Kuching - Sarawak, Malaysia

Kuching was our base on Borneo - where we flew into, and where we directed our travel on the island from.  The city has a colourful history, as it is the provincial capital in the semi-autonomous Malaysian province of Sarawak.  There is a obscure but tremendously interesting story associated with Sarawak and one British rambler who, as luck would have it, would be given an entire province to rule as his kingdom.

James Brookes, a son of a colonial administrator in India, bought a ship and set out to explore.  Landing on Borneo the 1840’s, he chanced upon a vicious rebellion against the Bruneian Sultan -- at that time much more powerful -- and Brookes assisted one of the Sultan’s allies.  After the rebellion was quashed, the Sultan awarded a little recompense: the Governorship of Sarawak.  A few years later, Brookes, armed with colonial connections to Britain, ended another coup and restored the Sultan to His throne.  Owing his kingdom to Brookes, the Sultan repaid him be granting Brookes complete sovereignty of Sarawak.

As far as cool titles are concerned, Brookes was up there with the best; he fashioned himself The White Rajah of Sarawak, James Brookes.  Rajah was traditionally a title from the Indian subcontinent, familiar to Brooke’s upbringing.  His family would go on to rule Sarawak from 1841-1946, their reign coming to an end after World War II.  Faced both with the frightening realities the Japanese occupation brought and their diminishing power amidst such modern nations, the last White Rajah, Vyner of Sarawak, ceded control of Sarawak to the British Empire.  Some colonial administrations do indeed bring good to their lands, and the White Rajahs are, in some quarters, proudly remembered as dedicated to improving Sarawak: improving infrastructure, codifying laws, and battling pirates (definitely the coolest of the three).

I digress.  We spent three days in and around Kuching, before moving on to Bako National Park.  Kuching was a picturesque city, with a languid river running through the middle.  From Kuching, we took trips out to an Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre and to a nearby beach.  The rehab centre was fantastic - a large tract of protected wilderness near Kuching that housed about one score of the celebrated old world monkey.  We were lucky enough to catch feeding time, quietly watching as two mothers and two babies ate their fill of fresh fruits for breakfast.    

One of Kuching's many colourful buildings.

My red haired cousins!

Empty streets in Kuching.

The Omar Ali Saifuddin Mosque

If you’ve been following along, when you are walking through BSB there isn’t really all that much to see.  That is, if you have already been to the Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddin Mosque.  If you haven’t seen the mosque and have just arrived in BSB, the grand mosque’s magnetizing effect will immediately pull you to its locale in the heart of the city.

The mosque was built and opened in 1958 and financed totally by the ruling family.  It’s splendour and magnificence mirrors the Sultan’s incredulous personal wealth.  At a cost of around 5 million USD, the Bruneian ruler spared no expense: imported Italian marble pillars and floor, granite from Shanghai, crystal chandeliers from England, ornate carpets from Saudi Arabia and a main dome of pure gold.  When it is juxtaposed against the average Bruneian’s annual salary of 51,600 USD, it makes one wonder.  However, such lavish expenditures might actually be credible when one considers that Brunei is one of the richest countries, at least according to per capita GDP, in the world.  Considering that both the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund rank Brunei’s per capita GDP above Canada, the U.S., the U.K., and Hong Kong, I suddenly find myself sheepish for criticising such a splendid building.

We were careful to pack appropriate dress when we went through Brunei -- totally covering clothes for Lucy, minus the face of course, and modest dress for me with long pants and a polo -- but we found ourselves disappointed by the one factor we didn’t consider: prayer times.  However, as we turned our backs to reluctantly walk out, I heard someone calling me.  A steward at the entrance beckoned us in with a friendly smile, so in we went.  Tourists were given a special section near the entrance to observe, but obviously couldn’t fully enter.   This was in order to preserve the sanctity of the pious, prostrate before the Qibla (a mosque‘s holy wall, facing Mecca).  We slowly walked in, Lucy further covered by a body length black robe, soaking in the calm serenity of the mosque’s halls.  Even my devout and pious atheism couldn’t stop the feeling of numinous confrontation inside the halls of the mosque.

On the way out, I asked a few questions, as I’ll readily admit my grasp in Islam is tenuous at best.  After a few, I casually enquired if this was where the Sultan prayed.  My friend at the front quickly and seriously retorted: “No, the Sultan prays wherever he pleases.”  I think he misinterpreted my question, but considering that insulting the Sultan or the royal family is a serious and punishable offence, I decided not to ask again.

Even the Grand Mosque’s grounds are beautiful.  A blue tiled fountain for the faithful to perform their absolutions waits just outside the entrance.  Many perfectly manicured plants line the gardens around, presenting a serendipitous atmosphere of calm.  The mosque’s minaret stands 52 metres high, making it the highest point in BSB.  Its speakers blast out the call to prayer 5 times a day, clearly indicated by 5 clocks inside the main hall.  Oh, and we learned that the minaret has a somewhat protected status: rumour has it that when the Islamic Bank of Brunei’s building exceeded the minaret’s height, it had to be reduced.

Hindsight is the only perfect vision, and looking back on my quick trip to Brunei I must say that the mosque visit was the highlight.  It offered me a glimpse into both the ruling family and the religious ideals enshrined with the state, and I got to see a pretty incredible building in the process.

Miri to the Capital of Brunei

Bustling Bandar Seri Begawan.

The bus station in Miri was a cab ride from the airport.  The airport, a short flight from Kuching.  Unbeknownst to me until two weeks previous, Miri was a fairly unpleasant town without much to offer - a hangout for those making money on oil.  The one thing it did have: proximity to Brunei.  It was way cheaper to fly to Miri and take a bus to Brunei rather than to fly straight to the Bruneian capital, and this is how we found ourselves sitting in a café near the bus station killing time.  


It was a four hour ride to Bandar Seri Begawan, the capital of Brunei Negara Darussalam, or Brunei for short.  I couldn’t find any information on the Miri - Brunei bus, except that it existed, so to the bus station we went immediately after landing in Miri.  Some friendly advice and help from someone hanging around the station lead us to the bus booth, selling tickets for the last trip to Brunei that day.  We had about two hours to kill until it left, so off we set in search of food.  Next door was a wet market and small cafeteria.  A wet market is, well, a wet market.  They call it “wet” because water is used to hose the floors, to spray the fruit and vegetables, and to keep the seafood fresh.  On this occasion, none of it looked inviting and the unscrupulous characters hanging about put me ill at ease.  We checked the cafeteria to see what was on offer; stale, sitting food hidden behind dark greasy glass in cramped and tiny stalls.  Boiled eggs of immeasurable age.  Fried fish surely older.  Food poisoning waiting to happen.  My stomach hasn’t been quite the same since salmonella poisoning and even the sizeable hunger pangs clawing inside could not convince me to eat what was in front of me.  


The first part of the bus journey, along the north eastern shore of Malaysian Borneo, was relatively uninteresting.  Half built and half vacant company villages of squat brick housing lined the highway leading out of Miri.  As we distanced ourselves from the town, more grassland appeared.  It was sad to see, because in my head I always dreamed of Borneo as a jungled enigma, obscured by vines, trees and monkeys.  Instead, I saw an expanse of shoulder high grassland, peppered with bushes and shrubs, and even the occasional small tree.  This was surely the evidence of past clear cutting.  The jungle was gone, the old growth flora replaced by non descript grassland.


Nearing the border, factories and heavy industry could be seen on the horizon.  The bus stopped at what appeared to be a vacant immigration complex on the Malaysian side.  A couple of minutes and another stamp in our passports later, we were in undefined geographical purgatory; through Malaysian immigration but not yet in Brunei.  As the only foreigners on the bus, our examinations seemed to go quite smoothly.  Through a modest Bruneian immigration complex, we boarded the bus again and got on our way.


Brunei may be a country where wealth slowly drips from top to bottom, and many live in relative squalor compared to the wealth of the ruling family, but one thing is for sure: they take care of their wilderness!  Brunei boasts some of the highest percentages of protected land in the world.  The barren road to Kuala Belait in Brunei was surely evidence of this.  A few passengers alighted, and the bus continued on to Seria.  Seria showed the first signs that we were within an oil sultanate.  Offshore oil rigs were just visible on the cusp of the horizon and oil pump jacks dotted the well manicured properties we passed.  Various oil pipelines ran alongside the highway, ferrying liquid gold to the capital, Bandar Seri Begawan (BSB).  In Seria, Royal Dutch Shell extracts the oil, and both it and the Sultan reap the profits.   Some of this money does make its way to the common Bruneian in the form of free education and healthcare. 


The closer we came to the capital, the more developed and populated the country became.  The bus ride was fatiguing, as both of us nodded to sleep as the sun set and we approached the capital.  I honestly expected it to be more developed and modern given the sizeable and continuous influx of oil capital.  Instead, downtown BSB was only a few streets with even fewer restaurants and of course, no bars (alcohol is prohibited in Brunei).  A Coffee Bean café, an HSBC bank and some sort of 1980’s version of a Pizza Hut were the only signs of foreign investment in the capital.  

Mmm... glue!

With only one full day to explore BSB, we were up early and out to explore all that we could.  A morning meander of Kampong Ayer was followed by a break from the sun inside the splendid Omar Ali Suffaidin mosque (see the next post!).  With sun scorched faces and necks, we then stopped for a strange lunch which included the Bruneian delicacy ambuyat.  Ambuyat is a nasty, viscous white paste made from the sap of a local tree.  To eat it, one must dip it in a bizarre chilli sauce variation - I assure you, it’s not good.  Eating ambuyat is like eating globs of glue in kindergarten.  It hails from an old wartime tradition: when the Japanese occupied Brunei during the Second World War, food was scarce and as a result, alternatives had to be created.  This story is analogous to what the Viet Cong ate in Vietnam: blanched tapioca dipped in ground peanuts.  At least that tasted marginally better!

Delicious chicken satay on
the streets of BSB.

After a day in BSB, we had seen all of its sights; the stilt village, the beautiful mosque, the downtown centre and the fringes of the exclusive royal palace.  With everything from mosques to streets to buildings named after the Sultan, it is truly a strange place.  Orderly lines of traffic filtered in to the city in the morning and out at night, but I could never place where everyone went in such a small and sleepy capital.  After a snack of fire-grilled satay on the side of street, we headed back to our beautiful hotel.  We are not familiar with sleeping in hotels but this move was necessitated; the only “budget” accommodation was 40 Brunei dollars -- about 32 dollars Canadian -- and appeared to be a front for a brothel.  So even if there wasn’t much to see in the capital, for a few dollars more we had a great hotel room for the first time in our travels!

BSB's busy Jalan Sultan
(Sultan Street). 

BSB's other busy main street.  Lots going on!