Romanticising Cameron Highlands & The Art Of Taking The High Road

By Lara Kramer  •  20 Jul 2026 in Features

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You know what it’s like. Kuala Lumpur is hot, rushed, and dry. The scones are dry, the vegetables are soggy, and the heat is so vexatious that, while waiting for the MRT, you can almost smell your own scalp.

Okay, maybe it’s not that bad.

But you’ve got to admit, as a local, some part of you eventually starts craving the comfort of actual natural cold weather. Mountainous colonial vibes. Hotpot while your breath catches in the fog, like we usually only get to see in films.

So what’s wrong with indulging in exactly that?

Yeah, before we talk about the jam heading there, remember that Cameron Highlands is, after all, known for its “jam”.

Bad joke? Okay, just keep going.

See, the drive there is actually pretty poetic when you really think about it. The winding roads remind you why you’re going there in the first place. The ups and downs, the sharp lefts and rights, the nausea. It’s all a bit like life, really, except with more motion sickness and a much clearer destination.

There’s something about knowing the cold is coming.

You’re slowly inching closer to it, wrapping yourself in a little blanket, or a fancy hoodie depending on the person, as if you’re swaddling your inner child. The air gets colder and, for once, you’re not complaining about the heat.

The last time I was in Cameron Highlands, I was a child. The tea plantation looked just about as big as I imagined the entire galaxy to be. And honestly, that doesn’t necessarily have to change with age and depth perception. I think there’s something nice about allowing a place to stay a little bit magical, even after you’ve grown up.

Then you get to your Airbnb and there’s a balcony. You watch the clouds roll over one another. Your feet are freezing from the chilly floors. Your appetite and sweet tooth are working overtime.

And somehow, everything tastes a million times better.

The hotpot. The tea. The cakes. Whatever it is you’ve decided to eat because you’re cold and therefore deserve it. There’s something about eating while looking out over the lowlands that makes even the most ordinary food feel a little more special.

The next day, you visit the farm.

The alpaca looks like it belongs there. The ferrets follow your movements from behind the glass. You get to feed the raccoons, who you are warned have a tendency to bite or grab at your belongings.

The guy next to you bravely offers up his hand. The raccoon goes straight for his string bracelet instead.

He laughs it off, and you remember how we are so inclined to reach for the things we love and enjoy, even when they come with an almost explicit promise to hurt us.

Then there’s the horned frog, which is simply comical to look at. Sorry, buddy.

After that, you get yourself some honey sticks to sample the different types.

The shopkeeper tells you a million times over which one is wild honey, which is tualang, and which is kelulut. You listen carefully. You nod. You feel like you understand.

Then you put the sticks in the bag, they get mixed up, and you end up having to guess which is which anyway.

You decide you like the tualang. Wait. No, that’s the kelulut.

Wait, no. That was the browner one. Wait, what…?

You fill yourself up trying all of them. But oh, did you really think you could fight the urge to snack on that fruitsicle? You’ve been eyeing it since the first morning. Go ahead.

The yogurty, fresh goodness. The solid pieces of fruit wedged inside. It keeps you stable on the ground. It’s exactly what you needed. It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

Oh my god. Wait.

Is that steaming hot shawarma?!

Every meal outdoes the next…

Until you’re curled up on the couch in your pashmina scarf and someone comes in with satay. Chunky. Tender. Almost steak-like. Is it just you, or is the satay here way bigger and chunkier than usual?

Hm. Anyway, pair it with a horror movie for optimum warmth.

If all else fails, visit the new Shiori Onsen in town.

Best done in group situations with private rooms, complete with showering facilities and complimentary swimwear/robes that look like matching PJs.

Two-hour soaking time per session, and then you’ll treat yourself to high-tea. Yet again.

Arriving at midnight upgrades your experience simply because you’re at your coldest, and the lack of a large crowd makes it more likely that you’ll be placed in the very warmest room they have, right above the boiler. A simple hack worth staying up for.

And then, of course, to stick to the basics and the originals, there’s the BOH Tea Plantation.

Cascading staircases full of people, foreigners and locals alike, all sharing in their wonder. You see children being scolded for running along the wooden stairs. You see adults caring for their elderly, one umbrella in hand and the other held out to grandma for extra support.

The cold wind hits you. Your legs are a little tired. Your camera’s foggy as hell. But the promise of what’s up there keeps you going.

Don’t worry. The walk down will be much easier once you’re pumped with another dose of good food and your 75th helping of strawberry jam scones. And when you get up there, you’re spoiled for choice when it comes to cake.

So. Many. Cheesecakes. Ugh. You settle for the matcha tiramisu to offset the sweet jam, and also because it matches the vivid green view. You might be on vacation, but your Instagram profile is not.

The trip back down is strangely nostalgic, too.

You gradually feel yourself coming back to the city. The air gets warmer. The roads get busier. The familiar jam returns, along with the R&Rs, including the one you somehow just prefer to relieve yourself at. We all have one.

Maybe the place will even stay on your mind when you’ve made the pit stop at Ipoh for dim sum. Maybe you even imagine what would happen if you stayed.

A simple life. A farm life. Or a fancy one, in one of those mansions on the hills. The tourists were probably thinking the same thing.

You’ll think about it for the next week, when you remember what it’s like to sweat and when your jam supply eventually runs out. I’m penning this right now in my living room with the AC on 16 trying to relive the experience already.

But that’s precisely the beauty of it. Cameron Highlands is always there. Even if you don’t turn it into your new life, it’s an icy escape from the one you already have, just a few hours away from home.

Now you’ll probably exit this tab feeling a little hungry.

But the hunger goes far beyond food.

If you let it, places like this can cure your cravings for laughter, for wonder, for travel, for Europe if you’re still saving up for it. For someone to hold onto your freezing hands, even if that someone is just a hungry raccoon.

And if you’ve come here as a child, I think that’s a plus point. Because I promise, when you’re standing there overlooking the view, you’re that tiny kid in the padded hand-me-down jacket once more.

You might even go solo, but you’ll think about the people you love. You’ll see it in your luggage bag, now overflowing with jars of fresh jam and five different types of teabags because you simply couldn’t choose.

And even if those gifts end up sitting on your very own shelf, make the trip anyway.

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