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Borneo had long been one of my dream destinations, so whilst on a secondment in Singapore, I was lucky enough to make a few trips there.  Taking advantage of Air Asia’s handy flights I flew to Kuching, a sprawling, bustling city on the banks of the Sarawak River.  And here from here, the Malaysian part of the island I was able to explore this exotic land.

There are backpackers lodges and dormitories but on a hill in a fairly quiet part of town, a twenty minute drive from the airport, is the gleaming Pullman Hotel.  My first visit coincided with the soft opening of this sparkling new modern tower. The deluxe rooms on the top floors have floor to ceiling windows with views of the river and the city.  The bright, spacious public areas are sun streaked and comfortable and the relaxation area around the pool doubles as a nightclub complete with light shows in the evening.   The tapas by the pool are delicious and remarkably good value. There is also a gym, a jacuzzi and a steam room and a few yards from the entrance to the hotel I found a massage centre where the wonderful treatments  seemed to be a hybrid of a hard Thai pummelling and Swedish deep tissue massage with oil.

So if you have flown from further than Singapore or are just in need of some down time the food and relaxation areas in the hotel are pretty good.  There is a cafe with international dishes and breakfast, but for dinner the more formal Nu Er Hong restaurant on the ground floor has an extremely delicious traditional Chinese vegetarian selection and a good wine list.

This would almost be a destination hotel if it wasnt Borneo out there!  After dinner, or after a swim and a massage, the charming Kuching waterfront promenade is a short stroll away and is a gentle introduction to the city.  And Kuching is a good base to explore the surrounding areas, and Borneo.

Next Kuching; ‘Cat City’, Borneo 

On the third windswept and startling bright Dahab morning I tore myself from the cushioned and shielded sanctuary of the Bedouin pavilion overlooking Gulf of Aqaba to rejoin the dawdling chatty yoga group at the big wooden breakfast table.  I had had my fill of the delicious foul and salty white cheese, the peppers and freshly cooked unleavened bread and prefered to drink my tea away from the rajastic chit chat of my new yogic companions.  I dragged myself back to these starlings swathed in soft natural fibres against the underlying desert chill to hear what the much heralded (and money spinning I cynically appended) visit from the local guide had to say about a possible desert trip.

Passive aggressive emaciated yoga teacher Celia knew exactly what she wanted us to choose to do.  I was shot down in flames for trying to concoct an apparently totally impossible combination of desert trip and nature reserve.

The guide invited me to sit down, testily I refused.  He sat high and lean in his wooden chair in his grey djellaba and spoke about possible adventures and utterly charmed.  With his clipped moustache and thickly waved hair he looked like a like a grease-painted silent movie star version of himself.

Sulkily I skulked back to my cushioned solitude to stare at the sea.  A couple of chapters of a novel later (who was John Galt anyway) and  I walked along the pedestrian and equestrian curvy sea path that stretched between the sparsely populated tents and cushions and their four walled counterparts.  The sun, high over head felt damaging and the sea sparkled and shimmered all the way to the menacing mountain walls of Saudi Arabia.

Someone waived to me as I reached the busy diving hub and I ate more hummus  with two of my new acquaintances before setting off again alone along the sea path and between the hard selling restaurateurs and hawkers of bric-a-brac stood the charming guide, the purveyor of Bedouin dreams.  About six feet six he stood shrouded in robes sipping daintily on the straw in a small carton of juice.  He smiled and said hello and asked me if I wanted a tour of the surrounding area, to see the canyon and the views.  Cynically, I thought afterwards, I asked him the price of the tour and affronted he told me it was free.

I stayed at the Coral Coast Hotel (which refreshingly doesnt have a website yet, but you can google it!) in Dahab, and flew with Easy Jet

I had often thought of visiting Havana and it had come a close second in an erstwhile destination deliberation process with a good friend a few years ago (having been pipped at the post by India).  When an email dropped into my inbox informing me of a ten day writing course with Steven Berkoff that happened to slot nicely into a period of leave I stopped being indecisive about where to go for my next adventure and booked flights.

A lot of people bypass the hustle and bustle and exhaust fumes of Havana and head straight for the beach resorts.  One afternoon, those of us not staying on for a beach holiday at the end headed out to one to see what all the fuss was about, this was the Caribbean after all.  A thirty minute taxi ride took us to the one of the Playas del Este and the beautiful golden sands and azure waters of Megano.  It was stunning, uncrowded and unspoiled but with bamboo sun shades and little beach huts selling delicious cocktails and snacks.

Laz Terrazas

In stark contrast to Cuba’s beautiful neoclassical and Spanish colonial Havana facades the Eastern bloc blocks in Laz Terrazas stand like giant lego pieces on the green hillsides.  Las Terrazas, an eco village built in the 60s is fifty miles out of Havana.  This bucolic idyll is well worth a visit for the tranquility of the beautiful river and its setting in the heart of a 25,000 hectare UNESCO biosphere reserve in the Sierra del Rosario, (incongruous Soviet era prefabricated concrete buildings aside).

If you go there on the wonderful and very economical government tour (bookable at hotels and Cubanacan offices) a lunch and music will be provided at a beautiful spot by the river.  Those in the know (our little bus picked up Cuban people at various places in Havana) had brought along their costumes and swam here for a while until the heavens opened.  I found a thatched roofed picnic table with wooden benches in a tranquil spot along the river and laid down and watched the rain.