“I come with the rain,” I muttered to myself while I watched the last sheen of daylight give way to dark clouds, casting over the countryside and heading to Bandung. I spent the three-hour train ride from Jakarta uneventfully fighting off sleep as I opted to stare at the passing lush scenery as much as I can.

Worn out from my daylong journey from Manila, the thought of feasting over Sambal-spiced Indonesian cuisine left me salivating heavily. A downpour greeted me as I alighted out of the train. Fortunately, I stepped right out of the station into an empty taxi cab that took me to my hotel, where I quickly crashed into my bed.

Like a corpse that came back to life, I awoke the next morning nary a dream and lying in the exact position I slept on; right cheek down and arms outstretched on the bed. A luster of morning light peeking from the sides of my room’s curtain revealed a bright, sunny weather. A stark contrast from yesterday’s glumness. Jolted to full awareness, I hurriedly prepared and penciled out the Caldera of Kawah Ratu as my first destination to visit in Bandung.

Caldera of Kawah Ratu

Situated an hour and a half from the city center of Bandung, Mount Tangkuban Perahu is an active volcano that erupted in 2013. Its main caldera is referred to as the “Queen’s crater” or Kawah Ratu, the biggest among the volcano’s three craters.

A fenced viewpoint stretching a few hundred meters edges the other side of Kawah Ratu. Walking to find a better angle to view the caldera, I noticed steam billowing from various holes on the ground. Overheard from a tour guide, the rising steam actually emits poisonous sulfurous gases, which can render you unconscious if you happen to stand within its 30 meter radius.

I spent a couple of hours just staring at this beautiful anomaly of nature: A hodgepodge of boiling underground streams, along with the peculiar sludge of soil and boulders resulting into a desolate yet stunning landscape.

Feeling chilly from the February wind, I started walking down toward the beat up van I rented that was parked at the gate of the national park. The driver said, “You [sic] more than one hour” the moment he saw me. I got worried that he would charge me more, but then he added “I know, you enjoy [ed] it. Really beautiful, huh?” before giving me a thumbs up. “Yes, indeed, it is pretty,” I said.

Kawah Putih Crater Lake

The next day, I journeyed to the village of Ciwidey. Situated almost 40 kilometers from Bandung, it is known for the Kawah Putih or the white crater Lake. After alighting at Ciwidey town from a cramped angkot, a van converted to a public transport, I hired a motorbike rider to take me to the Kawah Putih Park.

For half an hour, we snaked our way through the zigzag roads passing by strawberry and tea plantations, rice terraces and a mossy forest. Similar to our own Mount Pinatubo, Kawah Putih Crater Lake was formed after a series of volcanic eruptions. Here you can find a beautiful trick of nature that shaped another otherworldly bright turquoise lake that gleams in a blinding white color under the sun.

With an acidity level of 0.5–1.3, it is so unsafe that you cannot even dip your toes into the crater’s lake. Unaware of this fact, the smell of billowing sulphur warned me to keep my distance from the water, no matter how mystifying it appears.

What made Kawah Putih look more spectacular was the way it contrasted peculiarly with the black, naked tree branches protruding from the soil. The forest-covered cliffs surrounding the lake and the bubbling steam of sulfurous gas created a setting torn from the pages of a Stephen King novel. If you cancel out the sight of selfie-stick wielding tourists, you’d feel its unearthly ambiance chill your bones.

A Heritage Walk along Braga Street

After back-to-back days of tracking eruption points of volcanoes, I spent the next day indulging in awe of the architecture of heritage buildings along Braga Street in downtown Bandung. A popular promenade street during the 1920’s, the modern-day Braga Street still carries the character of postwar architecture, influenced heavily by the art deco movement.

A prominent architect of that period, Charles Prosper Wolff Schoemaker, known as the Frank Lloyd Wright of Indonesia, designed numerous buildings in Bandung, including my favorite building—the Concordia Cinema—that still stands and beautifully preserved.

I started my stroll at the imposing 1920’s Gedung Merdeka, also in art deco style, and continued my way toward the corners of several streets parallel to Braga.

Bandung’s prewar buildings do not only exist along Braga Street, as they stretch beyond other alleys and roads. I must have taken more than 15,000 steps that afternoon as I stayed hot on the trail of Bandung’s heritage architecture.

It was after sunset when I realized I was already driving my feet to soreness that I decided to drop by a small café housed inside an old building. Surrounded by paint-peeled walls and seated on an antique wooden chair, I sipped my hot cup of coffee and regaled at the whole experience. As my toes throbbed in paid, I also felt my spirit and quest for wonder filling to the cusp quickly, thanks to my pursuit of Bandung’s volcano prints and heritage trails.

I remember sitting inside a cramped van negotiating the snaking countryside road of Laos, feeling very excited as I reached my next destination. My high anticipation stems from the desire to unlock the truth behind the prevailing word-of-mouth on Luang Prabang. “The place is so laid-back,” fellow travelers would often rave. As simple as it may be, that description is music to my ears. Throw in the heritage structures and rich culture of the city, my giddiness got the best of me for the rest of my ride.

Not to be disappointed, the moment the van dropped me off at the Historic Center of Luang Prabang, I instantly felt the old-world vibe. The imposing grandeur of the Royal Palace promptly satisfied my fondness for tasteful architecture. As the sky turns red and on the verge of giving way to darkness, the night market stalls began popping up one by one, gradually lighting up the streets. Soon, the crowd thickens but I didn’t mind, as I gleefully continue my exploration on foot.

Like a kid in a candy store, I stared with wide-eyed in wonder at the surrounding shops, restaurants and cafés—all housed inside the colonial-era establishments. Channel out the patrons busy fidgeting on their mobile phones, and you’d feel like you’re back in the prewar decades.

Monasteries, palaces, temples (or wats) and colonial houses abound in the pedestrian-friendly district of Luang Prabang. You could very well explore the whole place in a day, but who would want to sightsee in such haste? Definitely, not me. The charming vibe of Luang Prabang beckons, so I ended up staying for several days.

On the first morning, I woke up early to witness the morning practice of the monks asking for alms. Also known as the “Tak Bat,” this daily ritual has become an important part of Luang Prabang’s culture. However, it has generated controversy in recent years, when tourists began participating and giving away nonedible items such as money. With respect to their culture, it is more appropriate to let the locals and devotees of Buddhism be the donor and for tourists to politely keep a safe distance from the monks.

Still, the experience of witnessing this ritual added a new layer to my spirituality, as I understand how the monks envisioned it to be—a practice in humility and detachment from earthly possessions. This humbling sight instills generosity and kindness that can never go wrong.

The next couple of days, I did my exploration by riding a rented bicycle and went on a wat-hopping tour. Wat is the most religiously apt word to describe a Buddhist and Hindu temple in Laos, Thailand and Cambodia. The word wat was derived from the ancient Indian language of Sanskrit, which means “enclosure.”

With more than a dozen centuries-old temples built around Luang Prabang, you will never run out of ways to observe how Laotian people and the monks practice their faith. I started off at the Wat Xieng Thong, a 16th-century temple built by King Setthathirat.

Inside its walls, one can find intricate artworks depicting Laotian life, culture and religious practices. It is one of the most important landmarks in Laos because it was here where some of the earliest Laotian kings were crowned.

I spent the rest of the day pedaling to cover other temples until nighttime took me near the Royal Palace, where the adjacent Wat Mai monastery echoed the chants of the monks who were in prayers.

During daytime, I would take a break from my cycling explorations by hanging out at the many quaint cafés all over town. Colorful shops, restaurants and coffee shops housed in colonial buildings added a new layer of appeal. I would sit down and order a Laotian latte and just stare at passersby. Nearing sunset, I would relocate to a riverside joint for an ice-cold Laotian beer while witnessing the sunset over the mighty Mekong River.

“Duterte, Duterte!” a waiter at a riverside diner playfully chanted after I answered his question, “Where you from?” “Yes, he is our President,” I responded and then I took a moment to stop myself from sharing my unsolicited political opinion.

The waiter proceeded to point out a standee of former US President Barack Obama drinking from a coconut. “That picture was taken here. Obama drank coconut here,” he proudly told me.

It as it were, I was just checking out the menu and wasn’t decided yet where to eat, but the Obama connection convinced me to book a seat. I ended up having an unforgettable early dinner with a stunning view of the golden dusk sky reigning over the quiet waters of the Mekong.

I capped my first visit to Luang Prabang by taking a short hike on top of Mount Phousi, a 100-meter high hill planted at the center of the historic district. As the clock ticks nearing my departure time, I spent a whole hour just staring at the lush surrounding countryside and trailing my sight to the adjoining water lines of the Mekong River and the Nam Khan River.

Looking at the charms of the old town from above, I thanked the heavens for bringing me to yet another destination teeming with history and colorful culture. As a flock of doves flew over me and into the sky, I saw them leave a track of shadows over the greens until they all disappeared into the blue. About the same time, I felt all my worldly worries vanishing and was quickly replaced by a sense of tranquility. I knew then, Luang Prabang had me lured and secured in its enthralling embrace.

I remember the sheen of the rising sun lighting up an ember at the edge of the hills of sand dunes. It is the first thing I saw from where I laid out on a mattress in the open desert. A few feet away from me, I noticed a black scorpion struggling to crawl away. I look up at our guide with a smile on his face. “Close call” he tells me before breaking into a grin. “They are poisonous but they don’t kill people” he adds. That prevented me from thinking the night we spent at the desert of Jaisalmer was a life-threatening one.

One by one; myself, Aileen and the five other Indian travelers we befriended rose up and marveled at the spectacular sunrise. As what we have witnessed the previous sunset, the rising sun over the desert of Jaisalmer is a picture to behold. It was a rarity finding myself unable to even capture it with my camera. I gazed at it like a lovelorn soul looking at a goddess.

The youngest of our guide–already an expert camel herder–kick started the Holi celebration by yelling Holee Mubaarak (Hindi for Happy Holi) before our other two guides started tossing colored powders on us. Before we knew it, we were smudged with pink, yellow, violet, red and blue colors on our faces.

The Holi Festival is an ancient Hindu Festival known as the "festival of colors". Held predominantly in the Indian subcontinent, it celebrates the victory of good over evil. The manner it is reveled originated from the childhood pranks of Lord Krishna–the reincarnation of Lord Vishnu–of dousing village kids with colored waters.

Occurring every year on the day after the first full moon of March, Holi Festival coincided the morning after our magical experience of sleeping on the sand dunes of Jaisalmer.

Our trek back to the city of Jaisalmer was filled with gaiety episodes bookending with a bittersweet farewell to our camels–who proved to be loveable creatures of the unforgiving terrain of Rajasthan. I patted mine on the head and hear her make a sound as if acknowledging my gesture of goodbye.

Although compared to other cities in India such as Vrindavan, Pushkar, Jaipur and Hampi, the Holi Festival in Jaisalmer appear more laid-back and intimate. There are no mosh-pit type of crowd gatherings on the streets. Rather, locals parade on the streets in waves of varying numbers from a handful to a couple of dozen.

Still, I can’t deny feeling the unique festive vibe of the Holi. After wiping the blotches of color powder on my face, I joined our group on the street of Jaisalmer with a clean slate. The locals seem to notice it because a minute later, we were all blemished again with rainbow colors. I love the fact that the revelers were polite about it. They always ask my permission before flinging powders to my direction. I was like “bring it on, I’m game for this”.

Around early noon, the euphoric vibe turned more chaotic as the crowd started to thicken. Chaotic in a way it should be–otherwise it won't be the Holi I've always wanted to witness.

I wouldn’t have known that in my excitement to book cheap plane tickets to Kolkata would overlap with the Holi Festival. I just picked two random dates 26 days apart in March to pencil my first ever visit to India.

Four years later and after a couple more return journeys to India, and the memory of that Holi Festival remains as crystal clear in my head. I can still hear the laughter of the jubilant merrymakers as we all chuck colored powder in the air, catching it by dancing under it facing the sky and with outstretched arms.

Living up to the original emphasis of the Holi rituals to shy away the demoness Holika, I felt like I've shed my own inner demons as well. My initial trip to India not only opened my eyes to a wider world, I also discovered my good karma–the main mechanism that brought me there. A favorable fate that shall come aplenty, if only we can continue doing things at the pure desire of our heart and soul.