As I wandered deeper into the mountains, I found something truly unexpected—tea. Not in cups or kettles, but tea in the air, tea in the spirit of the place. The soft aroma seemed to float around the slopes, as if carried by the mountain breeze itself. Perhaps it came from the nearby tea gardens, their leaves freshly plucked, or from a distant village where someone had just boiled a pot to greet the morning.
All around me, nature was in quiet bloom. A tapestry of flowers—some small and delicate, others bold and bright—lined the paths. Trees stood tall and calm, their leaves rustling gently, catching the light at just the right angles. Each leaf seemed to carry its own shade of green or gold or red, creating a living mosaic that shifted with the breeze.
The sunlight crept slowly over the rocks, gilding their rugged surfaces in gold as the morning grew. And then, in a stunning turn of nature’s rhythm, the sun continued its path—not just across the sky but toward the sea. I watched in awe as the light danced from mountaintop to horizon, eventually melting into the deep blue of the ocean, like a painter rinsing a golden brush. The trees, the leaves, the wild variety of it all—it made time feel slower, fuller. The environment was free, untouched, and alive. It felt like the kind of place where the earth still breathed freely, where silence spoke louder than noise, and where human life could find a gentle rhythm again.
People were scattered throughout the landscape, not in crowds, but quietly, respectfully, as though they, too, recognized the sacredness of the moment. Some sat beneath the trees, deep into books, pages turning softly in the wind. Others lay back on the grass, eyes fixed on the open sky, perhaps searching for answers—or simply marveling at the infinite. It was in that stillness, in the simplicity of the scene, that I realized: this is a place worth traveling to. Not for adventure, not for photos or souvenirs, but for the chance to remember what it feels like to be human. To breathe. To sit in silence beneath a tree. To feel the earth holding you.
People need places like this. And this, without question, is one of them.
