I hate to admit it, but I once carried some quiet prejudices about China. The kind you don’t announce out loud, but let settle somewhere in the back of your mind. They were shaped by headlines, by political noise, by narratives repeated often enough to feel convincing. And yes, by a few past encounters that lingered in memory longer than they should have. Travel, however, has a way of humbling you. It confronts your assumptions without ceremony and leaves you no choice but to look closer.
Autumn has always felt like a gentle exhale. Not an ending, not quite a beginning—just a pause long enough to notice your own breathing. It’s the season that gives permission to slow down, to move deliberately, to finally wrap myself in the thick wool sweaters and coats that spend most of the year untouched in the perpetual heat of home. There is comfort in that weight, in fabric meant to protect rather than perform. It signals a shift, subtle but undeniable, away from endurance and toward intention.
What was supposed to be a simple two-and-a-half-hour train ride stretched into a weary four-hour crawl to Maastricht. The day before, a train accident had disrupted the line, and what began as a mild inconvenience slowly turned into a quiet lesson in surrender—the kind travel often insists we learn, whether we’re ready or not. Platforms blurred into one another, updates came and went without certainty, and the illusion of a neat schedule dissolved somewhere between stations.
Traveling around Europe, especially within the Schengen Zone, has a certain fluidity to it. Borders blur into railway tracks and bus routes; a new country is often just a few hours away, announced not by checkpoints but by subtle changes in language, architecture, and rhythm. Movement here feels effortless, almost taken for granted. On one of my rare free days in Amsterdam, with no meetings to rush to and no agendas to defend, I decided to take the train south to Antwerp—a city near the Dutch border that has long stood as one of Europe’s vital crossroads for trade, shipping, and learning.
18 days. 18,000 kilometers. 18 extra kilos of luggage that somehow carried more questions than clothes.
This was the longest work trip I’ve ever taken, both in distance and in weight. Not just the kind measured by flight hours and baggage allowances, but the kind that settles into your bones. It was a blur of airports that all started to look the same, meetings that bled into one another, conferences where time zones dissolved and coffee became a survival tool. Somewhere between security checks and boarding calls, there were moments when I’d stare at departure screens and feel an odd dislocation—physically present, mentally suspended between where I had been and where I was headed next.
It began on one of those listless afternoons after a midnight shift. The kind where time feels elastic and the world, muted. I was idly scrolling through the internet when a message from my friend Jery appeared:
“Nievie and Hana are going to Australia this September. I’ll send you their itinerary. You in?”
Hop Inn Hotel stays just got even more rewarding. The leading budget hotel network in the Asia Pacific launches the “Stay, Fly, and Shop Promo” to delight loyal guests with a chance to win a trip to Japan for two, a ¥100,000 shopping spree, and more exciting prizes!
Switzerland’s trains are said to run like an atomic clock—miss a minute and you’re history. At Zürich Hauptbahnhof, I bought the coveted day pass, valid for twenty-four hours of seamless travel. It felt less like a ticket and more like a mortgage payment. More expensive than a Manila–Davao round-trip flight, but Switzerland has a way of reminding you that punctuality and precision don’t come cheap. You aren’t just paying for transportation; you’re paying tribute to a nation where even the scenery feels like it has been quality-controlled.
(Watch the international tournament wrap up hot this weekend – only on Cignal TV that comes with your PLDT Home Fiber Unli All Plan 1399!)
For the star athletes playing at the FIVB Men’s Volleyball World Championship, a life of competition means immense sacrifice – especially when it comes to family life. The way to provide for their families is often through the rigorous and intense sports schedules far away from the ones they love most.
What gives them the strength to play at the highest level? More often than not, it's that same love that awaits them off the court. Their home – not a physical place, but a feeling – is wherever their family is.
Here, we list down some of these men’s volleyball idols wearing their hero hat both on and off the court. We also pay tribute to their partners, children, and more supporters cheering them on from the sidelines.
In a world that never stops moving, your phones are more than just tools; they are companions for school, work, leisure, and everything in between. The Samsung Galaxy A series is designed to keep you on top of everything, with incredible features that allow you to create, connect, and conquer every day. Best of all, there is a Galaxy A phone for every style and budget, so anyone can live life the awesome way.
I’ve come back from Coron five shades darker, a souvenir I never asked for and don’t particularly like. My skin bears the evidence of long days under an unfiltered sun, the kind that doesn’t negotiate and doesn’t apologize. I tried hats, I tried shade, I tried convincing myself it would fade quickly. It didn’t. But with a beach like this, how could I complain? There are worse prices to pay for beauty, and this one felt almost fair.
Last year, I stumbled into Geneva like a man walking into a well-made watch—everything precise, everything ticking in harmony. Four days was all I had, just enough to taste the air and realise I hadn’t even scratched the surface. Switzerland isn’t just mountains and lakes; it’s a place where snow crowns the peaks like a blessing and the water is so clean it reflects your face with an unsettling honesty. The towns feel hand-painted, the streets lined with quiet perfection, and time here is not wasted—it is respected. Now I’m back, older by a year, hungrier for the country’s undercurrents. Zurich will be my base, but the real gift for my 35th birthday will be in the journeys outward—to the smaller places where trains whisper through valleys and life feels both deliberate and infinite.
Ask the backpacker clutching a tattered Lonely Planet from the ’90s, or the influencer piloting a drone over rice paddies—they’ll both say they’ve “done Vietnam.” What they mean is they’ve braved Hanoi’s honking, hyperactive chaos or drowned in Saigon’s neon and motorcycle fumes. The middle? That blank space on their itinerary, the part between the clichés. Which, to me, is exactly the point.
After five days hemmed in by fluorescent lights, lanyards, and the numbing thrum of hotel air conditioning—what people now call a “conference”—we finally broke free into the vast, indifferent wilderness of the Arabian desert. It was not freedom in the romantic sense; we were driven there in air-conditioned SUVs along a highway engineered to resist the encroaching sand. But still, there was a sense of escape—of being loosed from the polished sterility of Abu Dhabi's glassy skyline into something far older, far less accommodating.
There are cities you visit, and there are cities that absorb you. Paris is the latter. It is a place that exists in the collective imagination as much as it does in reality—romanticized, immortalized, stamped into postcards and film reels. Yet, no amount of expectation fully prepares you for its first embrace, the way it shifts from fable to something tactile, something lived. I arrived, weary from the long haul of travel, carrying the weight of distance, time zones crossed, and disrupted sleep. And yet, as the taxi moved through the city's arteries, the fatigue gave way to something else: a recognition, as if I had been here before, in a dream or another life.
The hum of the Mexicana aircraft quieted as we descended into Tulum’s newly minted airport, a gateway that promised adventure in the depths of the Yucatán Peninsula. The landscape below was an expanse of emerald-green jungle, cut through by roads that led to ruins, cenotes, and the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. Stepping out onto the tarmac, the warm, humid air carried the scent of salt and earth—this was Mexico, untamed and full of stories waiting to be uncovered.
Now and then, the thrilling thought of visiting Mexico danced in my mind, especially with my shiny, multiple-entry visas for both Japan and the Schengen Area making travel feel like a breeze. So, when the chance popped up to connect with some colleagues from the international federation, I jumped at it without a second thought. This was a golden opportunity I simply couldn't let pass by!
