Scuba divers visiting the region today follow in the footsteps of some big names. Ambon, on the northern edge of the Banda Sea, has been a favourite hunting ground for ichthyologists since the 18th century, and Alfred Russel Wallace spent a lot of time here during his 1854–1862 exploration of the region, a period during which he developed his ideas on biogeography and natural selection (independently of Charles Darwin) and came up with the notion of the “Wallace Line” that separates Asia from Australasia.

For the dedicated macro enthusiast, there are a number of locations worldwide that have gained legendary status, and the Philippines certainly has its fair share. Yet one had always eluded me: Romblon. Although I had been aware of it for years, the opportunity to visit had never arisen. My last trip to the Philippines, ten years earlier, was hampered by an international summit that closed Manila’s airport for days, thwarting a planned visit. Now, a decade on, my chance had finally come.

On my fifth visit to the Philippines, I chose to begin my trip at a dive location that is still relatively unexplored: Anda, at the southeastern tip of the island of Bohol. I departed from Rome, with a stopover in Taipei, one of the most convenient and functional airports in Asia, before landing in Cebu. It was a practical choice, allowing me to avoid the traffic of Manila and gradually enter the archipelago.

Last fall, my mother and I ventured to Indonesia in search of relaxation, diving and just spending time together. We chose two locations in North Sulawesi: Coral Eye on Bangka Island and Siladen Resort and Spa on Siladen Island, sister resorts that are special in their own ways, but mirror each other in service, luxury and commitment to environmental and social responsibility, plus excellent diving.

It was late evening when I rolled onto the ferry in Frederikshavn, Denmark. The hum of the engines and the salty breeze signalled the start of a long-awaited expedition. As the ferry glided towards Gothenburg, Sweden, I sank into my reclining chair, my mind drifting back to a conversation with a Norwegian diving friend over two decades ago. His tales of the fjords had sparked a dream, and now, I was chasing it.

The idea of the Azores has always conjured up images of dreamy, windswept islands of vivid green set against a backdrop of stormy blue waters. With limited knowledge of diving in the area, I had only heard of big animal sightings off Santa Maria Island during a very short season. But what about the rest? Isolated in the northeastern Atlantic, these islands had to be home to something spectacular, so I was keen to visit.

Rising early to walk Porto Santo’s 5.5-mile (9km) golden sand beach, the air was cool and crisp. It was light outside, but the sun had not yet risen over the top of the island, so the beach was still draped in shadow and not too hot. The temperature was perfect for a stroll, and as I looked out over the still waters, the whole island seemed to be at peace.

It was not just locking eyes with a wild lion a few metres away or finally checking off a bucket-list item that I have dreamt about since university—the dream to dive in a unique freshwater lake in the heart of Africa; it was the people. Their overwhelming warmth, kindness and generosity despite their apparent poverty made a deep impression on me.

One thing I did not know was that Spain is the world’s second-most visited tourist destination, surpassed only by France. Every year, more than 90 million people visit this southern European country, which is twice the population of the country, and most of them visit during the summer months.

As a travel destination, Japan needs no introduction, famed for its history, scenery, cuisine and fusion of traditional culture and high tech. As a diving destination, however, it does not immediately spring to mind. Certainly, many are aware of Okinawa’s reefs in the country’s far south, but what about a flourishing dive scene mere hours from Tokyo, boasting a blend of temperate, sub-tropical and even tropical species?