I was ready for a journey of hope, as I had opted for the cheapest bus to reach the Cameron Highlands from KL. However, as soon as I boarded, I noticed very comfortable seats, with even a reclining footrest, a novelty for me. In about 3 hours, I would reach my destination, the Cameron Highlands, a small green jewel nestled in the heart of Malaysia. As soon as the bus doors opened and I set my foot on the damp asphalt, I felt like every sense of mine was captured by the cool wind dominating the air. It was a sensation I hadn't felt in a while because most of the times I had experienced cold in Asia, it was due to the excessive use of air conditioning in shops or hostel rooms. Here, on the other hand, the cold was genuine, real, and not the product of human invention. I could feel it on my skin, completely enveloping me and bringing me back to life.
As usual, I grabbed my backpack and headed to my hostel, the "Traveller Bunker Hostel." Fortunately, this time the distance to cover was short, so I didn't have to exert myself too much. When I arrived, it was already quite late, so I didn't have much time to explore the city. I just took a short walk in the center while looking for a place for dinner. I must admit that from both an architectural and emotional perspective, it felt like I was in a small mountain village, hidden among the peaks of the Dolomites. The two-story houses with sloping roofs covered in tiles harmoniously blended with the surrounding landscape. The narrow and winding streets meandering through these picturesque dwellings exuded a tangible sense of intimacy and warmth. For a moment, it felt like being at home during one of our typical mountain trips.
Of course, as in every place in Asia, life was bustling there too, with small shops, markets, and restaurants. However, that evening, I decided to forgo the local cuisine for once and take advantage of the fact that, for the first time in months, I had access to a kitchen. Perhaps it was one of the more expensive dinners so far, but in a way, it was worth it. I went to the "Preyaaa mini market," and for the grand sum of 6.30 euros, I bought some sliced bread, the kind that emits a pleasant smell of ethyl alcohol as soon as you open it, a bunch of lettuce, tomatoes, and mozzarella. Even though calling that white square I found on the dusty shelves "mozzarella" might seem like an offense, at that moment, it brought tears of joy to my eyes. Naturally, I didn't have my extra virgin olive oil, and I had no intention of buying a whole bottle just to use a few spoonfuls, so I went to the restaurant below the hostel to ask for some, disregarding the color, temperature, and the bottle it was in. A humble meal, yes, but I was so satisfied and grateful that, to me, it was worth at least 3 Michelin stars. The evening ended with some chatter among fellow backpackers and card games.
The sun was beginning to rise from the darkness, sending the first rays of light through the tent of my bunker, making me realize it was time to get up. That morning, I would be setting off with some other guests from my hostel on an adventure of trekking through the mountains, the jungle, and the tea plantations. It was a free activity offered by the hostel to make it easier for travelers to get to know each other. At exactly 9 o'clock, we set off, some more eager than others, guided by a trail mapped out on a website with points of interest where we were supposed to stop and the route to follow, along with the reassuring advice of Quan, one of the guys working at the hostel: "Don't worry if the road is closed, just go through it; it's the right one."
If the beginning was challenging in terms of uphill ascent, the next part was even worse. First of all, we ventured into the woods to reach the peak of Gunung Jasar at 1696 meters, a vantage point from which we could observe the entire valley and witness the incredible natural spectacle of the clouds playing hide and seek with the summits of other mountains.
Then it was time for the descent to continue our journey towards the tea plantations. There isn't much to say, except that I would have preferred to have a snow sled for the road. The mud had mixed with water and dirt, creating a deadly concoction that caused each of us to fall like flies, one after the other. We tried to grab onto whatever we could find nearby or above us, but even those thin liana vines or branches were completely soaked and provided no proper support; needless to say, none of us emerged from that path without being stained from head to toe in a brown-orange hue. From this point onwards, the path improved, alternating between a perfectly smooth asphalt road and a surface of white gravel like snow. After about 2 and a half hours of walking, we finally reached the beginning of the tea plantations, and the sight that unfolded before us was magical. As far as the eye could see, across the entire valley, these small bushes were perfectly aligned with each other.
The leaves gently swayed in the cool breeze of the hills, while their intense green hue contrasted surprisingly with the blue sky above us. Amidst those endless shades, like small mushrooms, the bright straw and fabric hats of the tea workers could be seen as they were busy picking leaves or trimming dead branches. For those in the know, that scenery gave the impression of walking into the realm of Middle-earth.
A few meters from our arrival, out of nowhere, the sky changed color, shifting from a bright sky blue to a dark and stormy gray, bringing along a downpour that we narrowly avoided, only thanks to a tear in the cover. Although, looking back now, it might have spared our clothes from permanent stains that were drying up on them.
As a more than well-deserved reward, we all enjoyed a cup of the local tea together, seated on an open terrace overlooking the plantations. And when even the last drop had warmed our souls, we moved on to follow Quan's other piece of advice: "To return, you'll have to hitchhike," and so we did. For the first time in my life, I ventured into this attempt to get a free ride from passing vehicles. Many ignored us, as you would with problems you don't want to deal with, but after a few attempts, a kind lady made room for four of us, and later on, a Jeep stopped for the remaining six, including me. Of course, I sat in the back, letting the wind play with my curls as I admired the incredible nature before my eyes.
I must admit that the hostel's intention was well fulfilled because among that group of adventurous souls, I found my fellow travelers, the people I spent the rest of my days in those peaks with.
Together, we rented some scooters to explore the secrets of that land. Initially, to leave nothing undiscovered, we embarked on another crazy and muddy excursion into a forest known as the "Mossy Forest," where moss reigned undisturbed among the tree branches and bark crevices, and I left a pair of shoes in those enchanted places.
In the following days, we visited a waterfall characterized by extraordinary power but also elegant grace; we sat on the rocks in front of it, silently contemplating the natural spectacle, surrounded by the sounds of nature. Later, we hopped back on our scooters to reach a viewpoint, but before departing, with the careful support of Noemie, I rode a scooter for the first time in my life. From the moment I started the engine and felt the rumble vibrating throughout my body, I knew it wouldn't be the last.
Then we took more scooter rides and went on other walks, but as always, what brought us together and added that special touch to our moments was the food and the power it possesses. For several consecutive evenings, to the point where they started to know us by name, we went to eat at this small Indian "restaurant" with intoxicating flavors and aromas. Between bites, we chatted about this and that, and after only two days, it felt like I had known these people for years. Among travelers, there is this extraordinary ability, or perhaps tradition, of creating deep connections, the kind that leaves an indelible mark. When you meet the right person, you feel like you can talk to them about any topic, unable to imagine how you could have lived your life without them. Moreover, you get the feeling of being part of a vast community where everyone knows the challenges you are facing or have faced and understands the emotions you're going through. Cultural and linguistic barriers disappear instantly, making room for a profound sense of mutual understanding. In essence, it's like one big family.
For me, this place was the ultimate proof that home can be anywhere in the world, as long as you have the right company and are enveloped in the right feelings. The cherry on top that made this feeling even stronger was when, on the second-to-last evening, we had the crazy idea of listening to stories whispered in the wind between one scooter ride and another while preparing homemade pasta. After a few rounds in che city, we managed to find all the necessary ingredients, including a delightful blend of Cabernet and Merlot. In that tiny 4x4 room used as a kitchen, we mixed eggs and flour to create almost impeccable fettuccine. We then topped them with a delicious pumpkin and onion cream sauce and a few leaves plucked from the herb plants on the hostel's terrace.
Around us, to accompany the evening, Ollie's speaker echoed with the notes of Van Morrison and Sting, along with our laughter and conversations. We held our sky-blue cups and toasted to that moment, to life, and to the joy that small but precious moments bring. When everything was ready, like one big family, we sat around the table to share this delicious meal.
