I was only six years old when Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay Sherpa summitted Mount Everest, at a time when New Zealand, the country of my birth, had a population of only around 2.1 million. The event had a notable impact on my young life and I resolved to duplicate the climb, as well as climb the other six eminences, collectively making up the highest peaks on all seven continents.

By the end of the physical preparation for the Everest climb, I was training a total of 22 hours per week — weight lifting, running, stair climbing and every Sunday, dragging a 27 kg brick-weighted truck tyre whilst shouldering a 19 kg pack for 15 km.

Finally setting off on March 28, 2010 was a major relief.

My Singapore Airlines flight from Johannesburg terminated in Singapore, where I switched to their subsidiary carrier, Silkair, for the five-hour flight to the bustling Nepalese capital, Kathmandu. Here, various logistical matters were attended to, before taking an early morning flight to Lukla, at 2,860 m, in the lower reaches of the Himalaya ranges. This picturesque little town is some 20,000 ft below the summit of Mount Everest.

The trek to Base Camp at 5,400 m took 10 days and included climbs of several acclimatisation peaks along the way. The scenery during the walk-in was stunning and one literally runs out of superlatives. There was the constant backdrop of the highest mountains in the world, which are predominantly snow-capped, surmounted by a pale blue, high altitude alpine sky.

One of the attributes required for any high altitude climbing is patience, which is not a virtue shared by many climbers. Of the 62 days devoted to the climb, only 20 days were actually spent climbing on the mountain. The rest were devoted to acclimatisation climbs elsewhere, honing ice-climbing skills on the seracs close to camp, resting, sleeping, or recuperating at lower altitude.

Finally, 52 days into the expedition, our Swiss and US-based weather forecasters indicated a weather window opening between May 22-24. We set off at 0300h for Camp 1 via the notoriously dangerous Khumbu Icefall and onto Camp 2, located in the somewhat more benign Western Cwm. The following day was spent resting, before climbing up to Camp 3 at 7,500 m, halfway up the Lhotse Face, a 1,125 m glacial wall of blue ice. The route from Camp 3 to Camp 4 on the South Col of Everest was similarly challenging.

The climb commenced across the Col to the base of the mountain, the summit of which lay 898 m above, enveloped in impenetrable darkness. The first half of the route proceeded up the Triangular Face – a snow-covered, rocky slope averaging perhaps 40 degrees – at the top of which is a ledge known as The Balcony. When not filled up with snow, it provides a rest stop for exhausted climbers. This time, it was full of snow. We accordingly continued and a short while later came to the first of a series of three impossibly steep, ’S’ shaped knife-edge ridges leading up to the South Summit of the mountain. By this time, the snow had stopped falling and the moon had come out, bathing the mountain in a soft white iridescent glow. 

Eventually, the South Summit of Everest was breached and we dropped down around 10 m to a ridge leading to the Hillary Step, a vertical rock face also around 10 m: the last significant obstacle to clear before reaching the summit. The space on which one climbs across to the Hillary Step is only 30 cm wide. On the left, directly below one’s toe nails, the sheer drop to the bottom of the Southwest face of Everest is 2,400 m and to the right, a 3,050 m fast track down the vertical Kangshung Face to Tibet. Once atop the Hillary Step, a few more paces will bring you across some tricky vertical rock formations and onto a serpentine peninsula leading to the Buddhist prayer flag-covered summit mound. 

It was 0622h May 22 2010 and there I was, standing on top of the world. There was not a cloud in the sky and I could see forever. The mountain peaks I had been looking up to for the past two months were all beneath me. It was magic. An experience never, ever to be forgotten.

P.S I would like to express my sincere thanks and appreciation to Singapore Airlines and Silkair. As part of the Group’s policy of involvement in supporting notable or unusual sporting endeavours, the airlines transported all 66 kg of my climbing gear on a highly favourable basis.

The sun was setting behind us and rain clouds rolled in as we travelled down Route 187, a coastal stretch off the city of San Juan in Puerto Rico, towards Pinones. My friends and I were on the island – a US territory – for just over a week in December 2009 to escape the winter and to get their wedding photo shoot done. The couple had met in the US, but were originally from Singapore and Malaysia, and they wanted a set of photos reminiscent of their childhood – tropical climate, sandy beaches, the works.

That evening, we went in search of another familiar item: roast pig. Known as lechon to the locals, the dish is rather similar to the suckling pig Singaporeans normally consume at Chinese weddings. After a 20-minute drive, we finally saw a stall selling the pork dish. It's not hard to spot – the pig is roasted whole over a fire, a sight that might repel those who aren’t used to seeing their food in its original form. The smell of fat and oily pork filled the air.

We stopped and gestured to the vendor, who only spoke Spanish, that we had come for the meat. There was a little confusion at first, but after more pointing, we were quickly ushered to a table. Waves crested and crashed along the beach beside the stall, our soundtrack for the evening’s repast. 

Before long, we were served the meat and the crispy skin topped with a BBQ sauce. The charcoal-grilled meat was tender, juicy and very oily. For sides, we had other local munchies: bacalaitos fritos, or codfish fritters (pictured), and alcapurrias – deep-fried mashed plantains stuffed with chicken. To close our evening, we sipped on coconut juice as we strolled along the Caribbean sea.

It was a fulfilling evening to say the least – there’s always satisfaction when you take a chance and actually find what you headed out for. 

Dharamsala, northern India: After a long, uncomfortable train journey from New Delhi, Dharamsala unfolded like an oasis of calm nestled in the Dhauladhar mountains. This town, which retains a distinctive British colonial atmosphere, is home to the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan community, and when I arrived I was instantly struck by a sense of spirituality and endless, soothing patience.

During my visit over a decade ago, this pretty, unpretentious town spread over the side of a hill (and divided between an upper and a lower town) was peppered with small, atmospheric restaurants, unassuming coffee shops and a handful of sleepy markets. There wasn’t much to do here other than limp between coffee shops, meditate and learn from the gentle pace, peaceful demeanour and generous smiles of the Tibetans as they went about their lives. Almost all the residents of Dharamsala had escaped Tibet by scrambling over the tallest mountains in the world (usually not wearing much on their feet), but if there was misery or bitterness in their hearts, it was not apparent to me as an outsider. This was a whole country compressed into one small town, complete with ministries, elementary and high schools, orphanages and hospitals.

My visit was both humbling and uplifting - and the mountain backdrop simply took my breath away. If I ever sense that I'm becoming overly concerned with material things, I take myself back to this place of outstanding beauty. It makes me feel calm and centred.