Ordinarily, I’m not the kind of traveler who circles back to a place. Like many, I’d rather put the cost of airfare flying abroad toward discovering a new city or country. But something about Hoi An’s Old Town lingered with me, an appeal that made the idea of returning feel less like repetition and more like certainty.

My first visit to George Town, some years before the pandemic, was little more than a quick fix; a shore excursion on a cruise that sailed along the Malaysian coast before returning to Singapore. I had barely three hours on land, just enough to sense the outlines of something intriguing: the smell of spices and coffee in the air, the pastel shophouses, the street art that tells a unique story. Ever since, the city has lingered in my mind like an unfinished conversation or an itch I’d been meaning to scratch.

As a war history junkie from an early age, I first stumbled upon the name Da Nang while reading over accounts of the Vietnam War. Not long after, a television series that aired in the Philippines in the early 1990s, entitled “China Beach”—taken from the moniker American soldiers gave to My Khe Beach, a slender stretch of Da Nang’s long and sunny shoreline—etched the city even deeper in my imagination.

Surf, sun, beaches, shopping, food, and culture, or, as Elizabeth Gilbert wrote in Eat, Pray, Love, a place of healing. Yet even if you add it all up together, they will still fall short of capturing the essence of Bali and the reason it has become Indonesia’s most popular destination. There is something about this island that must be seen with one’s own eyes, felt through the senses, and stored in the vaults of memory.

Malaysia is a memorable country for me because it was where I took my first international trip—and my first airplane flight. Yes, I was a late bloomer in terms of air travel, only able to afford it after entering the corporate world.

After several days of exploring the UNESCO World Heritage town of Luang Prabang, the lure of the great outdoors took me thirty kilometers south to the village of Long Lao—the home of the Hmong indigenous people of Indochina. Accompanied by three other staff members from Tiger Trail Adventure, our truck set off under the misty fog of the early morning. After an hour of driving through small settlements and along a long stretch of rough road, we reached the trekking jump-off point for Kuang Si Falls under a still gloomy sky.

Mandalay was a place I regretted not seeing during my first visit to Myanmar in 2013 with friends. Things were different during my return trip in 2016, when additional days worked on my side. After almost a week of exploring the vast plains of Bagan aboard an e-motorcycle, I made the half-day land trip to the former royal capital of Myanmar.

After our friends from Philippine Airlines, the Tourism Authority of Thailand, and fellow travel bloggers/vloggers departed for Manila, the three of us—myself, Karla, and Coleen—extended our stay for a few more days. Doing so, we got to experience more of the city, including seeing it above the roof of a thirty-five-story building. How did we do it without breaking and entering? Let me take you back to a little flashback.

Arriving from Bandung, I headed straight to Wonderloft Hostel, where I had reserved a bunk bed for one night before flying back home to Manila. I originally planned on catching up on sleep, but when I learned from the receptionist that the hostel was just a few steps away from the historic Kota Tua Jakarta, I ditched rest in favor of the chance to explore more.

At almost 5,000 feet above sea level, Da Lat dished a chill vibe—both literally and figuratively—that appealed to travelers. The cool weather coupled with an array of natural and man-made attractions made that city in Central Vietnam an ideal place for wanderers crisscrossing the land of Pho to make a pit stop for several days. To give you an idea of what to do in Da Lat, here are some of the things I did.

At the foot of Mount Pha Daeng, a sign that read “Unexploded Bombs, Still in this Area. Dangerous!” remained a chilling reminder of the horrors of the Vietnam War. Collectively unmindful of the warning, we reckoned every bomb ordnance buried along the trail stretching to a radius of a few kilometers had all been swept clean already. Laos—by the way—was a vastly different nation then compared to what I had first read in history books.

Other than the Petronas Twin Towers, the Batu Caves was the other place I wanted to see in Kuala Lumpur when I started plotting the itinerary of my trip to the capital of Malaysia way back in 2007. That was my very first airplane ride courtesy of my brother, who let me tag along with him. Coincidentally, that journey was what kick-started my wanderlust. A few days after arriving home, I quickly wrote a short narrative about it on the now-defunct Multiply blogging platform.

The narrow entrance of Satri House betrays the gem of a place hidden inside: A stunning collection of charming colonial buildings inspired by Lao architecture and culture. Adding a layer of lure are the quaint corners and the lush gardens surrounded by towering trees. As the female staff briefed me about the property, my eyes wandered everywhere.

"Satri House was first built in 1904 as a royal house by the parents of Prince Souphanouvong, the first President of Lao People's Democratic Republic. This property was refurbished in 2002 by Mrs. Lamphoune Voravongsa—now the current owner," she told me.

As one of the major hubs in Southeast Asia, Kuala Lumpur is often overlooked by some travelers as a mere pit stop just to have a sumptuous meal of Nasi Lemak before catching a connecting flight to their final destination. Bad travel take.

Also known as "Bean Sprouts Chicken", Ipoh's famed "Tauge Ayam" was another lip-smacking draw of that city other than the famed “Ipoh White Coffee” and other local dishes such as "Sar Hor Fun", "Hor Hee", "Nga Choi Kay", and "Hakka Mee". That mouthwatering dish was composed of steamed chicken topped with sliced onion leeks that came with a side dish set of bean sprouts, flat noodle soup, rice, and pork barbecue (char siew).

“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 could.