Taman Negara | Malaysia

I Continue From Here: Perhentian Islands | Malaysia

The Fern

5 and 6 September 2026

I didn’t intend to spend another day on the island. Though it had been relaxing, I wanted to explore the rainforests of Taman Negara. Michael, on the other hand, wanted to return to Kuala Lumpur and explore the city further.

I wasn’t really sure how he would do it. Michael, on his own, seems to be a bit slow-paced. He likes to stay in a place doing nothing. He isn’t looking for a lot of activity, and sometimes he doesn’t seem to be doing anything at all. He wouldn’t mind staring into nothingness for a long time and getting lost in his thoughts.

I, on the other hand, sometimes, love to fill my days with exciting activities. With someone as quiet as Michael, I end up speaking a lot, often entertaining myself with my own humour. Michael laughs at my jokes and listens attentively to my highly opinionated comments about certain things.

Michael reminds me of my friend Divyesh. They are perhaps around the same age and are remarkably similar in many ways. It is easy to travel with both of them.

Since they preferred staying put in one place—usually at a hostel or hotel—I was free to explore on my own. There was never any compulsion to do activities together. We could spend time together when we wanted to, while still having the freedom to follow our own interests.

We left the island at 8 AM on the first ferry back to the mainland. The ferry driver recognised me from two days earlier and invited me on board even without checking my ticket.

Back in Kuala Besut, I collected my Taman Negara bus ticket from the lady at the reception of the booking agency. I was booked on NKS Tours and Travels. I had some time, so we stepped out to Adma’s Café and had some kaya toast, a sandwich and tea. At around 9:30 AM, I left. Michael and I would meet again after two days in the capital.

My van ride to Taman Negara passed through the same route I had taken when I was travelling to the island. We traced the same road for a long distance until we took a diversion towards the forest. We even stopped at the same food court where I had tried the corn drink, jagung. We stopped in the town of Jerantut for a briefing by NKS Tours, who also gave us the entry form for the protected rain forest to fill in. We had to pay the park entrance fee at the location.

It was a bit depressing to see the monoculture of date-palm plantations taking over so much of Malaysia. As far as the eye could see, the sides of the roads were lined with date palms.

The village of Kuala Tahan, sitting right beside Taman Negara National Park at the confluence of the Tahan and Tembeling rivers, struck me as a quiet little village. It was peaceful out there. There were very few houses, and everything seemed so still. On the other side of the river was Taman Negara national park, one of world's oldest rain forests. 

My hostel, Agosto Taman Negara, was run by a Chinese Malaysian lady called Ann. She seemed extremely sweet in the beginning. She showed me my bed in the cramped dormitory and then, almost immediately, began marketing her tours. She insisted that I do the waterfall trek that night and book it with her. I smiled and told her that I would let her know.

A few travellers were sitting outside discussing their travels, and I joined them.

Among them was June, a woman in her sixties from Hong Kong; Auste, a woman perhaps in her late thirties from Lithuania; Jorge, from Portugal, a young man perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties; and a French girl, a teenager from Paris.

I enquired about the trek some of them had done earlier that day. Auste had trekked on her own and said she simply enjoyed walking through the rainforest by herself. She planned to do the same the next day. I took that as a hint to avoid the organised tour. Moreover, the pictures of the trek did not seem particularly exciting. I found the vegetation quite similar to what I had seen near my hometown. By the end of dinner, which we all had together, I had decided not to go on the tour and instead do a trek on my own.

Auste gave me the map of the route she had followed the previous day. She had taken a deviation and found a mouse deer and some birds there. She also told us about a swimming area she had happened to reach. It was peaceful, she said, and that immediately increased my interest in following her footsteps. June asked me if she could join me too. I readily agreed.

All five of us went to a restaurant by the river. Auste had found one that served good food, so we tried it. They made an excellent vegetable curry for me. We had a wonderful time talking about languages, France, Paris and its reputation, India, and much more. It was an interesting conversation, and we bonded so well and so quickly.

June told us that she had initially booked a different hostel nearby, but they had rejected her booking, telling her that they did not accept visitors above the age of forty. Auste said she had faced a similar experience in Australia, where one hostel did not accept guests above thirty-five.

Though I had never personally faced such a situation, I had seen some hostels announcing age restrictions on their booking pages. It was something I had always kept at the back of my mind. We spoke about ageism.

The next morning, I woke up early and took a walk to the village centre, where I had some tea. It was made with condensed milk and therefore it was very sweet. I also bought a local snack that looked very similar to the appam we make back home. 

Later, June and I had breakfast at a local restaurant. We talked about ageing and travelling. We discussed how our perspective on travel—and our attitude towards it—changes as we grow older.

We spoke about Gen Z and how things change with each generation. In response to her comments about Gen Z, I told her that I prefer every generation to create its own culture rather than be burdened with the responsibility of carrying forward the culture of the past.

She smiled and said, “You are Gen Z.”

I smiled back.

When we spoke about my age, June told me that I did not look my age at all. She added, “It is the way you speak that makes you look younger.”

I did not quite understand what she meant by that, and I never asked her to explain. Thinking about it later, though, I wondered if it was the passion and energy with which I sometimes speak about things, along with the youthful excitement I show, that makes me seem younger. In that sense, I am quite similar to my mother.

When I mentioned this to a friend later, she suggested that perhaps it was my outlook on life. I am quite progressive in my thoughts, and perhaps that is what makes me seem younger. Possible. But what June actually meant, only she would know. I never asked her.

After a good breakfast, we headed to the riverbank. To get to the national park, we had to cross the river by boat for 2 RM. I then got my entry ticket by paying 6 RM. We followed the route Auste had told us about.

At the deviation, exactly as she had mentioned, we spotted a mouse deer. As the name suggests, it was tiny and had a mouse-like tail, but otherwise looked like a deer, with brown skin and white spots around its neck. It was so beautiful. 

At one point, it turned towards me and looked straight into my eyes. It was such a beautiful moment.

We then walked deeper into the jungle. We met a French photographer who knew quite a bit about birds. He was able to identify them by their calls and also had an app that listed different bird sounds.

“We need a lot of patience to spot the birds,” he said, adjusting his DSLR camera, with its huge lens, around his neck.

We continued our walk towards the Bukit Terisek summit. The climb was steep but enjoyable. The view from the summit, though, was nothing spectacular. We ate some snacks and an apple there before heading down along the route suggested by Auste.

The trail passed through dense jungle, and we also came across a canopy walk. It was amazing.

At the end of the trail was a beautiful swimming spot called Lubuk Simpon. We went into the water, and it was incredibly refreshing. There were very few people there. Apart from us, there were three other travellers and a local family.

There were so many fish—transparent, almost silver, with black stripes. They circled around me as I sat in the shallow water. It was amazing. 

I enjoyed the refreshing water for some time before walking back to the riverbank. June stayed there for a long while, sitting quietly in the river, immersed in deep thought. Meanwhile, another traveller walked up to the spot and sat down to sketch. A couple sat by the riverbank, enjoying the quiet after taking a dip. We met them several more times later, and it was always a pleasure to see and talk to them. In this small village, with so few travellers around, there was something delightful about recognising familiar faces. Everyone seemed friendly and warmly connected to one another, as though we were all part of a small, temporary community.

The place was peaceful until a fleet of boats started arriving. At 3 PM, the boat rides began, carrying tourists along the river towards a waterfall. As one boat after another kept arriving, we decided it was time to head back.

Back in the village, we went to a nice café called De Rain Tree, located on top of a hill. We had some tea and tried their cheesecake. The cheesecake was rather funny—it was a soft cake that resembled cheesecake in appearance. It was very good, though, and had a distinct cheese flavour.

I enjoyed my conversations with June throughout the trek. We spoke about Hong Kong, a city I really like, Indian culture, her work as an interior designer, and her retired life.

Back at the village centre, I bought a travel adapter for Malaysia. I had forgotten to pack one this time.

We also passed by the village school. Most schools in Malaysia are public schools, and they are remarkably well maintained. They looked so good that I couldn’t help comparing them with government schools in India.

When we compare ourselves with other nations, especially developed ones, one thing becomes clear to me: public institutions require not just resources, but also accountability, ethical administration and a commitment to public welfare. If people in positions of responsibility—politicians and civil servants alike—serve with good intentions and look beyond personal gain, meaningful change becomes possible.

Back at the hostel, June and I wanted to know more about the schools in the village, so we asked Ann. However, she seemed to be in a bad mood. She replied rather strangely.

“How do I know if the school will reopen or whether the students are on holiday?” she said when I asked if the children would be returning the next day.

“I work here all day. I don’t even step out of here. I don’t have holidays. Moreover, you should ask the locals,” she continued.

“Are you not local?” June asked.

“I am, but I don’t have kids. How would I know?” she argued.

“I haven’t gone to school in a long time. I haven’t studied,” she added, refusing to let the matter go.

I had to stop it there. So I declared, rather rudely, “I see. That is why you are so offended by the mention of school.”

Ann smiled and said no, and the topic ended.

Then she came and told me that she was moving all the guests into a single room because she wanted to save on air conditioning. She did not want to keep all the air conditioners running when there were only five guests.

I replied sarcastically, “Great. The new beds are closer to the exit, so it will be easier to walk away tomorrow.”

She smiled and tried to explain that she was simply trying to save money.

She had strict rules. At 10 PM, she would switch off all the lights outside. She had all kinds of rules printed and posted on the walls.

In the evening, Ann was busy convincing a traveller to buy a trekking package from her. He seemed reluctant and indecisive. She kept pointing to us and telling him how some of us had done the trek and how good it was. Finally, he gave in and said, “Alright, take my money!” Ann was all smiles, clearly delighted with the sale. 

June, Auste, Jorge and I went to a different restaurant by the river for dinner. I tried ordering some kway teow without fish sauce. I repeated several times that I was vegetarian. However, when the food arrived, I confirmed once again.

The owner, a gentle man who was always smiling, told me that it did not contain fish sauce but had only soya and oyster sauce. I smiled and said that I could not eat it. He apologised and asked if I would like to order something else. I asked him to bring me vegetable curry. He offered me rice for free because of the confusion and gently requested me to leave a good google review. I wasn't that upset with this small mishap but he seemed apologetic for no reason. 

At the dinner table, all of us talked a lot. I can’t really remember what we spoke about, but it was wonderful because we were all simply living in the moment.

I remember speaking to Jorge about the poems he writes. I got to read some of them in English, and I really liked them. His sister makes digital art inspired by the poems, and someday they would like to print a book, just for themselves.

He had a mechanical engineering background with a specialisation in aeronautics and worked as a systems engineer at a company that makes equipment for spacecraft. He was based in Poland.

He was an interesting person. He had a few interesting tattoos over his body, most of which he had designed himself. One of them was a thread-like sketch that, he told me, represented the hills in his hometown.

We discussed my writing and painting as well.

Later, I discussed Ann with Auste. I wondered if Ann was upset with me because I had not booked the tour with her. But Auste had a different opinion. She said that Ann was simply mean by nature. 

“She basically isn’t a good person. She is money-minded. ” Auste said.

Auste had had similar experiences with her. June, on the other hand, told that Ann was particularly kind to the Chinese guests.

I somehow did not completely share Auste’s opinion.

In her statements, Ann seemed to be revealing that she was struggling with something. Perhaps she had deep regrets about her life—not having children, not having studied, not being able to take holidays, and having to deal day after day with a routine that kept her confined to this small village. She seemed frustrated. Perhaps she wanted to escape the monotony.

People do not become who they are out of nowhere. Our qualities are shaped by our experiences, disappointments and regrets.

My interpretation seemed to find some confirmation when she came to me while I was writing my journal later the night and handed me a dried fern.

“I always give this to someone whom I see writing or reading a book,” she said.

I looked at it for some time, admiring it, and asked her if she had preserved it herself for so long.

She told me that she had several such ferns to give away. I felt that it was particularly thoughtful of her to do that. 

I asked her if she had had her dinner, and she smiled and replied that she had.

We all live with some regrets in life. We cannot achieve everything we want. But what matters is recognising that our regrets should not prevent us from seeing the present and living in it.

I came to Taman Negara with very little expectation, and it turned out to be one of the most exciting experiences of my trip.

In a rather cramped hostel, I met a wonderful bunch of interesting backpackers. From sharing jungle-trail information to having dinner and breakfast together, exploring local food, and talking about our different cultures, stereotypes, languages and even poetry, every conversation seemed to open a little window into another world.

It brought me back to something I always say: it is people who make places special.

A place may have beautiful forests, mountains, rivers or monuments, but nothing quite compares to the energy created when a group of like-minded travellers comes together, sharing stories and simply living in the moment.

Perhaps that is what makes travel so magical. We go looking for places, but sometimes it is the people we meet along the way who become the memory of the place.

And long after the jungle trails fade, it is these fleeting connections that stay.

To Be Continued...