Live Abroad in 4 Thai Havens From Just $1,200 a Month
Coral Cove beach, Koh Samui, Thailand.
Thailand is an exotic wonderland blessed with natural beauty and home to a friendly local population as well as a growing number of expats—as many as 4 million people are said to have chosen 'The Land of Smiles' as their new home.
Thailand has world-class health care options, a tropical climate, is generally very safe, and offers a number of visa options, including a retirement visa and a digital nomad visa.
To qualify for the retirement visa, known as the Non-Immigrant O-A Visa, you must be at least 50 years old and make a security deposit of 800,000 baht (about $24k) into a Thai bank or prove a monthly income of 65,000 baht (about $2k), or a combination of the two. This visa is valid for one year and can be renewed indefinitely.
With the digital nomad visa, officially called the Destination Thailand Visa (DTV), remote workers may stay in Thailand for up to 180 days. Applicants must be at least 20 years old, be employed remotely outside of Thailand, and be able to show a bank balance of at least 500,000 baht (about $14k).
Thailand is about the same size as France and offers a wealth of lifestyle options for expats, from palm-fringed islands to bustling cities. Here's a quick look at four Thai havens where you can settle in easily and make the most of expat life.
Lying some 21 miles off the east coast of Southern Thailand is the palm-fringed paradise of Koh Samui. The flight here from Bangkok takes around 80 minutes. White and golden sand beaches rim the entire island which is just 15 miles across at its widest point.
Silver Beach, Koh Samui, Thailand
A little over 70,000 people live in Koh Samui, around 8,000 of whom are expats. It's also a popular tourist spot so there's a vast array of entertainment options available including mini-golf, archery, yoga, cooking schools, frisbee golf, tennis, kayaking, and laser tag.
For golfers, Santiburi Samui Country Club is home to a five-star, 18-hole international standard championship golf course (par 72 and 6,930 yards), ranked as one of Asia's best.
Health care facilities in Samui are well equipped and staffed. There are several hospitals on the island offering a wide range of services. Internationally accredited Bangkok Hospital Samui offers a complete slate of health care services and caters primarily to expats and tourists.
You'll find people of all ages living on Koh Samui but it's especially popular with digital nomads.
A couple could live well on Koh Samui on a monthly budget of $1,800. For a single, figure on around $1,500.
The beachside town of Hua Hin lies 124 miles south of Bangkok—the trip takes around 3 hours by road or four-and-a-half by rail.
Hua Hin railway station, Thailand.
Hua Hin is a well-appointed, increasingly cosmopolitan city that offers beautiful beaches, vast open-air markets, modern, air-conditioned malls, and restaurants that run from cheap street eats to fine dining along the waterfront.
Entertainment options include sailboarding, windsurfing, parasailing, kayaking, snorkelling, game fishing, cycling, hiking, Muay Thai boxing, and golf. You'll get by in English here, too.
For health care needs, the JCI-accredited Bangkok Hospital Hua Hin offers excellent standards of care.
Hua Hin stands out for its elegant, refined atmosphere. It's been the preferred retreat for the Thai royal family since the 1920s and this heritage adds a layer of charm and tranquillity. Retirees and those looking for a more relaxed pace of life will find much to like about Hua Hin.
A budget of $1,465 a month will see a couple living comfortably here, around $1,200 will cover a single.
The island of Phuket lies in the Andaman Sea off the west coast of southern Thailand.
Freedom beach, Phuket, Thailand.
The quickest way to get there from the capital, Bangkok, is to fly—it takes around 90 minutes. If you're up for a road trip, Phuket is connected to mainland Thailand by two bridges, so driving or catching a bus are also options.
Phuket is Thailand's biggest island and is home to large expat community of around 100,000. English is widely spoken and you'll also find good infrastructure, and a plenty of entertainment options from water sports, hiking, nightclubs, bars, restaurants, and spas.
Health care on Phuket is excellent, with a range of public and private facilities, many with English speaking staff. Medical fees vary, but you can expect to pay about $30 for a regular visit at a private hospital or $10 for the same visit at a public hospital.
A budget of $1,760 a month will see a couple living comfortably here, around $1,500 will cover a single.
Expat families, singles, retirees, and digital nomads will all find likeminded souls to connect with should they choose to settle in Phuket.
About 435 miles north of Bangkok, the city of Chiang Mai is home to some 1.2 million people.
Known as 'The Rose of the North', Chiang Mai offers a wonderful blend of the charms of the past and conveniences of the modern day. Among more than 300 ancient temples and monuments you'll find museums and universities. There are also impressive national parks, a dozen golf courses, and an international airport.
Wat Phra Singh temple, Chiang Mai, Thailand.
The flight from Bangkok to Chiang Mai takes around 75 minutes. You can also take the train—it's a scenic, 10-hour trip. Taking a bus or driving the 435-mile route is also an option.
Chiang Mai is not a party town and there's no beach. While it's popular with visitors, it's not teeming with tourists. That said, there's plenty to keep you entertained from vibrant markets and temples, to spas, malls, bars, and a thriving live music scene.
With average temperatures range of 68 to 86 F, Chiang Mai enjoys the mildest climate in Thailand. The rainy season runs from July through September.
The health care options in Chiang Mai are second only to Bangkok. Several private international hospitals offering first-rate health care and English-speaking staff are on hand here.
Chiang Mai is particularly popular with the digital nomad crowd and with retirees who enjoy the more authentic Thai lifestyle on offer here.
A budget of $2,000 a month will see a couple living comfortably here, around $1,800 will cover a single.
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Travel + Leisure
an hour ago
- Travel + Leisure
This Southeast Asian Country Is On the Brink of a Transformation—and It Has 7,600 Islands With Pristine Beaches, Lush Rainforest, and a Rich History
Top marks for transparency to whoever named the streets on the Philippine island of Siargao. Tourism Road, the main drag in General Luna, the commercial hub, perfectly describes a place some have dubbed the next Bali. Sunburned Westerners clog the thoroughfare, their rented mopeds spewing gray clouds of exhaust. Displays of surfboard-shaped magnets and racks of tie-dyed T-shirts spill from the storefronts. Cocktail bars and tattoo parlors tout cheap specials and easy access to regret. From left: Fresh fruit for sale in Bacolod; a fruit vendor in Manila's Chinatown. As I was driven along Tourism Road, I desperately wanted not to be that kind of traveler. I would have slid down in my seat for fear of being seen as one of them, except it was poi;'ntless: I was being ferried around in a minivan emblazoned with my hotel's name and logo. I was just another American tourist—and not even one cool (or coordinated, or courageous) enough to steer my own moped. A few miles outside of town, though, the shops, the bars, the traffic, and the shame of Tourism Road vanished, along with nearly all the tourists. Through the van windows, I saw coconut palms, banana trees, and the occasional water buffalo grazing in a field. Then, about a half-hour north of General Luna, I spotted a sign: "house for sale. sea view." 'Hey, could you pull over?' I asked the driver, Kirk Cabigon. 'Just a quick look.' From left: A student walking home on Siargao; Teddy Canete on his coffee farm in Negros Occidental. In the rearview mirror, I saw his skeptical glance. He'd barely stopped on the grassy, overgrown shoulder before I hopped out. 'Are you sure?' I heard him say behind me. I was already jogging up the path. Around a bend and up a hill, a three-story house appeared. A dog trotted up to me, tail wagging. Nobody else seemed to be home. As I scratched the dog's ears, I could hear a watery whoosh-whoosh-whoosh and the crash of waves. At the top of some steps, I saw the craggy coast plunging into the Philippine Sea's foamy churn. Tide pools glistened like topaz gemstones set in jagged rock. To the north, an arm of land curled into the ocean, as if trying to gather the waters. As far as I could see, the Pacific stretched eastward, glimmering like a sheet of blue steel. 'Wow,' Cabigon said, as he caught up with me. From left: Arts Serrano, an architect, in his Manila studio; a fresh barber cut in Bacolod. This is why I'd come to the Philippines: to walk the mysterious path, to meet friendly locals, to glimpse the unexpected—to have an adventure. Another reason: redemption. I wanted to experience the Philippines anew—exploring, chasing beauty, giving the place another, more openhearted chance. When I was 18, my dad got a job in Manila. While I attended college in the U.S., I spent every major holiday and a few weeks each summer in the Philippine capital, much of it in full sulk mode. I knew my dad's expat wages were funding my education, but I resented the on-the-ground reality: in Manila, I couldn't drive, had no friends, and therefore had no life. I never wanted to be there—and I always wanted my parents to know it. A quarter-century on, I felt less self-absorbed, a bit more mature, and ready to return. I wanted to experience the Philippines anew—exploring, chasing beauty, giving the place another, more openhearted chance. Could I see the country for what it was, not what I wanted it to be? I called the T+L A-List travel advisor Tesa Totengco, a New York–based Filipina, who jumped at the chance to design—and accompany me on—an itinerary exploring her homeland. From left: Kiko Torno, a fish farmer in Bacolod; fashion designer Ziv Rei Alexi in his Manila studio. The 7,600 islands of the Philippines, Southeast Asia's second most populous country, offer wildly diverse landscapes—pristine beaches, volcanic peaks, lush rainforest—and a rich, complicated history. The culture, marked by centuries of Spanish and American rule, is unique. And while tourism has hit a record high since President Rodrigo Duterte's strongman regime ended in 2022, the country still lags far behind Thailand and Vietnam in terms of visitors. I told Totengco I wanted as full a picture of today's Philippines as we could get in nine days: old and new, city and countryside, ending with some beach time. In January, we set out on a whirlwind tour, along with Frédéric Lagrange, a Bali-based photographer. We began in Manila, where Totengco had arranged a tour of Intramuros, a walled district built by Spanish colonialists. Our guide, Greg Dorris, an American who has lived in the city since 1988, has been praised by Esquire Philippines for 'knowing Manila better than most Manileños.' He escorted us through San Agustin Church and Fort Santiago, ushering us from the precolonial era to the 1700s, when treasure-laden Spanish galleons shuttled between the Philippines and Mexico, and onward to the 20th century, when the U.S. (and, during World War II, Japan) governed. I knew the vague outlines of the Spanish and American eras, but Dorris shared some fascinating tales. For instance, Daniel Burnham, the Beaux Arts – era architect and urban planner who designed New York's Flatiron Building, also imagined Rizal Park, a sprawling green space originally envisioned as the Philippine equivalent of Washington, D.C.'s National Mall. Creating Rizal Park and its surrounding neighborhoods, though, required destroying Bagumbayan, an area that was once home to Rajah Sulayman, Manila's ruler when the Spanish arrived. Locals refused to live there, Dorris said. 'They regarded it as a ghost town.' Today the area is populated mostly by squatters. From left: A beach in the town of Burgos, on the island of Siargao; surfing at a 'secret' spot off Siargao. Dorris sensed Lagrange and I were itching to explore. So from Intramuros, we wandered. In Binondo, Manila's Chinatown, we scarfed down some steamed buns—I shared mine with a street dog—and in neighboring Quiapo, we stopped for sandwiches at a shop called Excelente Chinese Cooked Ham. While we ate, the garrulous proprietor kept ordering her staff to bring extra treats, including pungent buffalo-milk cheese wrapped in banana leaves. She also regaled us with stories, including one about how she'd met her husband ('I was a flight attendant, he was a passenger!'). Earlier, an Art Deco building had caught Lagrange's eye, so we found our way back to it. The First United Building, originally a department store and offices, is now a thriving creative hub. We popped in to the studio of the avant-garde fashion designer Ziv Rei Alexi, who showed us a jacket covered in what appeared to be cracked paint ('inspired by the rawness of concrete,' he said) and a translucent racer-back top ('Margiela 1998'). Next door, we met Arts Serrano, who runs One Zero, the interior-architecture firm behind some of Manila's trendiest restaurants. 'The old and the new merge in this building,' Serrano told us. 'It encourages you to play around with ideas. There's a natural energy that encourages cross-pollination.' That intersection of history and innovation came to mind one night at the Peninsula Manila hotel, where we were staying. When my family lived in the Philippines, we went to 'the Pen,' as locals call the grande dame of the city's hotels, on special occasions. It's even more beautiful than I remembered (it received a facelift just prior to the pandemic) and its buffet just as lavish. About a decade ago, the hotel started a cultural program called the Peninsula Academy to pay tribute to Filipino artists and designers, which is how we ended up visiting the workshop of Lenora Cabili, the visionary behind the fashion brand Filip + Inna. From left: Tricycle taxis on Siargao; bamboo-smoked yellowfin tuna, sold at a market in Manila. Thanks to Filip + Inna, hundreds of artisans from 21 Indigenous communities across the archipelago have a market for their crafts. 'These are old Filipino traditions that I wanted to keep alive,' Cabili told us as we walked through the workshop, where women were finishing garments with dazzling embroidery. This isn't merely an exercise in cultural preservation. Several women who began stitching as girls have gone on to university; one now oversees quality control for the company. Following a dinner on her workshop's patio, Cabili invited several artisans to perform tribal dances. She told us that, as a consequence of centuries of Spanish and American colonization, many Filipinos undervalue their own heritage. 'Sometimes our culture is so masked by Western culture,' she said. 'It needed to be celebrated.' Every Filipino I've known has told me, 'Go to the provinces.' It's their way of saying that, if you want to experience the country's heart, you have to explore beyond Manila. So Totengco took us to Negros Occidental, her home province, which occupies the western half of the island of Negros, named by the Spanish after the skin color of its Indigenous people. She wanted to show us a side of the country that tourists rarely see. From left: A surfer at Pacifico Beach, on Siargao; a beachside surf shop on Siargao Island.. In the mid 1800s, vast swaths of the island's forest were cleared for sugarcane farming; by 1900, sugar had become one of the Philippines' most lucrative exports. Farmers became wildly wealthy and erected stunning mansions. The sugar industry has faded, but the homes remain. Silay City, in the province's north, has the most significant collection, though nature has reclaimed many, with kudzu and strangler figs grabbing roof tiles and tearing down walls. If you want to experience the country's heart, you have to explore beyond Manila. We stopped at one of the best preserved, Casa A. Gamboa, for lunch with Reena Gamboa, a fifth-generation farmer. Built in 1939 by Gamboa's grandfather, the mansion marries Art Deco style with bahay kubo architecture, a traditional Filipino house on stilts. It has high ceilings and linear calados —carved-wood door transoms that improve air circulation. Over stewed chicken, Malabar spinach, and tiny pickled cucumbers called pipinitos, Gamboa told us how she was still learning new things about her family's land. (Those pipinitos were discovered on her farm last year, when she was 60, and were a 'revelation,' she said.) When World War II arrived, the U.S. Army requisitioned the house. Gamboa heard stories of Douglas MacArthur's visit, but only got proof recently; near the front steps, a framed photograph shows the general descending them in 1945. From left: Ceviche at 7 Hectares, an aquaculture farm in Bacolod; grilled fish at 7 Hectares. Next, we visited the provincial capital of Bacolod, where Lilia V. Villanueva welcomed us to a 1930s gem called Daku Balay ('Big House'), which was built by her grandfather. With its elegant Art Deco curves and terrazzo floors, the house wouldn't be out of place in Miami Beach. But the details are unique to the area: floorboards and doors made of native hardwoods; wall reliefs depicting agrarian scenes of sugarcane, water buffalo, and folkloric animals. 'Inside, he made sure you don't forget you're in the Philippines,' Villanueva said. War is part of Daku Balay's story, too: it was once the city's tallest building, so the Japanese army installed guns on its roof. Villanueva lived in the U.S. for decades before returning in 2012 to restore the run-down home. In New York, she sold Asian antiques; in Bacolod, she tends to one. Several miles outside Bacolod, we visited a hacienda with an even greater military pedigree. It belonged to the sugar baron Aniceto Lacson, who, along with his cousin, led hundreds of people on a march against Spanish colonizers in 1898. From afar, the troops appeared heavily armed, so the Spaniards surrendered. In truth, the rifles were actually palm fronds shaped to look like guns. The cannons? Rolled-up bamboo mats, painted black. The ruse helped Lacson become president of the short-lived Republic of Negros; during those four months, his home was designated the presidential palace. With its brick-and-coral façade and wraparound veranda, the Lacson hacienda is an exemplar of bahay na bato —an architectural style that blends Filipino motifs with Spanish and Chinese influences. The house is unoccupied, and nobody was there when we arrived, so I opened the massive door and wandered around. I peeked into the chapel, which had tidy rows of kneelers and an altar crafted by Spanish artisans. I climbed the grand staircase, admiring the floral balusters and lavish fretwork. 'Be careful, Jeff!' Totengco shouted from downstairs, as termite-damaged planks creaked underfoot. I imagined all the stories these wood-paneled walls had witnessed: political strategy sessions, family meals, elegant balls. From left: A coffee break at a market in the city of Bacolod; the Art Deco stairs at Daku Balay, in Bacolod. When I emerged, Anna Balcells, Lacson's great-granddaughter, had arrived. 'I was born in this house,' she said wistfully. Last year, her family donated the home to the nation, which has promised to restore it. Not only ancestral homes are being restored and reimagined. So are farmlands. Early one afternoon, we drove to meet Kiko Torno, a former marketing executive who runs 7 Hectares, a fish farm in the town of Saravia that uses regenerative aquaculture—the practice of producing seafood while improving the ecosystem. He cultivates algae, which feed tilapia, which feed barramundi, snapper, and sea bass. Snails inhabit these ponds, too. Oysters help filter the water. 'If I keep a healthy supply of algae,' he said, 'that's the main thing.' Between two fish ponds, in the ample shade of gmelina trees, Torno had set a table for lunch. From an outdoor kitchen emerged a lavish feast: bruschetta topped with mangrove clams; squash soup with snails; fish fritters; sea-bass kinilaw —ceviche's Filipino cousin—cured with lime and young-coconut vinegar. As we ate, Torno stood nearby, watching proudly. 'Pond to table,' he said. From left: A garden courtyard on Siargao; a private terrace at Nay Palad Hideaway. I heard a similar philosophy the next day, when we drove inland to meet Teddy Canete, a third-generation coffee farmer. I hadn't been sure we'd make it. Canete's farm sits in the shadow of Mount Kanlaon, an active volcano, and that morning my phone buzzed with a warning: 'Beware of possible ash fall.' The volcano was erupting. A quarter-mile from Canete's farm, our van stalled on the steep, half-paved road, so we continued on foot. When we arrived, Canete and his wife, Joy, greeted us with wide smiles and waved off concerns about Kanlaon. Accompanied by their nine rescue dogs, we hiked across the farm and down a ravine where rains had slicked the muddy path—yes, I slid. While sugarcane fields remain, there were also groves of coffee trees, including species like arabica, robusta, and the less-common liberica. Some were 80 years old, others planted recently. Canete, a member of the Indigenous Panay-Bukidnon tribe, belongs to an agricultural collective that tends 5,000 acres. He has traveled the world to learn sustainable farming practices, including how to intersperse coffee with other trees (banana, rambutan) to prevent soil erosion, reduce disease, and provide extra income. He has shared those lessons back home. 'It's how I help my people,' he said. From left: Outdoor sculptures in the Bacolod arts district; a no-frills hotel in Manila. How do you say adventure in Tagalog?' I asked Totengco one day. The question stumped her. Nor could she think of an answer in Hiligaynon, Negros Occidental's local language. Text messages went flying from friend to friend and, slowly, suggestions trickled in: Maybe iskursiyon ? That Spanish-derived Tagalog word felt too small. Lágaw ? In Hiligaynon, that means 'to roam.' Reena Gamboa offered another option: pag pasimpalad, which can mean 'taking a chance' or 'trying one's luck'; it implies an action taken with hope but no certainty. I carried my question to Siargao, our last stop. This teardrop of an island sits along the country's eastern fringe, and its proximity to the Philippine Trench, a deep marine canyon, makes for formidable waves. Surfers from around the world began coming in the 1980s and were drawn particularly to Cloud 9, a break near General Luna. But the 170-square-mile island remains relatively unknown—it gets 50,000 foreign visitors each year, about as many people as Disneyland welcomes in a day. We stayed at Nay Palad Hideaway, which has 10 sumptuous villas scattered across 10 oceanfront acres. On our first night, resort co-owner Herve Lampert, who is from France, joined us for dinner. He recounted how, in December 2021, Typhoon Odette had blown through. Odette killed 405 people across the archipelago and left Nay Palad in ruins. Only some outdoor furniture survived; the staff had ingeniously pushed it into the swimming pools, which saved it from being swept away. 'Everything else was gone,' Lampert said. From left: A grove of coconut trees near Nay Palad Hideaway hotel, on Siargao; sunset in the town of Pilar, on Siargao. Rebuilding Nay Palad took 18 months. As I lounged on my villa's shaded deck, gazing across a pristine lawn toward the white-sand beach, it was hard to believe that, not long ago, everything before me had been wasteland and debris. Lampert noted that much of the property had been hand-built in the Philippines, including the thatched roofs and woven wall panels. 'The craftsmanship here is exemplary,' he said. 'When we were building this place, we thought, we have to tell the story of that heritage.' On Tourism Road two days later, I grew annoyed as I wrestled with the dissonance between Nay Palad's celebration of Filipino heritage and what I saw around me. Why the Bob Marley murals and posters? Did people really come all this way for cheap margaritas? I popped in to Rad, a tattoo shop, because I needed to use the bathroom. After thanking the shopkeeper, I told her I was curious—what did travelers ask for most often? She shrugged. 'Waves,' she said. 'Or a palm tree.' We briefly visited Cloud 9 beach, which was crowded with tourists. Cabigon, the driver, told us he and other local surfers typically avoided it. 'We go to our secret spots,' he said. We continued north, stopping occasionally to explore deserted beaches and quiet villages. Around noon, we got a snack at the Women's Kitchen in the town of Burgos, near Siargao's northern tip. Run by a women's collective, it serves home-style food like tortang talong —eggplant battered in egg, then fried. One gorgeously greasy bite, and I felt a wave of comfort. It sustained me until we got to Kitchenette Food Houz7, a family-run restaurant nearby. After ordering vegetable curry and chicken adobo, we watched as one of the servers grabbed a machete and started hacking away at coconuts for us to drink from. From left: A helipad attendant at the Peninsula Manila hotel; the lobby of the Peninsula. Why did that tortang talong, that curry, that coconut water fill me with joy, while Tourism Road ignited irritation? Why did I judge one as authentic, the other as not? In both places—indeed, everywhere we'd gone—people were just doing what they'd always done: pag pasimpalad . Perhaps it was all authentic, in the sense that it was all true to the Philippines' story. Its people have always been open to the world and constantly reshaped by it, unfailingly hospitable and ready to adapt. The Philippines is a nation of travelers. Every family I encountered had a tale of dramatic rises, steep falls, and transporting ambition. About a tenth of the country's population works abroad, sending back more than $30 billion in remittances each year. Even within the archipelago, the Filipino story is one of migration. People on every island spoke of roots elsewhere—across time, space, some body of water. Perhaps the impulse to go out and take chances and try one's luck is so ingrained in Filipino culture that they see no need for a word like 'adventure.' It's not what they do; it's just who they are. A version of this story first appeared in the July 2025 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline "Turning the Tide. "
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Travel + Leisure
6 hours ago
- Travel + Leisure
The Mekong's Moment: Why Cruise Lines Have Embraced Southeast Asia
Ever Since my first visit to Thailand 30 years ago, when I was a budget backpacker lured by the bargains and the beaches, I've been enamored with Southeast Asia. The region has become my happy place. So it was something of a shock, shortly after arriving in the riverside town of Kâmpóng Cham, Cambodia, to come face-to-face with one of history's ugliest moments. On an excursion to a site known as the Twin Mountains, my guide Tek Leng explained the horrific history of this place, today a peaceful park filled with pagodas and Buddha statues. As we walked past scampering monkeys and teenage monks in orange robes, it was difficult to believe that this was one of the Killing Fields during the reign of the Khmer Rouge, which perpetrated a genocide that resulted in the deaths of an estimated 2 million people. A visitor at Angkor Wat, the temple complex in Cambodia. Cambodia does not hide its scars. But I have found no place more unconditionally welcoming. And while the glorious ruins of Angkor Wat form what is undoubtedly the nation's marquee attraction, many travelers don't explore much beyond it. I wanted to go deeper—to visit rural communities and farms, to see more of everyday life in Cambodia and its neighbor Vietnam. And so I boarded the AmaDara, a beautiful 62-stateroom ship that plies the Mekong River between Kâmpóng Cham and Ho Chi Minh City. My eight-day cruise, operated by AmaWaterways , would make it comfortable and convenient to navigate this still-rural part of Southeast Asia. Each day, I'd have a choice of excursions: a monastery visit, a tour of a silk factory, a rickshaw ride, a market tour. After exploring, I'd return to the ship to cool off in the plunge pool, get a massage, enjoy my spacious cabin, with its French-colonial décor, and have healthful meals—though I'll admit to occasionally ordering the smashburger. After a major pandemic slowdown, the Mekong is booming again, with brands including Aqua Expeditions, Emerald Cruises, Uniworld Boutique River Cruises, and Viking all operating on the river. A cabin on Anouvong, a Heritage Line ship that sails the Mekong River. In the face of this competition, cruise lines have been building new ships, refreshing older ones, and augmenting their itineraries. 'We always look for hidden treasures, new things to do,' says Rudi Schreiner, cofounder of AmaWaterways, which has been operating on the river since 2009. Last year, for example, the company added an excursion to the 2,100-acre Tra Su Cajuput Forest in Vietnam. This wetland sanctuary is home to more than 70 bird species, and its waterways, which visitors explore by paddle-driven sampans, are carpeted in water lilies and elephant-ear plants. By the end of next year, AmaWaterways will launch a second ship, AmaMaya, which will be similar in size to the AmaDara . It must be said that these peaceful moments are only a part of the story on the busy lower portion of the river. Particularly in Vietnam, the Mekong is filled with barges hauling petroleum, cement, steel, and coal. But when we got near Cambodia, the traffic lightened. (For this reason, I think sailing upstream is the better way, leaving the drama of Angkor Wat for the journey's end.) Unsurprisingly, given the bustle, lines are increasingly pushing deeper into the upper Mekong, which roughly follows the border of Laos and Thailand up toward the Golden Triangle. Last December, Mekong Kingdoms launched the 13-suite Bohème, which makes five-night journeys between the Lao capital, Vientiane, and the UNESCO-listed town of Luang Prabang. Heritage Line operates the 10-stateroom Anouvong, a luxury ship that blends traditional Lao and French-colonial styling. It sails seven- and nine-night itineraries between Vientiane and Huay Xai, a town not far from where Laos, Myanmar, and Thailand meet. It's proof that in this fascinating part of the world, there's always more to discover. Siem Reap, Cambodia, isn't located on the banks of the Mekong, but it has become a natural start or end point for trips on the river—and not just because it's home to Angkor Wat. In late 2023, a $1.1 billion airport opened, allowing connections to the mega-hubs of Bangkok, Seoul, and Singapore, among other destinations. Typically, travelers embarking in Kâmpóng Cham fly in to Phnom Penh International, which is a 2½-hour drive from the cruise port. While the new Siem Reap–Angkor International is a 4½-hour drive, its contemporary facilities have made it an intriguing alternative. ABERCROMBIE & KENT The company runs trips aboard the 14-cabin Mekong Princess, a smaller ship that can access places larger vessels can't, like the heart of Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. AMAWATERWAYS Its Soulful Experience departure in October 2026, which includes both river-ship and land touring, will spotlight Black history in Southeast Asia. AQUA EXPEDITIONS The firm's 20-suite Aqua Mekong is equipped with kayaks, motorized skiffs, and all-terrain bikes for off-ship touring. NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC-LINDBLAD EXPEDITIONS It charters ships such as the Jahan, a chic 26-stateroom vessel, for two-week tours that include stops in both Ho Chi Minh City and Siem Reap, Cambodia. PANDAW CRUISES The pioneer of leisure trips on the river, this operator has off-the-beaten-path itineraries in Cambodia. UNIWORLD BOUTIQUE RIVER CRUISES This brand operates the Mekong Jewel, a 34-stateroom ship designed to feel like a luxury hotel, with a sizable swimming pool, a spa, and a library. VIKING Its latest 40-cabin ship, Viking Tonle, will arrive later this year with the line's signature Scandinavian design and itineraries that include overnights in Ho Chi Minh City, Siem Reap, and Hanoi, Vietnam. A version of this story first appeared in the July 2025 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline 'The Mekong's Moment.'
Yahoo
12 hours ago
- Yahoo
Mark your calendars: Singaporeans get six long weekends in 2026 for travel, sleep-ins… or just escaping the boss
SINGAPORE, June 16 – Singaporeans can look forward to six long weekends in 2026, according to Singapore's Ministry of Manpower's (MOM) list of gazetted public holidays released today. The year will have 11 public holidays, starting with New Year's Day on a Thursday, with several holidays creating extended weekends. The six long weekends mark an increase from four in 2025 and five in 2024, offering more opportunities for short getaways and family time. Here is the list of long weekends: Fridays Good Friday — April 3 Labour Day — May 1 Christmas Day — December 25 Sundays (following Monday a public holiday) Vesak Day — May 31 National Day — August 9 Deepavali — November 8 Other public holidays are: Chinese New Year — February 17 and 18 (Tuesday and Wednesday) Hari Raya Aidilfitri — March 21 (Saturday) Hari Raya Aidiladha — May 27 (Wednesday) Under the Employment Act, all employees are entitled to paid public holidays. Employers and employees may also agree to substitute a public holiday for another working day, the MOM added. Employees required to work on a public holiday are entitled to an additional day's basic salary, on top of their usual pay. Alternatively, employers may offer time off in lieu, with hours mutually agreed upon between the employer and employee.
