Things to Do in Southeast Asia in March

The Similan and Surin island chains off Thailand's Andaman coast are open only from roughly November through May, and March is arguably the peak month for underwater clarity. The sea flattens to a glassy calm on many days, and the visibility at sites like Richelieu Rock can extend far enough that you see whale sharks before they see you. Manta rays cruise the cleaning stations, and the coral is at its most photogenic in the slanting morning light. Multi-day liveaboard trips departing from Khao Lak run three to five nights and cover sites that day-trip boats cannot reach. The water is warm enough that a thin wetsuit or rash guard is sufficient, and even snorkelers on the shallow reefs around the Similans will see reef sharks, giant clams, and clouds of fusiliers. Book at least three to four weeks ahead for liveaboards, as March berths fill before the shoulder months do. Look for operators with PADI or SSI certification and boats that carry oxygen kits.

March is dry in Siem Reap. The moats around Angkor Wat reflect the towers cleanly. The laterite paths through Angkor Thom stay firm underfoot. Monsoon visitors wade through orange mud. You will not. The trick to March at Angkor is starting brutally early. Be at the western causeway of Angkor Wat by quarter to five. Arrive before the sky has colour. Watch the silhouette of the five towers sharpen as dawn light fills the sky behind them. By seven, the stone galleries are still cool enough to linger over the bas-reliefs. The Churning of the Sea of Milk stretches the length of a city block in carved sandstone. The detail is extraordinary. You can count the scales on the naga. By ten, the heat makes temple-hopping a chore. The mid-morning hours are for Ta Prohm. The silk-cotton trees growing through the stone corridors create their own shade. The roots feel cool and slightly damp to the touch even on the hottest days. Rent bicycles at dawn. Cover the 6 km (3.7 miles) between Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom's south gate in the golden hour. Be poolside by noon.

March in Hanoi tends to be cool enough. Sitting on the back of a motorbike through the Old Quarter's 36 streets feels like pleasure. It is not punishment. The air carries the char-smoke of bun cha grills. You will smell the sharp vinegar tang of dipping sauce. The sweet fermented whiff of rice wine comes from jars stacked outside shops on Hang Be. A guided motorbike food tour weaves through alleys too narrow for cars. Stops include stalls where the pho broth has been simmering since before dawn in cauldrons the size of bathtubs. The egg coffee at tiny second-floor cafes overlooking Hoan Kiem Lake is thick, sweet, and custardy. It sounds wrong until you taste it. The Old Quarter at night is a different city. Red lanterns strung across the beer corner at Ta Hien Street. The clatter of tiny plastic stools on pavement. The hiss of snails cooking in butter and lemongrass at street-side woks. March evenings are comfortable enough to eat outdoors without sweating through your shirt. You cannot say that about July.

March is one of the calmest months on Ha Long Bay. The difference between a calm bay and a choppy one matters. It is the difference between kayaking through sea caves at water level and watching those same caves from behind a rain-streaked window. The limestone karsts rise straight out of water so still it doubles them. In the early morning a mist sits between the islands. The whole bay looks like a Chinese ink painting come to life. Overnight cruises anchor in quieter coves away from the day-trip crowds. You wake to the sound of water lapping against the hull. Fishing boats putter past with their catch. The water is cool enough to be refreshing when you jump off the top deck. It is warm enough that you do not regret it. Kayaking through the grottoes, the drip of water echoing off limestone, the smell of wet stone and salt, justifies the trip to northern Vietnam on its own. Two-night cruises reach Bai Tu Long Bay to the northeast. It sees a fraction of the boat traffic.

The rice terraces around Sapa and the Ha Giang loop in Vietnam's far north are dry in March. The trails are firm enough for serious multi-day trekking. You will avoid the knee-deep mud that monsoon season brings. The terraces will not have the electric green of the planted season. They lack the gold of harvest. The landscape is dramatic in a different way. Bare terrace walls step down valleys at impossible angles. Smoke rises from Hmong and Dao villages in the morning chill. Mountain passes at 1,500 m (4,920 ft) see cloud rolling through fast enough that views open and close within minutes. Homestays in villages like Ta Van or Ban Ho put you on a mattress on the floor of a wooden stilt house. Dinner is cooked over a fire pit. Your hosts pour homemade rice wine. The dogs sleep under the table. The March air at altitude is crisp enough for a fleece in the evenings. This feels revelatory after the heat of the lowlands. The Ha Giang motorbike loop, roughly 350 km (217 miles) over three to four days, is rideable in March. You will miss the rain-slicked switchbacks that make it dangerous in wet months.

March sits square in the Philippine dry season. The islands around Palawan, Cebu, and Bohol are at their most accessible. El Nido's lagoons, reached by outrigger bangka boats that thread between karst cliffs, have water so clear in the dry months that you can see the sandy bottom 8 m (26 ft) down from the surface. The coral gardens off Balicasag Island near Bohol teem with sea turtles that have grown unbothered enough by snorkelers to swim within arm's reach. The sand on beaches like Nacpan in El Nido is fine enough to squeak underfoot. The coconut palms throw long shadows in the late afternoon light. The heat is real. The ocean is right there. The rhythm of Philippine island life in March is swim, eat, nap, repeat. Moalboal on Cebu's west coast has the famous sardine run, a swirling silver wall of millions of fish just metres from shore. It is visible year-round but most comfortably reached in the calm dry-season waters.