I don’t hate Charles Darwin. If we met over tea, I’d probably ask about his Galápagos trip and compliment his bird drawings. But I do have an ongoing irritation that Darwin’s name is practically synonymous with the theory of evolution by natural selection, while Alfred Russel Wallace who independently came up with the exact same idea is treated like a historical footnote.

After ten years onboard, mostly as a cruise director, I knew yachts. I knew the crew dynamics, the clients, the chaos, and the calm. But nothing quite prepared me for what it would feel like attending my first yacht conference as a sales broker and marketer with no radio in hand, no anchor alarm, and no guest allergies to worry about. And let me tell you: my social battery was flatlining by Day 3.

It was wild, fulfilling, and ridiculously beautiful. But somewhere between the manta rays and the midnight wake-up calls to check on the generator, something shifted. Yes, I went from guiding barefoot luxury expeditions to juggling CRM platforms, Google Analytics, and boat listings. But trust me, it wasn’t just about switching careers. It was about reclaiming my life.

That night, the Banda Sea turned into a watery war zone. The boat rolled violently, and by 2AM, the captain was knocking on my cabin door which happens to be in the bow. He told me gently but firmly: “Sleep in the saloon or on the bridge… in case we need to abandon ship.” What a soothing lullaby.

There’s this quiet occupational hazard when you work at sea: you may not get to say goodbye. You might miss the milestones. The birthdays. The graduations. The funerals.

We had just sailed past Fakfak, and my phone found a sliver of signal. Notifications exploded. Someone had written, “So sorry for your loss,” and I froze. A second later, a call came through. It was my dear friend Anastasia.

If you’d asked me a year ago where I’d end up totally smitten, Serbia wouldn’t have even made the list. Honestly, it wouldn’t have made the preliminary list. I didn’t know much about it, other than something-something Balkans, Nikola Tesla, and that Novak Djokovic is from there. But two weeks after stepping foot in Belgrade, I found myself googling things like “Can foreigners move to Serbia?”

As someone who’s actually done it (multiple times, in fact), I’ve got the inside scoop. I’ll break down where to go, when to go, what to expect, and why you should do it responsibly. Bonus: I’ll throw in a few real, slightly embarrassing stories for free.

When people ask me what the weirdest thing I’ve done at work is, I usually say “Got chased by a goat in East Flores” or “Tried to DJ a beach party with a Bluetooth speaker and a machete.” Swimming with thousands of stingless jellyfish in the middle of nowhere, in lakes you can only access by climbing a jungle-covered cliff in fins, probably wins.

Caring about the environment is easier when your stomach’s full. It’s a luxury to worry about overfishing when your pantry is stocked. In many coastal Indonesian communities, it’s about surviving today. Enforcement without empathy is just cruelty.

I just didn’t want to invest in relationships that had the shelf life of a banana left in the Ubud sun. The rest? May they find their next perfect island and may they finally learn how to use their scooter turn signal.

Traveling through Vietnam is like being dropped into a living watercolor painting, equal parts vibrant, chaotic, heartwarming, and spicy. Over one whirlwind week, I made my way from the historic charm of Hanoi to the beachy bliss of Da Nang and finally to the pulsating heartbeat of Ho Chi Minh City. I kayaked through limestone karsts, overpaid at a coconut village, accidentally became a fashion influencer in Hoi An, and got yelled at by airport security about my shoes (more than once).

Raja Ampat isn’t the kind of place you “just stumble into.” You can’t hop off a budget airline in flip-flops and accidentally end up here while looking for Bali. Getting to this remote paradise takes a little effort, a few transfers, and possibly some snacks to keep your mood steady.

Within an hour, we saw her: a female orangutan with a baby clinging to her side, both framed perfectly by the lush green canopy. She glanced at us briefly, then returned to stripping leaves. The baby peeked out curiously, all gangly limbs and bright eyes. It’s hard to overstate how incredible it feels to watch these animals in the wild. Knowing they’re critically endangered adds weight to the experience, you realise you’re witnessing something fragile, something that could disappear in your lifetime.

I glanced up to the bridge, and my captain was already looking straight at me. We made confused eye contact.We scanned every instrument and navigation chart to triple-confirm our position. Depth, speed, GPS, reef maps; everything checked out. No collision. Nothing beneath us. The sea was deep. So what the hell was that?

I didn’t think I’d fall for Hong Kong. Really, I didn’t. I booked the trip on a whim, lured mostly by the sweet, sweet deal on a first-class Emirates flight to Hong Kong (pro tip: it’s the cheapest Emirates First Class route). I was expecting hustle, crowds, humidity, and maybe a decent dim sum or two. But what I got? An unexpectedly soulful city that, dare I say, charmed me more than Singapore.

After years of hopping between coasts, diving coral gardens, and burning through flip-flops, I’ve built my own list of favorites. They’re not necessarily secret. They’re not always glamorous. But they’re the places I keep coming back to, where I’ve had the best swims, the longest sunsets, and the kind of moments that lodge themselves in your memory without asking.

Some people come to Bali to find themselves. I came, dove with manta rays, and realized the ocean is cheaper than therapy.

This is my unfiltered, totally biased, slightly salty take on where to dive, stay, and who to trust with your tank and life underwater.

Whenever I tell people about our coral restoration project in Sanur, they ask: “Amateurs? You guys?” Well, yes, we started with zero experience and a lot of enthusiasm. This Sanur coral restoration story is about how a rag‑tag team paddled, dove, cleaned, and nurtured a coral nursery, turning rubble into reef with the help of experts, locals, and a dose of good old-fashioned grit.

What if we let a child see the reef before it’s gone? If I’ve learned anything from working at sea, it’s that falling in love with the ocean changes you. And I want every child living along Indonesia’s coasts to have the chance to feel that, to laugh through a snorkel, to watch a parrotfish munch coral, to know the sea not as a threat but as a source of joy, identity, and responsibility. Because once you’ve peeked under the surface... You’ll never look at the ocean the same way again.

If you’re picturing a slow, sleepy Komodo dragon lounging on a rock while a group of tourists snaps photos from a safe distance, you’re… partially right. But also very, very wrong.

This is my unfiltered, unboring, and occasionally unhinged guide to one of Indonesia’s wildest destinations.