Picture yourself standing at the foot of a hill veiled in morning mist. The cool air slips into your lungs, crisp and calming, while the first rays of sunlight pierce softly through the thick canopy above. All around you, the rainforest seems to breathe with you—cicadas hum in steady rhythm, their chorus weaving with the sweet, hidden calls of birds. Each rustle of leaves carries an ancient whisper, and with every step forward, the earthy fragrance of damp soil and wild foliage pulls you deeper into the untouched embrace of the jungle.
As you lift your gaze, towering trees stretch endlessly toward the heavens, their emerald crowns interlacing to form a magnificent ceiling of living green. Sunlight scatters through the leaves, spilling across the forest floor like shards of gold fallen from the sky. A tender breeze brushes against your skin, cool and secretive, as though the forest itself is welcoming you home.
And it was in this very moment that I stepped into Kubah National Park, just 20 kilometers from Kuching. It felt like more than simply entering a park—it was as if I had crossed into another realm, a world where time slows, the outside world fades away, and nature alone holds dominion.
The trip began at dawn. Kuching was still quiet, and the streets lay empty under the soft glow of the morning sun. Street lamps flickered faintly against the fading night. The city, usually full of voices and rushing engines, seemed to pause, holding its breath. By 7 a.m., I was already on the road. The cool air slipped in through the open window, bringing the faint scent of dew on grass and the distant smoke of early kitchen fires. The hum of the engine felt steady and comforting, a quiet companion as the city slowly disappeared behind me.
The drive was smooth and unhurried, taking less than forty minutes. Yet every minute felt like a step further into another world. Concrete buildings gave way to stretches of green. Small wooden houses, their roofs damp with morning mist, peeked out from clusters of palm trees. The road curved and climbed gently. With each turn, the horizon stretched wider, painted with rolling hills. Their slopes were covered in dense rainforest that shimmered under the golden light. Each treetop caught the sun like flecks of emerald glass. From a distance, the hills seemed to rise taller, standing watch and ready to welcome me into their realm.
By the time I reached the main parking lot, the stillness of the forest had seeped into me. I switched off the engine, and silence fell—not empty silence, but a layered, living quiet filled with the whispers of nature. I opened the door, and a wave of freshness rushed in. The air was cool and damp, laced with the earthy scent of wet soil, fallen leaves, and the faint tang of moss on tree trunks. It wrapped around me like an invisible cloak, washing away the stiffness of the journey.
I paused there, just breathing it in. The faint patter of water dripping from leaves after the night’s rain mixed with the distant calls of unseen birds. A cicada’s high-pitched drone rose and fell like the pulse of the forest, steady and hypnotic. Every sound felt sharper and more alive, as if my senses were tuning to a new frequency.
In that moment, the morning’s weariness melted away. The fog of sleep and the quiet monotony of the drive vanished, replaced by a calm, growing excitement. My heartbeat matched the rhythm of the forest, as if the rainforest had stretched out its arms, pulling me closer. It whispered silently: you are here, you are safe, and now your adventure begins.
Continue to the next post : The process of entering Kubah National Park
