It starts with a suggestion, "just go, I ended up staying there for weeks". Next thing you know, you’re on a minivan climbing the switchbacks to Pai. Or you’re barefoot on a ferry bound for Gili Trawangan, your hair dusted in sand and regret.

Once you’ve been around a few hostels in Asia you’ll start hearing the names: Pai, Gili T, Siquijor, Pushkar, Vang Vieng—a constellation of places orbiting in your daydreams. Out here, deadlines mean the next visa run. Job titles mean nothing. Everyone is five years younger than they claim or ten years older than they look, clothed in a patchwork of stretched singlets and accesorised in hemp.