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.

Time freezes in this serene setting, dominated by lush green grass in front of a circular lake entirely surrounded by heaps of towering trees. We were only here for a couple of hours, but it seemed like more than enough time to properly clear my mind of all big city worries. Prior to our visit, I had only heard and read about Lake Apo. I expected it to be much larger, so expansive that you wouldn't have to hear the exuberant yells of children echoing from the other end.

In reality, it was much smaller and significantly more charming. I could clearly hear the kids playing from the opposite side, where a few traditional nipa huts dotted the lake's edges. These are the exact kinds of tiny houses I often fantasize about having as my retirement home. I thought to myself, "I could retire here." A small wooden cabin and the peaceful atmosphere of this location would serve me exceptionally well.

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 Hoan Kiem Lake. Being under sunny skies, feeling the winter wind, and being embraced by the twelve-degree Celsius cold was the perfect condition to romp, stomp, and get to know a new city. The occasional showers, which showed up at an interlude of a couple of hours, had me sheltering under the tall trees that surrounded the lake. Otherwise, I would have gone round and round the lake. Sometimes I would walk toward a random street, ending up on another side of the Old French Quarters, but each time I would always follow a path back to Hoan Kiem Lake.

After achieving a zen state of mind at the ninth-century Buddhist temple complex of Borobudur, we proceeded to another throwback landmark from that century—that time, the Hindu temple called Candi Prambanan. My interest level in seeing more temples that day fluctuated below the 0.50 mark since I had 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 awaited me inside.

The weather in Hanoi hovered down to twelve degrees according to the app on my phone; whether it was accurate or not, my pulsating fingers were telling me there was no need to question its veracity. So, while waiting for the van to pick me up at the office of Sinh Tourist, I walked across to a small noodle joint and ordered a bowl of hot Pho Ga. My newfound friend in the city, Hoang, had told me about the snow that had fallen 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 awaited me in Sapa.

The past few years I've met a lot of kindred souls in this wander-maniac community composed of Pinoy Travel Bloggers. It has become an unwritten rule that whenever our muse Gay Emami is in town, it's automatic that we should hang out in some random places to drink, sing karaoke songs and talk about our travel experiences. Because of our hectic schedules (not working) but traveling, it is a rare occurrence to gather a crowd of more than five. Fortunately, on one cold January night a bunch of us showed up at the 19th floor of Linden Suites in Ortigas. It was an affair billed as "Pajama Party Wherein We Don't Wear Pajamas"

When in doubt, ask around—and inquire I did, not just to anybody but to travel experts in that cool travel community I was a part of. Paul and Joshua, two fellow travel bloggers who had recently spent a week in Yogyakarta, were quick to recommend that hostel when I made an inquiry about a place to stay while in Yogyakarta on our Facebook group. It was the community I was talking about, composed of travel addicts who capered rehab by constantly wandering on the road. Edu Hostel was the top choice, and after making a quick study of a handful of other options, I booked that hotel online a week prior to my departure for Jakarta.

As early as six o'clock in the morning, I was already at the Gambir train station, excited for my first 'long train ride'. Even though I was a train veteran with thousands of railway miles under my butt courtesy of our own LRT and MRT lines, the trip to Yogyakarta from Jakarta would be my first time trainspotting for more than seven hours. I had already pre-booked a ticket for myself via Tiket.com for 300,000 IDR one-way (1,500 PHP) a few weeks before I departed for Jakarta. So when the ticket counters opened a quarter after six, I hurriedly entered the station and found a seat where I just sat and waited for the 8:10 AM train to Yogyakarta.

A night bursting with conversations over beer, pizza and fried pepper while the Brass Munkeys performs some fine fusion of blues and jazz in the background, is a hands down great night to stay awake till 4:00 am. It is with difficulty level of 8 to gather drinking mates from my travel junky circle of friends since most of the time, others are away hitchhiking a ride to a mountain town, while some are getting drunk in a pub district of a South East Asian city. This is where the organizational skills of Gaye Emami comes in handy operating like a mind controller in setting up this meet-up to welcome a poet-slash-nurse friend from Australia, and aside from knitting all our schedule together, she came up with a great suggestion for a venue: TAGO Jazz Cafe.