Kota Kinabalu

Dragging yourself upward along Mount Kinabalu's winding, increasingly thin-aired trails is like entering Southeast Asia's version of nature's own StairMaster, minus the complimentary towel service. Located near sleepy Ranau in Malaysian Borneo, this 4,095-meter peak isn't just a brag-worthy conquest-it's a pilgrimage, climbing through lush tropical forests, drifting cloud layers, and finally ascending to a stark, granite moonscape that looks like the kind of place Tolkien characters go to brood dramatically. To dodge both the oppressive midday sun and the inevitable afternoon rains, start your hike absurdly early-think pre-coffee, pre-dawn, suspiciously-still-dark early-and book at least three months in advance, or risk negotiating desperately for last-minute permits with amused park officials. Budget roughly $200-$300 USD a head for permits, guides, and cozy park lodging; toss in sturdy shoes, a rainproof jacket, chocolates for morale, and a flashlight capable of blinding passing mountain rodents. In the end, despite the lung-squeezing altitude and aching thighs, the climb delivers a sunrise so pristine, so explosively technicolor, it would make Monet hurl his brushes into a lake in despair. And really, even if you're not the trekking type, scaling Southeast Asia's tallest mountain is worth it purely to casually let slip at dinner parties forevermore.

Deep in the leafy outskirts of Inanam, a short drive from Kota Kinabalu, lies Mari Mari Cultural Village-Sabah's unabashedly touristy yet oddly irresistible time capsule, where the ancient customs of Borneo's diverse ethnic groups stubbornly persist beneath a thin veneer of Instagram-friendly convenience. Strolling through traditional bamboo longhouses and trying your hand at blowpipe hunting or tattoo-making, you'll feel like you're trespassing into someone else's lovingly preserved nostalgia. Aim for the morning session if you prefer fewer visitors gumming up your efforts to master fire-starting and rice-wine-sampling, and definitely book at least a day or two ahead-spontaneous wander-ins are about as welcome as leeches after a jungle rainstorm. Entrance fees hover around 100 ringgit per person, a modest exchange rate for bragging rights that you've "gone tribal" for a few hours. Pack a bottle of water, insect repellent, and a sense of humor-because when else will you get the chance to sheepishly admit you were embarrassingly humbled by a toothless, grandmotherly Murut tribeswoman in a blowdart contest?

If your idea of adventure involves trudging through mud thick enough to swallow boots whole while hyperactively imagining every shriek in the undergrowth belongs to some prehistoric creature, then the Danum Valley Conservation Area in Lahad Datu awaits your perspiring enthusiasm. This lush and ferociously alive slice of Borneo's rainforest-home to orangutans, pygmy elephants, and an absurdly charismatic assortment of hornbills-has been host to countless sweaty, leech-plagued yet deliriously awed naturalists since opening up to outsiders back in the 1980s. For the true jungle experience, set your alarm distressingly early-ideally before dawn-to catch wildlife waking up (apparently, orangutans are as groggy in the morning as we are). Aim to book at least a month ahead and budget generously-say, roughly $300-500 USD per night-to appreciate the surreal luxury of an eco-lodge that balances badass jungle exploration with a hot shower at day's end. Pack sturdy boots, industrial-strength insect repellent, and extra socks (you'll thank me when you inevitably surrender the first pair to river crossings). Sure, you might find yourself bellyaching over insects whose ancestors probably annoyed Charles Darwin himself, but few experiences match the raw thrill of stepping into a realm largely unchanged by millennia. Do it because, frankly, "Oh, you spent your vacation at the beach? Cute-I fended off leeches and spotted pygmy elephants in Borneo," makes for a significantly better pub tale.