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Underground epic in Hang Son Doong

Imagine a cave so big it could house an entire New York City block of 40-storey skyscrapers; a subterranean system so vast it creates its own weather system and is home to a micro-ecosystem of lakes, rivers and concealed jungle. First explored in 2009 and later officially declared the largest cave in the world, Hang Son Doong in Phong Nha Ke Bang National Park, north-central Vietnam, is a geological marvel only recently opened to the public.

Join a seven-day expedition led by experts from the British Cave Research Association and be one of the first to discover the secrets of this fascinating network of limestone chambers, karst pinnacles, stalagmites and stalactites. Wade through thigh-deep water by torchlight, examine 350-million-year-old fossils and keep your eyes peeled for white spiders and shrimp. A Boeing 747 could comfortably fly through the largest cavern but you’ll make the trek on foot with a team of porters and guides, who will take you to places that experience less foot traffic than Mount Everest.

Pack a punch at a Muay Thai camp

There’s no better way to get close to the action of Thailand’s national sport than by training with a Muay Thai master. Poptheeratham Muay Thai Camp in Bangkok is owned and run by legendary fighter Samart Payakaroon, one of the sport’s best combatants of all time. Famed for his extraordinary ability to avoid being hit, and packing power beyond his light frame, Samart was so good he switched to boxing when no one would fight him. With movie-star looks that survived more than 170 fights, Samart turned to acting and music after retiring, becoming one of the more famous men in Thailand.

When we asked him what it was that makes a great fighter, he smiled and patted his chest: “Without heart you have nothing.” Seize the opportunity to learn from a legend, jump onto the mat, pull on your gloves and discover how to jab, kick and clinch like a true warrior.

Adventure into a Rock Forest

The pinnacles of World Heritage-listed Mulu National Park have to be seen to be believed. Imagine sword-like blades of eroded limestone piercing from the verdant forest floor. The pinnacles cling to the side of Gunung Api (Fire Mountain) on Malaysian Borneo, with some reaching heights of up to 50 metres. You can witness this peculiar landscape on a strenuous three-day trek departing from Mulu National Park headquarters.

Feel great, do good in Laos

It’s true – in one part of the building you can give blood and in the other you can get pummelled into submission during a traditional Laos massage. Granted, the surrounds at the Red Cross Spa in Luang Prabang aren’t all rich silks and wafting incense like you might find at one of the ritzier hotels in the city, but the rooms – each with several beds separated by curtains for privacy – have undergone a reno and are bright and clean.

The quality of the massage is completely dependent on the person who’s assigned to dig their elbows into your sore spots, but at about US$6 for an hour-long treatment (admission to the sauna costs less than US$2) there’s not a lot to complain about. All proceeds go to Red Cross projects in some of the poorest parts of Laos, so you’re doing good while feeling great.

Zip-line Thrills in Cebu City

Zip-lines aren’t particularly novel in South-East Asia, but there’s one a little different from all the rest. SkyExperience Adventure in Cebu City links two buildings – the one you jump off is 150 metres above the ground – via a 75-metre highwire. It takes just eight seconds to fly through the air to your destination, but then you also need to be winched back to the starting point. For extra thrills, take the plunge at night or hanging by your feet.

Tiny Primates in Bohol

Everyone loves a monkey but these little guys, who more closely resemble a mogwai than a chimp, aren’t the sort to clamber around playing games and picking bugs from one another’s fur. The Philippines is one of the few places you’ll still find tarsiers, although they’re very much in danger – their natural habitat is under threat and people think they make cute pets even though the nervous little creatures, being mostly nocturnal, tend to perish in captivity.

Near Bohol, you’ll find a sanctuary where the Philippine Tarsier Foundation is establishing a natural feeding and breeding space. Visitors can walk along paths below the trees and test their eyesight trying to spot tarsiers in the trees.

Sip Cocktails at a Bali Sunset

There are few better places to catch a Balinese sunset than El Kabron, perched on the edge of the cliffs of Bingin Beach.

With Spanish cuisine complemented by sangria and a cocktail list to quench any thirst, this Mediterranean-style bar and restaurant feels a long way from the madness of the more touristy areas of Bali.

Get there an hour or so before sunset and laze by the pool watching the surfers line up for the Bingin break that has made this beach an increasingly popular destination.

The Nepal Motorcycle Diaries

“When it’s red you stop; when it’s green, you go,” explains my driver, Sunil, when I ask him about Nepal’s road rules. He revs the motorbike’s engine and I jolt backwards, clutching his leather jacket, as we pull into a stream of zigzagging tuk-tuks and two-wheel vehicles. Trucks and cars and bikes and buses and motorcycles scream towards us, along with an orchestra of horns and incessant beeping. “We’re not driving an airplane, you know,” he says, stroking the fuel tank like he’s taming a tiger. “This is just a little bike.”

The first five minutes spent playing chicken with traffic in Nepal bursts any romantic bubble or Long Way Round fantasies you may have about crossing the country on the back of a motorbike. Reality check: it’s scary and loud, and the only wind in your hair is the dirty black smoke being emitted from every diesel and two-stroke engine you pass.

For the next 11 days, I’ll be circumnavigating this tiny mountainous nation, taking in a range of hand-picked highlights. With an experienced local guide in the driver’s seat, and a support vehicle carrying most of our stuff, this trip gives intrepid travellers an in-your-face authentic experience of some of the globe’s most famous landmarks.

We slalom along the four-lane highway, dodging the potholes and wandering animals that litter our route out of Kathmandu. Buffalos walk blindly into the road and goats bolt from side alleys. A truck passes closely and we swerve to avoid making a fresh corpse out of a cow.

“You get fined if you hit one of those,” hollers Sunil from somewhere under his helmet, purple cap and Ray-Bans.

As we ride into a winding, narrow laneway, a vehicle ahead of us hits its brakes hard and one of my six companions, John, a guy from Sydney who’s riding solo, veers to the left to miss it, landing sideways in a ditch. Although he’s not hurt, it’s a reminder that this is not your regular out-of-town excursion. The risks of ultimate freedom are real. The excitement can come at a cost.

Back on track, we finally replace big tokes of CO2 with large lungfuls of alpine air. Emerald fields come into view, and little huts the colour of dried biscuits spread out on the hillside. Pewter-grey boulders pepper the side of a rushing river we follow all the way to our first official pit stop.

The Last Resort is exactly that – the final place to get your kicks before hitting the Tibet border. Located three hours away from Nepal’s crowded capital, it’s a stunning spot with comfortable safari-style tents set up along the water’s edge, and numerous hair-raising activities. Here you can run river rapids or go canyoning, mountain biking or hiking. Try canyon swinging, do a forest ropes course or, at 160 metres, brave one of the world’s highest bungee jumps.

As if to encourage – or deter – visitors from actually attempting the leap, the only thing connecting the road to the actual town and tents is the bungee bridge itself. Walking slowly towards the platform, my palms like ice and my guts in a mess, I pass pint-sized men and women lugging baskets of rocks, bags of cement and a variety of vegetables.

“How many times have you done this?” I ask the guy who is now shackling my feet. “You crazy?” he laughs. “Never. See how high this is?” I pray the multicoloured Tibetan flags stretched overhead in an arc are just there for decoration. Then I shuffle close to the edge, raise my arms level with my shoulders, dive forward and let the silence swallow me.

The next morning, the rush in my body has subsided to a gentle buzz, and a heavy downfall of rain has brushed the valleys with a glossy sheen. We wave goodbye to our camp and say hello again to our choice of steed – the Royal Enfield Bullet.

A symbol of British and Indian manufacturing pride, the Enfield is one of the world’s oldest motorcycle brands still in production. The Indian police and army once used them to patrol the country’s borders, considering it the most suitable bike for the job thanks to its super-cushy seat.

As we bounce along the ‘road’ – a painful 12-kilometre avalanche of rocks and pebbles (the Nepalese version of gravel) heading to the border town of Kodari – tall, leafy trees give way to glorious Himalayan mountains, leathery faces grow rounder and pink cheeks more plump.

Mary is behaving, well, like a bear with a sore foot. She’s curled up on her haunches, foot in her mouth, suckling away on her claws like a frightened child. Her chestnut eyes are wary and timid, and when she stands her gait is askew, as though her legs aren’t quite up to the task of carrying her.

Mary is pining for her mother’s milk – a trait common in Bornean sun bears snatched or orphaned from their mothers. The nurturer in me wants to pick her up, envelop her in my arms, nuzzle her little pointy ears and play noses with her precious little snout. But Mary is a wild animal with fierce canines and elongated claws that could probably disembowel me in an instant should she feel threatened by my embrace.

In the steamy jungles of Borneo, in the Malaysian state of Sabah, Mary is the face of a burgeoning campaign to save this precious and little-known species. Victims of both their charms and their obscurity, sun bears have long been targeted by poachers and pet-pilferers; their numbers dwindling with their habitat, yet they’ve failed to register a blip on the international conservation radar. This is, after all, a region preoccupied with the beloved and endearing orangutan, the iconic and endangered ape whose plight has attracted a global groundswell of support.

But speak to wildlife warrior Siew Te Wong and he’ll tell you the sun bear’s survival is even more perilous – there just hasn’t been the investment in research to justify hitting the panic button. Wong founded the Bornean Sun Bear Conservation Centre in 2008 and is waging a public campaign to draw international attention to the loveable species and ensure their survival. He looks every bit the crusader primed for battle. When we meet he’s wearing army fatigues and a camouflage hat, and speaks with the fervour and urgency of a man who would rather be building fences and relationships with donors than talking to this traveller, who, it becomes clear, should have done more research before holding court with such wildlife royalty.