Do you ever get the sense that you haven't been anywhere after you've travelled somewhere? And yet when you return you feel as if you have been 'away'? I did a whirlwind trip to Perth this week to spend time with my Mum for mother's day (last Sunday in Australia) and her birthday (the day after) and to see my sister, brother-in-law and my niece and nephews before we leave Australia again in less than two weeks. It was one of those trips where I feel as if I've spent more time travelling than I spent 'there'. Which is not the case at all. Although I did spend most of a day getting 'there' and a whole night returning 'here', including a couple of hours on a bus and several hours killing time in the airports at each end. Travel days like these - when you spend a whole day travelling and yet you're still in the same country - remind me of just how vast Australia actually is - more so than all those ten hour days on the road we did in the outback during this neverending research trip. Why is that, I wonder?

So, do you want to come to Thailand? I'm travelling on Sunday for a month of work, writing hotel and restaurant reviews and a spas spread for DK, and stories for magazines. You're welcome to join me on my journey. I'm busy planning the trip now and as tedious as elements of organizing trips can be (I must have planned hundreds of these), it's still a little exciting. Trawling through the Thai tourism websites, hotel sites, online airline schedules, comparing reviews, considering trekking itineraries, and calculating road distances, are all working together to create a sense of anticipation. Already I'm imagining tucking into some spicy Thai food at a table within splashing distance of the sea, climbing endless steps to see a colossal reclining gold Buddha, learning to 'drive' and ride an enormous elephant, and feeling the sand squeak beneath my feet on a pristine white sand beach. Alain de Botton writes in The Art of Travel of the anticipation created from seeing a tourist brochure that: "... displayed a row of palm trees, many of them growing at an angle, on a sandy beach fringed by a turquoise sea, set against a backdrop of hills where I imagined there to be waterfalls and relief from the heat in the shade of sweet-smelling fruit trees." The longing provoked by the brochure is evidence of the power and influence of "simple images of happiness", he writes, "how a lengthy and ruinously expensive journey might be set into motion by nothing more than the sight of a photograph of a palm tree gently reclining in a tropical breeze." de Botton immediately resolved to travel to Barbados. It was there that he explored the anticipation of travel and the actual reality. I'm going to do the same in Thailand. So, do you want to join me?

So just what inspires you to travel? I must admit I was surprised by the results of my recent poll where I asked what motivated your travels. Almost half of you (46%) said 'your own trips and travel memories' inspired you to travel, while 23% said 'the very idea of travel' motivated you to move; 15% said travel photography books inspired you, while only 7% said your family and friends' travel tales motivated you to pack your bags. Surprisingly, nobody said movies about places, TV travel shows, travel literature, or guide books inspired you, yet 7% said travel blogs motivated them. I've been excited about two recent travel blog discoveries (thanks Anne!), including primitive culture, an ethnographer's take on Thailand, South Africa and other places, and placesihaveneverbeen, a beautiful design blog inspired by 'imaginary vacations to far off places'. Both have got me thinking about travel in different ways: how we can think about travel from an ethnographers perspective (or is that already how those addicted to travel think?); what travel inspires (rather than what inspires us to travel); and virtual travel. I'm going to sleep on it. Let's see where my dreams take me. Where do your dreams take you?

I'm not sure if Sally Potter and her beautiful film The Tango Lesson were responsible or whether it's more indicative of a larger tendency in travel - to travel to learn - but the trend of foreigners travelling to Buenos Aires to take tango lessons is so extraordinary it constitutes a phenomenon. The dance has also enjoyed a revival among locals. Walk down any of San Telmo's streets in the early evening and glance through a door and you're guaranteed to see a traveller, young or old, in jeans and t-shirts, taking lessons from a dapper old gentleman in jacket and tie or a distinguished woman, her black hair pulled back into a ballerina's bun. There are tango schools all over the city and private lessons posted on notice boards at hostels and supermarkets. Hotels such as the wonderful Mansion Dandi Royal offer tango packages including lessons in their own tango salon. The most popular place to learn is in the splendid Confiteria Ideal, a faded old café with an atmospheric dance hall upstairs which operates classes day and night, followed by a milonga, or social dance, where you get to practice with the locals. You can read more about experiencing tango in our new book Buenos Aires Encounter, but what most fascinates me is the flourishing trend of experiential travel. Travellers want to educate their minds and stimulate their senses. Cooking courses in Tuscany. Arabic lessons in Damascus. Elephant trekking in Thailand. Wine-making in Napa. Travel choices increasingly seem to be as much about what to do as where to go. As the slogan of adventure and experiential tour operator iExplore says, people want to "come back different", while i-to-i, a site that offers volunteering experiences, teaching opportunities and community projects abroad, is all about "meaningful travel". I'm not so sure you need to do an organized activity or tour to fully experience a place. You can sign up for a course in something when you arrive. The important thing is to just go. Figure out what to do when you get there.

Are you a journal writer? Do you keep a journal when you travel or does your blog suffice? When I was younger, before I became a professional travel writer, I used to keep journals whenever I travelled. I'd write most days, usually with a drink in hand, from my hotel balcony, an al fresco café or the window table of an atmospheric bar somewhere. Like this one at El Hipopotamo in San Telmo, Buenos Aires. I'd document my journeys and reflect upon my experiences and the people I had met. And I'd muse about the nature of travel more generally. I'd paste in labels, tickets, postcards, and other paraphernalia. Don't we all? But now, I find it impossible. I make random notes for a book my partner and I are planning to write about our experience on the road as we travel the globe, living out of our suitcases for 21 months. But mostly I'm too busy keeping the practical notebooks on cities and countries that are the basis of our research for the guidebooks and stories we write. They're crammed with business cards, notes from hotel inspections, reviews of restaurants, cafés, bars, clubs, sights, museums, galleries and so on, along with scrawled bus times, internet café details, driving directions, opening hours and prices, occasional jottings from interviews, and descriptions of landscapes and citiescapes and the people who inhabit them. I'd like to be able to return to the days of leisurely journal writing. In the meantime I'll admire other people's imaginative efforts, such as those of the 1000 Journals which are currently travelling the globe; the delightful treatsandtreasures.com, a blog by a journal keeper (thank you, Prêt à Voyager); and the exquisite journals of Dan Eldon, a travel enthusiast and photojournalist who died a tragic death in Somalia at 22. His beautiful but short life is documented on a website and in a book 'The Journey is the Destination' by his mother and sister. Do let me know if there are any other great travel journal blogs or books out there.

For those of you inspired to travel by well-crafted words and alluring images, there are some truly inspirational travel blogs on the web worth checking out: The Lost Girls is a sassy blog by three New York gals who gave up their desirable jobs to see the world (read 20 Reasons We Took Off and you'll soon be writing a resignation letter! Unfortunately two of the girls recently stopped traveling but one is still on the road. And besides, there's still lots of great back-reading for you to do!); on Girl Solo in Arabia Carolyn McIntyre ruminates on the fascinating destinations she visits as she traces the footsteps of the great Arab traveller Ibn Battuta; part 'what's on' guide to Baltimore and part musings on travel and design, Prêt à Voyager will have you tossing a coin, heads=Baltimore or tails=the world; the fabulous Franki Durbin posts on style, design and travel on Life in a Venti Cup (her motto says it all: "Life is too short to think small. So live large. Live with style. Live with adventure. Live venti." Franki recently interviewed me on her blog.); Beijing Notebook collects the everyday observations of a German-born expat artist as she adjusts to life in the smoggy city (expect anything from a rundown on the all-knowing Beijing drivers to insider suggestions on how to spend your time); and the same blogger has a wonderful blog called Palazzo Pizzo about the charming Calabrian town of Pizzo where she and her Italian husband have bought a grand house they're renovating; you'll find everything from musings on Mediterranean ceramic titles to things to do in Pizzo - eating icecream and swordfish (not together) tops the list! Are there any great travel blogs out there that I've missed? And who can guess where I took this photo?

So what really inspires you to travel? For me, it's any number of things. Take this picture. It's a favorite of mine. To me, it says 'paradise'. As clichéd as it may be - tranquil fishing cove, creamy sand beach, crystal clear aquamarine sea, and tropical palm trees - it makes me yearn to return to Thailand.

Just what inspires you to travel is something I think about every day, every time my fingers hit the keys and I start to type, whether it's a new guidebook or magazine article or one of my little blogs. When I write, I not only want to share information, insider secrets and hidden gems so that you have the best time you're ever going to have. I also want to be the one to inspire you to buy that plane ticket and pack your bags. So what really inspires you to travel? I've added a new poll on the topic, so do let me know.

Octopus hanging out to dry. There aren't many images that scream summer more than this for me. While I'm most reminded of Greece, I took my picture in southern Thailand late one steamy midsummer afternoon before it rained. I was admiring some summer images taken in my favorite Moroccan seaside town when I stumbled across a blog I've now become smitten with, an especially inspiring journal about a young woman's journey as she builds a magical guesthouse in Marrakesh that is as much about 'place' as it is about 'travel'. The author is Maryam who seems lovely but her blog is irresistible. She's a kindred spirit who loves Essaouira as much as I do and I adore her enchanting writing about everyday moments and her poetry about places. Read her 'rickshaw reveries' in Dhaka:

Give me the open air!
Give me the wind in my hair!
Give me the color, give me the kitsch,
give me the one-of-a-kind!

But what I most love are her musings about her dying summer holiday in Essaouira.

Our Summer in Essaouira. It came and then it was a-snap-of-the-fingers over.
Did we spend it as we should have? Did we rest enough? Did we play enough?
The picnics - should there have been more?
Did we skip enough stones?
Did we collect enough shells?
Did we jump enough waves?

Don't we ask ourselves if we did enough at the end of every summer vacation? Did we dry enough octopus? Does she inspire you to go to Dhaka or Essaouira? Don't you just want to pack your bags right now?

Beijing. My picture of the Pekingese pup perched on a shelf (as if for sale) outside a hole in the wall store in a backstreet of a Beijing hutong reminds me of our last summer there. A monsoon of memories, provoked by potent images, comes to mind - don't you love the way our memories sort, collate and retrieve images at will? Albeit somewhat imperfectly, but I'm thankful all the same. The first image is that of two little girls and their mother whom we met in the Forbidden City. I'd been looking forward to seeing the City but the weather was awful (sweltering, steamy, smoggy) and the air quality dreadful (it was difficult to breathe) so my memories are as hazy as the City was on that day. My strongest memory, however, is of this charming affable (even playful) mother and her adorable children who chatted to us for a short time. The little girls wore these kitsch souvenir headdresses that I became smitten with (yes, I ended up buying one) and after speaking to them for just a little while, I didn't want to leave. They were on their summer holidays and they were generous, even lazy, with their time, casual and carefree, and in no hurry to go anywhere. That's something about summer that I love. That easygoing temperament that overcomes us with the warm weather come July and August. Where does our patience go the rest of the year? Regardless, thank god it returns. And there was something about them that I envied. They were having fun. It was their summer holiday after all. I think I've forgotten what it's like to have a holiday... and a summer one at that.

What is it about those memorable travel moments, like mine with the Moroccan cat, that are so enduring? Is it because it's a moment that could never have been anticipated? No amount of information in the guidebook, on travelocity or in the glossy travel magazines could have prepared me for that unexpected stop at a coffee shop on a cold day in a remote Moroccan town. And yet these chance encounters and those elements of surprise are exactly what we hope for and expect from the experience of travel. We covet serendipitous moments, intoxicating experiences and potent images that we can take home and cherish and unconsciously compress into a compelling narrative. We want travel stories we can tell. Don't we? Did I ever tell you about the time we came across a cute Pekingese on a walk through Beijing? Now, there should have been nothing unexpected about that.

I've said before I'm only going to show you a picture and I've invariably ended up sharing the story behind the image. This time I promise I'm only going to show you this snap I took on our last road trip in Morocco. I won't bore you with the story behind this magical meeting unless you want to know. I want you to enjoy the moment. You must agree this cat is cute. I love this wise world weary guy, don't you? But naturally I'm fond of the story behind the moment.

Thinking about our Moroccan road trip, I'm reminded of Essaouira. Ah, Essaouira. One of my favourite places to be in this world. Enchanting blue and white walled town on the sea it may be, but it's the smells of the place that most remind me of Essaouira. Obviously the scent of the sea (and the sting of the wind on my cheeks, and the taste of salt on my tongue). But mostly the smell of fish. Fresh fish untangled from nets on the decks of the blue and white boats. Fried fish cooked at the makeshift wooden kitchen-stalls by the harbour. The putrid smell of raw sewage in the ramshackle old Jewish quarter (picture blue and whitewashed buildings once again). The aromas of fresh herbs and heady spices at the bustling souq in town. Ah, the scent of fresh mint is the scent I remember most. You know how it is when you squeeze a bunch between your hands? When you sniff the damp scent on your hands afterwards? Ah, for me, that's the smell I most associate with Essaouira. The scent that most drives my nostalgia. Ah, Essaouira.

What I love about the road trip is that wonderful sense of freedom you get from being in control of your own journey. Unlike travel by buses, trains, boats, and planes where you're at the mercy of misguided timetables, manic drivers and antiquated machinery, when you're at the wheel of your own vehicle you can choose to be as hurried or as lazy as you desire. If you need to get from A to B quickly you can put your foot down. If you want to take it slowly and explore the back roads you can be as spontaneous and as adventurous as you like. Most of all, I love being able to give a little wave to locals we pass - whether it's a shepherd on a donkey or farmers working their fields. And if they generously return the gesture, I like that we can turn the car around and go back to say hello. Road signs, murals and graffiti are also worth slowing down for - like my Marrakesh Mona Lisa and this enchanting palm tree in the palm of a hand in Morocco - they say so much about a place, don't you think?

I asked you what happened to 'the journey'? The destination seemed to me to now dominate our travels. My friend Mike Ross emailed me: "My impression is that the origins of a 'sense of adventure' come from a historic disatisfaction with our present surroundings: the adventurers of old weren't looking for anywhere in particular to go to, rather they just wanted to get the fuck out of whatever hole they were currently living in. To this end, it should be the journey that is most important, not necessarily the destination. Indeed, while we clamber to get out of our offices for even the shortest vacation, it's not the adventure of travel that excites us, simply the prospect of being somewhere far away from where we are... sure there are still a few of us itching to sample a 2-day train ride down India's east coast, riding on top of a 1950s school bus as it winds through the Andes or taking a hot-air balloon across the Saudi Arabian empty quarter, but for the majority - who can't afford Business Class - they'd rather not travel at all; they'd like to be there already. Therein lies the inherent dilemma of modern travel; should we even be calling it 'travelling' or should it be called 'being somewhere else'?" And there's an idea for the next poll.

So what happened to 'the journey' then? We used to get as excited about how we travelled - whether it was a flight, road trip or train ride - as we did about the destination. In my recent poll, I asked you whether that had changed, and - carbon footprints aside - if you still enjoyed the journey itself: 57% of you said you love train rides, 42% preferred ferry/boat journeys, 36% road trips, a surprising 26% still liked flying, 21% just want to get there, and only 10% of you enjoy bus rides. Me, I prefer road trips. And I don't even drive. I love to plan the journey, plot our path out on a map, find fascinating side-trips and diversions, calculate the mileage, and navigate our route. Somewhat guiltily, I admit I also enjoy gazing out the window, snapping pics in the rear vision mirror, and getting lost in my surroundings, reflections and reveries. Until I need to figure out how far it is to the next gas station. How about you?

My memories of travel are invariably related to people, whether it's the people we meet on the road or people we watch as we sit on a main square some place. I often wonder why that is. One of my most vivid memories of our drive to the Great Wall of China is that of the bored attendants kicking back at a gas station on the way. How is it that people and their everyday moments fascinate me as much as one of the world's greatest monuments?

Sometimes when you're travelling it's just as compelling to watch people who are bored as it is to watch people who are engaged. Why do you think that is?

Outside one of Bangkok's big malls, a local pop star appeared and prepared to perform. The crowd of kids who'd been waiting patiently in front of the stage went wild. Mobile phones and cameras were raised in the air to snap pics of the pretty pop princess. From the pedestrian bridge above, however, we were much more interested in watching the kids watching her than we were in heading down there to see who she was and how it was that she inspired such admiration. We got just as much a kick out of watching the kids' excited faces as they did from seeing their idol. Their energy was palpable. Infectious. Peoplewatching is part of travelling. We all do it. I most enjoy it with a drink in hand at a cafe on a central square somewhere, but watching people watching other people is something else.

As much as I love the incongruities we come across on our movements around the globe, I love making connections between cultures and finding similarities in everyday encounters. It's all about joining the dots. The Beijing Turkish kebap boys reminded me of two affable cooks we'd met two weeks earlier at Hong Kong Noodle on Sampeng Lane, Bangkok. Fantastic noodles, authentic, tasty, cheap. And friendly staff. That visit wasn't memorable because of the incongruity of that experience - after all, the Chinese have a connection to Bangkok. Ankara and Beijing may be boosting ties now but I don't know of any historical Chinese-Turkish connections. Regardless, this is more about making connections between experiences in different parts of the world, in our minds, in our memories. An image, a moment, an event, one reminds us of another. It's all about connecting the dots, don't you think?

One of travel's delights for me is discovering wonderful incongruities. Like this coffee-seller in Aleppo Souq. While there's nothing unusual about finding coffee-sellers in Syrian souqs, they're usually armed with a traditional coffeepot or thermos, tiny ceramic or plastic cups, and a container of fresh water to wash them in. What's so incongruous about this image is that this young entrepreneur is operating a shiny Italian espresso machine. It's somehow misplaced in a souq that's almost medieval. But why should it seem out of context? It's 2007 after all. And maybe it's not so incongruous to you? Perhaps it's only me. Because while I've been to souqs and bazaars all across the Middle East, I can't recall seeing one with an espresso stand. (I'm discounting Istanbul's Grand Bazaar where there are several contemporary cafés under its vaulted ceilings and other modernities all around.) So while this scene makes me smile, perhaps it's not of any interest to you. The guy's coffee is great, by the way.