One of the things that struck me most about Chile is their love for dogs. If they hadn't already adopted a canine family member, then they are out on the streets showering their affections on the roadside strays. Bowls of doggie treats and water are left out on street corners and in front of shops; parks host kennel colonies

A travel-organising app launches a new feature that will tell its users when they need to be extra vigilant about pickpockets and walking alone at night.

For my grandfather, home lies across August 15, 1948 in a two-storey post office building in the district of Murshidabad—which just so happens to not be in Bangladesh. Large insignias of Trinamool Congress's Jora Ghas Phool line its walls in faded orange, green and white. Probably the last and only fresh coat of paint the house has seen in years.

Rot Fai Market means Train Market because it is situated near the train tracks behind the famous and massive Chatuchak Market. Consider it like a museum where you get to take food and drinks inside.

Whenever we go to any country, we tend to take our preconceived notions of that place with us. I had this idea that Sri Lanka would be like Bangladesh and the people would resemble South Indians with the accompanying Tamil accent. I could not have been more wrong. In fact, this trip has left me wondering exactly how I got such ideas in the first place. The soft-spoken eloquence and refined attitude of the Sri

I spent a lot of time in my twenties travelling through Europe and North Africa. I did the typical weekend tourist one-two step: touched down in one city, did a whirlwind tour of the most Instagrammable spots, indulged in some good meals, and if I wasn't too jet-lagged, checked out the nightlife. In and out, another country on the books. At the rate I was going, I would have made it to my goal of 30 countries, but by then my approach to travelling had changed.

I can't quite remember who picked us up—probably someone from the villa—but they played 'No Scrubs' by TLC in the car and it reminded me of my childhood. Secret hip hop aspirations stormed through my senses, and at once, I felt at ease. Like I knew you Marrakech, and you knew me.

When I told my bosses I was taking off to travel to Cuba, their first response was “Tell us if you're stuck in Guantanamo”. All jokes aside, when people think of Cuba, they think of Frank Sinatra, they think of classic cars and flamenco dancers, and now, they probably think of the “Havana” song. And, of course, they think of socialism.

People don't usually visit the UK for the sole purpose of tourism. They either go there to study, work or visit family. Last year I had the chance to spend three weeks in London, and it was the best vacation of my life. The only reason many, at least from Bangladesh, don't consider the UK as a holiday destination is because of the high price tag. But if you're savvy, there are many ways to cut down on your expenses. Once you figure out food and shelter, your UK trip should be a breeze.

Many people think of Antarctica as this far away, impossible-to-reach place, accessible only virtually via repeat viewings of Happy Feet and Happy Feet 2, but that's not true. Trust me, if I can get myself there, you totally can too (but hopefully with less vomiting).

It was perhaps Jane Austen that first introduced me to the therapeutic benefits of bathing in thermal waters—a concept which my teenaged self found archaic and strange. As I grew older (and travelled wider), I realised bathing in hot springs is fairly common the world over. The instant I stepped into my first hot spring, I understood why. The almost unbearably warm waters cocooned my body and I felt my muscles unwind. I closed my eyes. It was sublime.

As a solo female Bangladeshi traveller, the reaction I most commonly elicit while I am travelling is along the lines of people saying: “Wow! I have never met a Bangladeshi traveller before”. This makes me sad, because I know many Bangladeshis are keen on travelling, but for many, the expense of foreign trips can be a deterrence. And, well, it doesn't help either that we have a pretty badly-ranked passport.

I often murmur this overused idiom as I pack my bags for a trip to any place. Be it in the country or abroad. The budget woes take hold of me from the conception to execution and to the absolute end of any trip. There have been times, of course, when my soirees out into the wild have been fully paid affairs and I can say without a trace of doubt that if you somehow negate the money worries, travel takes on a

The houses looked like they were made of Lego; the people, like ants. My head was dizzy and I was breathing fast. It was precisely then that I realised that my goal of reaching the 4,200-metre high (13,500 feet) Kyangin Ri peak in the Langtang valley of Nepal—one that I had shamelessly and prematurely boasted about to all my family members and friends prior to leaving Dhaka—was not going to be fulfilled.

Jasper is a small town hidden between the Canadian Rocky Mountains in Alberta, pretty close to British Columbia. We visited the town on April 25, 2018, and stayed for three days. It takes an estimated 4 hours and 30 minutes from Calgary, the capital of Alberta province, to Jasper -- a total of 450 kilometres on road.

Smells evoke emotionally charged memories. Like the smell of freshly picked green mangoes after the season's first Kalbaishakhi or the smell of clothes washed with Chaka Ball soap and laid out to dry on the wires running along the village front yard. However, Beautiful Bangladesh—our tagline for tourism—has its inimitable share of horrible smells that also manage to etch themselves into our memories.

In 2007, I was working in Nagasaki, Japan, during my college summer break. My team traveled around the prefecture, teaching English to adorable Japanese school children of various ages. In between, we got to enjoy breaks, and stay with host families so we could live like the locals.

One of the 20th century’s greatest archeological finds were the underground army of nearly 8,000 life-size terracotta figures, which were found near the burial site of the first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang (221-210 BC).

Neat rows of red-brick buildings, bathed in brilliant sunlight, stretched out under an azure sky. The carefully manicured grounds, and the forest beyond, were a lush green. One could be forgiven for mistaking it for a well-run summer camp. It certainly did not look anything like what had been portrayed in Schindler's List or the myriad of Holocaust literature. Even the wrought-iron sign above the gates reading

A massive rhino rustled through the tall elephant grass and charged at us. Ears cocked, nostrils flared wide open and tail held high, the animal seemed to take up the entirety of the unique Chitwan landscape. Its distinctive one horn cut through the thick humid air of the Terai, its muscles rippled in tension under the thick armour like skin.