Trekking in Sa Pa

4am on a sleeper bus somewhere in the hills of Vietnam's Lào Cai province. Resting your cheek against the glass you feel the air turning noticeably chillier as the bus climbs higher, ascending through the darkness to the famous Hoàng Liên Son mountain range.

Somewhere between wake and sleep, the bus grinds to a halt, the lights are abruptly switched on and we alight into the semi-darkness of Sa Pa Town. Bleary eyed, we search for hot coffee and warm our hands round the first bun ca (a barbequed pork and noodles dish) grill we see. As the sun slowly rises the mist unfurls around the mountains, and, after a warming bowl of noodle soup and much-needed second cup of coffee in the town market, we begin our ascent out of Sa Pa Town and into the hills.

By now the sun has emerged from behind the clouds and the mist has dissipated, revealing the famous, verdant landscape that attracts so many to this region of Northern Vietnam. Even in the height of winter, seven months away from September's rice harvest season, the hills and the rice paddies are visually enchanting. Our friendly guide, Ching, hands us small, apple-like fruits and chats to us about life in the mountains as we make the steep climb up to our first viewpoint. For the next couple of hours we walk through the hills. It's a quiet and peaceful morning, and after a couple of weeks in Hanoi it feels spiritually restorative to escape the chaos of the city.

At our highest point we gaze out over the valley towards Vietnam's highest mountain, Fan Si Pan, 3,143 meters above sea level. Prior to the 1990s, Sa Pa's economy was mainly based on small size agriculture. Today, it's estimated more than 100,000 people annually visit the region and it is fast emerging as one of Vietnam's top tourist draws. The Lào Cai province is home to around 24 ethnic groups, including the Hmong, Tay and Dao, each with their own language, culture and traditions. As we wander through villages, Ching shows us the plant used to make the natural indigo dye for the beautiful, handmade hemp and cotton clothes worn by the ethnic groups.

As the sun sets in the mountains, we gather round the table at the homestay to eat dinner and commence that night's consumption of rice wine, known colloquially in English as "happy water", a popular, homemade spirit consumed across Vietnam. In between the belly warming shots, the family tell us stories about growing up in the mountains.

For the next two days, we trek through rice paddies and villages, making our way through the awe-inspiring landscape. After a final morning walking, we opt to take a motorbike up the hill from the valley back to Sa Pa Town, winding our way back for a final mountain view coffee. As we sit there, the transient, passing mist clears a little once again to reveal Sa Pa's famous peaks lurking through the fog.

A new adventure

Shweinhmyaw Pagoda, Hpa Ann, Myanmar

In June 2016, I watched London's iconic skyline fade beneath the clouds on a plane bound for Kuala Lumpur. After seven years in London, I felt it was time for a new adventure. Twenty hours and four blast chilled meals later, the plane descended into the clouds and over another urban skyline.

The first few days were sedative and restless all at once, a blur of humidity, highways and thunderstorms watched from hotel balconies. Kuala Lumpur is one of the fastest growing metropolises in Southeast Asia, a maze of skyscrapers and a veritable banquet room of Asian cuisine, a city where getting lost is an inevitable part of its discovery.

Four days later, I flew to the Philippines, where I was lucky enough to be joined by some travel companions who had flown in from London and Australia. With over 7,000 islands to choose from, we were not short of options, but Guimaras Island, world famous for its nectarous mangos, proved to be a good place to start.

Cameron Highlands, Malaysia

Most of the days in the Philippines were spent in or around the sea, snorkelling with majestic turtles in Apo Island or exploring the great karsts and lagoons of the Bacuit archipelago, snorkelling beside clouds of tropical fish and underwater cliffs of coral.

In Malaysia, days passed wandering the streets of Melaka, discovering hidden Buddhist libraries, seeking out food courts and stalls in Georgetown, Penang, eating endless roti canai. In Pulau Kapas, time glided by, the gentle curling waves a quiet metronome lapping the shore.

Durian stall, Singapore

After a few days in Singapore, I landed in the organised chaos of Hanoi, and begun an adventure in a country I knew from the outset would steal my heart, but there was something about the north in particular. Perhaps it was the verdant rolling hills of Sapa, the thrill of winding round the rugged mountain roads of Ha Giang on the back of a motorbike, or the joy of exploring the labyrinthian streets of Hanoi. Whatever it was, my melancholy at leaving was somewhat appeased by a sense that it wouldn't be the last time I was there (spoiler alert, it wasn't).

Crossing the border into Cambodia, onto a new adventure, and to meet a much missed travel kindred spirit. Days passed lazily in sleepy Kampot, before heading north to gaze up at the iconic Angkor temple complex through a curtain of tropical September downpours.

Lan Ha Bay, Vietnam

Passing briefly through Thailand's chaotic capital, we made our way to Myanmar. For three wonderful weeks we hiked mountains, slept overnight in monasteries, took part in a traditional matchmaking dance festival, crossed the highest bridge in Myanmar, and fell deeply in love with this magical, unique country.

Monasteries and mountains aside, my time at Chill Out House on the beautiful Thai island of Koh Lanta will probably be my most treasured memory of my time away. The energy of this little treehouse tucked away behind Long Beach was like nothing I've ever experienced, which may explain why an overwhelmingly significant proportion of guests stay much longer than anticipated. Guests turn into staff, days turn into weeks, casual chats on a swing at the bar turn into lifelong friendships. I am coming away from this little slice of paradise with a heavy heart, but also a refreshed outlook on life, love and travel, and an immense gratitude that I was able to call this place home, even for a short while.

Travel is, by it's very nature, transformative to some extent. Time becomes truly fluid. Days pass languorously, weeks fold into one another, while a month passes in what feels retrospectively like a blink of an eye. Half a year feels simultaneously like a minute and a millennium.

Six months, seven countries, two new tattoos later, the adventure continues.

TBC.