The night is yet tender, I retire into the cozy chaise and start to reck on the sojourn. I confide to myself, now a return to Kowloon is justifiable: the Peninsula.

At the confluence of southwestern Cambodia’s Kirirom, Bokor and Cardamom National Parks is a bold eco-tourism endeavour: a luxury tented camp in an 350 hectare private nature sanctuary saved from a dire destiny as a hardwood logging site by the Shinta Mahni Foundation founders, accoladed architect duo - Bill Bensley and Jirachai Rendtong.

Zeal at 4am in Taipei, I rarely stay up but make an exception for the hoteliers I truly admire. The announcement of the world’s 50 best hotels, or the Oscar awards of the hospitality industry, deserves my precious time as the chairs of the academy and recognized hoteliers gather in London, and impatiently wait for the result. The list of 2024 indeed reflects the post-COVID frenzy for luxury travel and accommodations and also delivers a clear view about the developmental trend and prospect in hospitality.

Adorned by spotless sandy beaches and stunning coral reefs, Phu Quoc is the offshore destination of the Gulf of Siam. It is quickly evolving from an unknown isle to the in-stage nice scape in less than a decade. I can never imagine my virgin voyage to Vietnam not sojourning in the archaic Hoian or revering the high colonialism in Hanoi but a dash to the jolly seaside of Phu Quoc. Still, never can I resist the temptation to travel with my set wherever we agree on, exotic or generic.

When I first flipped and read the novel, Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie, and again as I watched the superb film adaptation starring Johnny Depp years later, I was intrigued by the lavishness of it all.

The House Car arrives punctually and awaits as I descend the gleaming staircase of the Landmark, Mandarin Oriental. The dedicated, beaming senior valet in a crisp white shirt loads up my luggage while the entire Landmark concierge congregates at the driveway for the farewell. It is a short ride from Central to Admiralty. The Upper House leaves a sleek first impression in the prompt travel as I flip a copy of Monocle magazine.

On entering the arrival hall of the airport, a shower of warm greetings from a duo of valets stuns me with boards of the familiar fan logo in gold and platinum. Intuitively I speak to Richard, the golden, legendary Mandarin Oriental airport representative. And he presents me the gleeful colleague in a cheery, silver hue suit. “John from the Landmark Mandarin Oriental will look after you today, Dr. Wan. And we all welcome you back home to the Mandarin and the Landmark.”

March begins with unprecedented hectic errands, the outburst of workloads diverts my spinning thought to another weekend getaway for the soma and soul. The late night whim to sojourn in the famed Rosewood Hong Kong and dive in the gleaming marble vanity heaven is absolutely beyond a fancy. My travel agent services affluent clients for long and reads my craving, she settles the booking in a click. If I had lost the sense of balance, it could only be regained through the sense of place.