Thailand and Bagan in Myanmar, you will have enough of it and cry "temple overload?" After visiting Borobudur and Prambanan, I'd contest that assertion because you really won't get enough of them.

The weather in Hanoi hovered down to 12 degrees according to the app on my phone, whether it is accurate or not my pulsating fingers are telling me there's no need to question its veracity. So while waiting for the van to pick me up at the office of SinhTourist I walked across a small noodle joint and ordered a bowl of hot Pho Ga. My new found friend in the city Hoang told me about the snow that fell in Sapa a few days before, she advised me to add extra layers of clothing. I told Hoang the cold never bothered me anyway. It was a lie, as I sat quivering waiting to sip on some hot Vietnamese chicken noodles I imagined how much coldness awaits me in Sapa.

Again, my excitement about riding my first sleeper train diminished my worry about cold mountain weather, as similarly delighted I was during my previous trip to Yogyakarta via a 7-hour train ride, there was this added thrill of spending the night on a train lying on a cabin bed. Although I already expect it to be small and deprived of proper space, I have prepared myself to develop cramped up kicks, I am still eager in experiencing it.

The van picked me up at around 7:45 and the driver asked me to sit at the front and as I took a glance at my back I saw a packed van filled with huge bodies of Caucasian people huddled inside. I was glad I got that seat as I was only seated beside a petite Vietnamese woman. The train station isn't far from downtown, the ride took less than 10 minutes and after we got off the van we quickly proceeded to our assigned train cars. Mine is located at number 7 cabin number 5 with my bed located at the lower left berth.

It was almost 8:00 pm already and as dozens of passengers walked past my cabin I was hoping that nobody else was assigned to my cabin because I don't want to be sharing the night with three rowdy and loud-snoring passengers. The clock became my ally and as few more ticktock minutes went by and just as I was sure that I will be alone in my cab, two Asian women entered the cabin to my delight. I later found out they were from Ho Chi Minh and are rushing to Sapa to see the snow. A few minutes later a Caucasian woman entered and occupied the bed above mine. I was able to talk to her later in the night and learned that her name is Agatha born and raised in Argentina but is now based in Portugal, which she now refers to me as "former home" because she intends to reside everywhere in the next few years.

The two Vietnamese girls talked and giggled to each other while Agatha read her book. I was reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig which was about a father and son's cross country road trip across continental USA peppered with philosophical anecdotes. I showed and explained the gist of the book to Agatha who in turn narrates the story so far, of her Alice Munro book. It is one of those little chats that I appreciate whenever I travel alone. To me it's like a cameo appearance to someone else's life, fleeting moments that will surely be gone before you know it. You often share a train with someone going to work but it is different when you're both taking one to a destination alien to both of you and the sense of traveling kicks in, you feel the urge to connect and share a talk for a while.

I dozed off at page 125 of my book as evidenced by its folded leaf as I left the book pressed between my chest and the pillow. I could feel the train shaking and vibrating over the tracks, the movement made me sleepier, like a baby being rocked and lulled to sleep. I slept through the night and was awoken at the sound of the train making a full stop. Accompanied by creeping morning light in the window I thought we have reached Sapa. I stood up, washed my face and brushed my teeth at the small comfort room and hurriedly checked out the scene outside. There was no mountain slopes nearby, not even anything that looks like a train station.

We were in the middle of nowhere in a town somewhere. Soon other clueless passengers descended down the tracks and asked the train crew what's going on. It was weird because nobody knows the reason, it was a random person selling tea on the track side who told me about a train that broke down ahead of us. In short we were delayed at that place for 7 hours from 5am until 12 in the afternoon. I was able to explore the small town on foot during that time. The two Vietnamese woman whose patience abandoned them hired a motorcycle to take them to Sapa, something that cost them 4 million VND, they bid me goodbye before they left and even added me on Facebook. Sweet :)

Agatha and I remained in the cabin, I listened to her stories of travels in South East Asia and South America and how she finds life in Portugal boring. She started to tell the story of how she saved up to travel when we heard the bells and horn of the train sounding off, signalling we're about to leave. We high-fived each other and as I feel the train starts to move, all of my thoughts went back to how cold it is in Sapa. I could use a cuddle. Fortunately, Agatha needed the same.

Everywhere you gaze your eyes you catch a wonderful scene. Staring at the slopes of the rolling hills forming outlines of a lover's embrace, you feel the hard travelling wind as it brushes off your face. It was cold alright, but as the last echoes of light give way to the luminous lighting of the moon rising up from the opposite direction, the setting sun becomes the center of attention. As if signaling the end of day, the herded cows prepare to leave the grassland by slowly walking towards their resting place for the night. I catch a last glimpse of the rounded sun before it kisses the edge of the vast ocean. That's Batanes for you.