Where waterfalls sing and forests breathe - Borneo Post Online (2025)

NESTLED in the northern reaches of Sichuan Province, Jiuzhaigou Valley National Park is often described as a dreamscape, but it is more than just a natural wonder.

It is a masterclass in how to preserve beauty, engage local communities, and welcome the world without losing a place’s soul.

For decades, Jiuzhaigou has been China’s ecological jewel – celebrated for its turquoise lakes, cascading waterfalls, snow-capped peaks, and ancient forests.

Yet beyond its breathtaking views, it offers something deeper: a lesson in care.

My first glimpse of the Five Flower Lake left me breathless. Its waters shimmered not in one colour, but many – sapphire, aquamarine, emerald – depending on how the light danced upon it.

Beneath its glassy surface, sunken tree trunks lay like nature’s calligraphy. Even the wind seemed to tiptoe through the valley.

Later, at the Nuorilang Waterfall, one of China’s largest highland falls, a local Tibetan legend captured my imagination.

A heavenly spirit, disguised as a young man, sang beside a stream so beautifully that it turned into the waterfall that we see today. Some say that if you listen carefully, you can still hear the waterfall sing.

As whimsical as it sounds, the waterfall’s rhythm did feel like a melody – rising and falling, more of a lullaby than a roar. A young Tibetan girl I met nearby handed me a strand of woven grass and whispered “ping-an” – peace.

“This is where the waterfall sings,” she said softly.

We stood in silence, listening.

But Jiuzhaigou is not just beautiful – it is protected, thoughtfully and consistently.

Trails are clearly marked. Visitor numbers are controlled. Electric buses shuttle tourists along the set routes. Local Tibetan communities play a visible role in guiding and storytelling.

It wasn’t always this way. In the 1980s and 1990s, Jiuzhaigou’s rising popularity risked damaging its ecosystem.

But Chinese authorities moved decisively: in 1992, it became a Unesco World Heritage Site; and in 1993, a national geological park.

Even after a powerful 2017 earthquake, rebuilding focused on restoration, not commercialisation.

Nature here is not just scenery – it is the story. And everyone, from rangers to schoolchildren, plays a part in protecting it.

As a Sarawakian, I couldn’t help but reflect. We, too, are blessed with wonders: the Mulu caves, the misty heights of Bario, the waterfalls in Kapit and Belaga, and the rainforests teeming with life.

But how many of these places are truly protected? Too often, trails are poorly marked, access is haphazard, and fragile ecosystems are left exposed to illegal logging or unchecked development.

We speak often of ‘eco-tourism’ in Sarawak, but slogans aren’t enough.

True eco-tourism means giving nature time to heal, not just showing it off.

It means working with local people, not side-lining them.

It means having a vision, and the consistency to follow through.

Jiuzhaigou shows us this is possible.

On my last night there, I dreamed of Five Flower Lake. The water reflected the twilight sky like a mirror, still and deep.

Somewhere in the distance, Nuorilang’s cascade sang its soft refrain.

I woke with a quiet promise: to carry this memory home, not just the beauty, but the care behind it.

Jiuzhaigou doesn’t just show us what nature looks like. It reminds us how it should be treated.

And maybe, just maybe, we in Sarawak can begin to listen to the water – and learn to sing our own song of preservation.

Blessed Easter to you all.