Teh Chin Liang

Mahalaxmi Station in Mumbai has always been a hubbub of horns, the metallic screech of trains on the rails, and the buzz of commuters and announcements crackling over the speakers. But outside the station, one sound cuts through the noise, and it doesn’t belong to the railway station.

In Lake Baikal in southern Siberia, Olkhon Island dwarfs the other rocky islets with its elongated spine. From the map, it looks like a small, narrow peninsula extends off the mainland. At Cape Khoboy on the northern tip of Olkhon. Maxim Oksyutik stands atop a rock. Before him, an endless ripple of water opens up in an indefinite spectacle.

In Abiansemal, a rural district north of Denpasar and west of Ubud in Bali, the Ayung River cuts through rocky gorges, winding past rice fields and jungle. Down by the river, a spread of bamboo pavilions rises in a hug of palm trees and thick bushes, their wide thatched roofs fanning out like giant conical hats. From above, the complex gives off the vibe of an eco-retreat in the middle of the jungle. But beneath the thatched roofs are open-air classrooms, designed to nurture young minds through an unconventional curriculum that could reimagine education as we know it.

The red on the thermometer crept past 30°C. In Chiang Mai, temperatures remain volatile, chilly in the morning and sweltering by afternoon. I was in an air-conditioned restaurant and had a bowl of khao soi before me, its turmeric-gold broth steaming a rich coconut bisque. The chanting of monks from the nearby temples, fading in and out in an ethereal cadence, was backdropped by the tinkle of the wind chimes.

The Esplanade in Penang, Malaysia, is a historic seafront promenade that defines the character of the city's colonial past. A long granite seawall spans from the whitewashed Neo-Classical City Hall from one end to the cannon-bastioned Fort Cornwallis at the other.