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I arrive at Nyaung Shwe, Inle Lake’s main development, in the dead of night and immediately book myself into a boat tour of the lake, wondering aloud if the notorious Nayar, a mythical dragon with four legs, still patrols the waters. An old man seated next to me on the bus had told me all about the Nayar and the Magan, a man-eating crocodile-cum-anteater that patrols the murky depths of Inle when the sun goes down. I don’t consider myself superstitious, but in Burma I’ll believe just about anything.“Now you’re starting to understand our country,” he says, winking at me as he captains us through the dark.The engine dies and we sit for a moment; I’m not sure if we’re waiting for the Nayar to drag us to the bottom of the lake or if our propeller has fallen off and we have to swim back to shore.

Out of the mist, with the first rays of dawn pouring over the eastern hills, a fisherman appears, trawling across what appears to be a thin sheet of glass, one strong leg propelling his slender canoe while he hefts a massive cone-shaped net above his head and plunges it into the water. This is an Intha fisherman, a member of the Tibeto-Burman ethnic minority group that make their homes in stilt houses on the lake, self-sufficient fisherfolk and farmers known for their unique one-legged rowing style that has been fodder for romantic travel tales in the same vein as Venice canal rowers for hundreds of years.

We paid $35 for a day on the water in a private boat. It was worth every penny.

The secret to having a good time in Bagan has nothing to do with getting there - all that takes is faith in a Burmese pilot and his ancient aircraft, or an unwavering belief that your 13-hour bus ride from Yangon will actually deliver you to the dusty plains before all your hair turns grey (update: travelers now have the options of new turboprop airplanes and the new highway means that drive time is now approximately seven hours). The secret is in finding a new way to look at the temples themselves, at just the right time of day, and in just the right light. I’ll never understand why most visitors cluster together to climb one pagoda when the plains are littered with thousands of others that afford anyone willing to visit a wholly new perspective on an oft-visited place. This is the way I look at every destination, whether new, old, untamed or untrammeled.

The most exciting plane landing ever is in Paro, Bhutan - an approach through tight mountain passes to the only flat spot in Bhutan large enough to accomodate a runway. But just when you think you had won the “best flight ever” lottery - the trip out on Druk Airlines to Delhi is via Kathmandu and on the way you fly right by Mt. Everest in all its majesty. Sit on the right side of the plane (when facing forward) at the window and gawk at the awe inspiring “highest place on earth”.

Michael and I take the lead up a scree-choked stream draining from the Gangjam glacier. Two hours of climbing through talus brings us to ice-blue seracs rising like frozen waveforms from the mottled glacier. An hour further, in the cirque beneath the black wall of Kailash, we begin to sink up to our knees in sun-softened snow. Michael’s altimeter reads 17,500 feet, and above us, the mountain’s north face rises in a 4,000-foot vertical thrust of glazed rock, capped by a treacherous overhanging white cornice. Jaws gone slack, we lift our eyes in awe toward the Throne of Shiva. “How about it, bro? Break out the crampons?” “Jesus! I am not seeing a good route on that wall,” Michael replies, and we both laugh. Kailash remains one of the few legendary mountains on this planet left unclimbed—out of reverence. “And look at that freakin’ cornice!” Michael adds “Nevé ice for sure. Like frost on a windowpane. Won’t hold your points for shit.” There were rumors, nearly a decade ago, that the legendary Austrian mountaineer, Reinhold Messner had surreptitiously planned to bag Kailash, a task which he certainly had the skill and resources to accomplish. But when Messner saw the Precious Snow Mountain for himself, he realized what a desecration it would be to set crampons on its face or boots on its summit. He’s since become a vocal proponent of keeping Kailash off-limits to climbers in perpetuity.

If you only see one temple in Bangkok, make it Wat Pho: home of the largest reclining Buddha in Thailand. The 141-foot-long statue is an artistic masterpiece plated in gold leaf and inlaid with mother of pearl. You could easily spend all day wandering the grounds, looking at reliquaries, visiting the massage school, and admiring the 400 statues of Buddha in the outer cloister—each posed and sculpted slightly differently. Before you leave, drop some money in one of the 108 begging bowls (one bowl for each of the characters of Buddha). The money goes to maintaining the Wat and the gift will bring you good luck. That seems like a fair trade.

In this week’s episode of Unpacked by AFAR, three AFAR editors share highlights from this year’s “Where to Go in 2024" list.