Kampong Ayer

Having found a ludicrously cheap flight, my wallet felt heavy with the extra sing (apore) dollars inside, and so it was with this feeling that we decided to throw the tiny Sultanate of Brunei into our travel plans.  Let me just take a quick moment to salute Air Asia, the patron saint of no frills, cheap flights: two return tickets from Singapore - Kuching for about 100 Canadian dollars, hello!  Anyhow, to get to Brunei we would need a quick domestic flight and a bus ride over the border.  However, not only was it the extra dough that prodded us toward Brunei, it helped that no one goes to there.  We were looking for something offbeat, something slightly obscured, and so Brunei beckoned.  


I’ll skip ahead to its capital city, Bandar Siri Begawan (BSB).  I had read that it boasted the largest “stilt village” in the world, Kampong Ayer.  Kampong means “village” in Malay, and I’m guessing here when I say that Ayer probably means “water.”  In the past, I had seen a couple of houses overtop water in the Mekong Delta, and I thought this is what BSB would offer, except maybe super-sized.  There, the houses were often built on land but had spilled over on top of the river.  As we ambled through the small, sleepy capital, we approached the Brunei River, which bisects the capital city with its slow flow.  Directly across from the downtown waterfront, hundreds of a small structures stood atop stilts, props, and crutches, and bustling life could be seen from the other side.

Anachronistic satellite dishes connect
 homes in the water village. 

Stilt village immediately conjures images of misshaped buildings and mishaps, but I must assure you that Kampong Ayer is a very orderly, very well built village on top of the water.  No bridge obstructs the Brunei River, and so school children and businessman alike must take a daily water taxi to get from Kampong Ayer, purely residential, to the main riverfront of BSB to go about their day.  The village boasts its own police station and fire station, as well as several schools and mosques to support its 39 000 strong population.  Water taxies zip to and fro across the river, stopping at designated “ports,” which are glorified pieces of concrete serving as a quick drop off point for the frantic taxi drivers.  When one steps onto the taxi port, a path of gangplanks leads through the houses, winding around and connecting commuters.  Electric power and telephone lines run to most of the rustic homes, and water pipes covertly connect to each house from underneath the gangplank.

Through the village.

We decided to explore one side of village in the morning.  We started off from solid ground, stepping onto the elevated wooden platform of cobbled boards, rusted nails, and wobbly foundations.  Here it was impossible to amble, head up, soaking up the scene -- such an approach would surely lead to a tumble into the tepid brown river.  I felt a little awkward, as the paths lead right up to each house and sometimes through its front porch, but we quickly found that Kampong Ayer’s people were quite friendly and welcoming.  Smiles greeted us from old rocking chairs, from boats, from windows.  School children, on their way home for lunch, were eager to practice their English: “Hi!  Where you from?”  These warm faces helped put us at ease, and so we continued to explore until we came across one of the village’s mosques.      


Lucy wrapped up outside -- donning a scarf for her head and neck, a long sleeved button up for her shoulders and arms, and a sarong to serve as an ankle length dress -- and I rolled down my shorts into pants and buttoned up my shirt.  It was oppressively hot, but it’s important to be mindful and respectful.  After seeking out the Imam, he quickly scanned us with his eyes and allowed us inside the mosque.  He regretfully told us that although he would’ve guided us through the mosque and fielded any questions, he had to leave.  


After the mosque, we unwrapped and walked back through the village.  The noon day sun was high and the heat was beating down on our heads.  Our necks were beginning to smart, and though our eyes wanted to see more, our feet won us over and we quickly headed back to BSB’s downtown for much needed shade.  Kampong Ayer was a uniquely beautiful village and it boasts widely welcoming people (except one chauvinist who didn’t seem to enjoy a woman with her ankles bare).  To end the morning, we grabbed a lunch of Brunein  food -- tough beef and mushroom curry, sautéed vegetables with chilli paste, and ambuyat, a goop made from the sap of a tree -- and receded into cover of the restaurant.  In case you’re wondering, most of that lunch was terrible!

The view of one side of Kampong Ayer.

Next up?  An explanation of the quiet, odd, and slightly strange Bandar Siri Begawan and what, if anything, can be found in the nation’s capital.  

Back Home!

It’s been awhile.  The past few weeks were spent travelling and moving around, leaving little time to write.  Now that the travelling is over, I can take the time to tell you about where we went and what we did.   Over the next four or five posts, I’ll write about some of the places we found ourselves in.

 Lucy was coming halfway around the world to come see me, so we decided to add another flight to her list and grab a cheap one to Kuching, Malaysia.  Kuching is one of the largest cities on the island of Borneo, which can be found amidst three seas; the South China Sea, The Java Sea, and the Celebes.  It is an island associated with a certain vicious reputation -- head-hunters will do that -- and vast expanses of jungle to boot.  Over ten days, we moved from Kuching to Brunei, back to Kuching again, and then finished our trip in a remote park.  Wild boar, good food, jungle, bad food, boats, buses, airplanes, sun burns, mosques, monkeys, monkeys and monkeys were all part of a what can only be described as an eclectic trip through the island.


Check above for more!

Gone exploring!

Check back in a week or two.

MacRitchie Reservoir

A view of the Reservoir.

If travelling is  limited to only seeing what’s in front of you -- cities and sights -- than you would miss a lot of amazing indicators that you are in a new place, country, or region.  Plants and animals are equally indicative of the place you are.  There are even regions  that are known for their animals and plants more than anything else.  Think Madagascar; if something other than a lemur or a baobab tree comes to mind, I’d be very surprised.  What comes first when you think of Australia; the Sydney Opera House or kangaroos and koalas?

I’ve always loved the outdoors and I’ve always loved animals.  I remember my first trip outside of North America, a trip to a place that had flora and fauna very unlike what I was used to in Canada.  It was Guatemala, and research hadn’t prepared me for the feeling of total unfamiliarity that comes when even the plants and trees around you are unusual.  I still remember the feeling of amazement at the yucca tree, a squat version of a cactus and a palm tree’s offspring.  Though the only animals I was lucky enough to see were wild dogs, romping through the cities and countryside, the ecology was enough to inspire.


Since, I’ve seen wild crocodiles in Vietnam, elephants in Thailand, and hopefully very soon, orangutans and proboscis monkeys in Borneo.  Those monkeys are rare; the ones you’ll soon aren’t so.  Recently I went to MacRitchie Reservoir in central Singapore, which, unbeknownst to me, is a trove of different animals on land, in trees, and in water.  Singapore has protected its natural water supply by cordoning off a major tract of wilderness in the middle of island, and designating the surrounding forest as a wildlife reserve.  It is one of only two urban primary rainforests -- the other being in Rio de Janiero -- and I went here seeking some respite from the concrete jungle.

He was a good listener.

The entrance was entirely overrun by monkeys.  It was like stepping into a zoo without walls.  They ran amok, eating, stealing, squealing.  The farther from the entrance, the more wildlife I saw.  Monkeys in the trees.  Monkeys on the boardwalk.  Fish in the water.  Lizards on the ground.  Kingfishers flitting around the lake, diving in and out.  I was walking with gusto when I heard a startled rustling; I don’t know who was more afraid, the three foot long monitor lizard or I, but we quickly sized each other up and the bluish beast deciding to slink away into the undergrowth.

About three kilometres from the entrance, I can across a troupe of macaques resting on the boardwalk.  Having never approached a group of wild monkeys, I was unsure how to proceed.  I started taking pictures and videos from a distance, being careful and alert.  It was only after a jogger ran through the group, with only a baby monkey taking interest, that I decided to get closer.  The monkeys paid no attention, and I shot pictures and videos with monkeys sitting at my feet, eating nuts, playing, cleaning, and wrestling.  I noticed that of the other people who passed, I was the only one interested.  I think it would be like if I saw a foreigner at home taking videos of chipmunks running around in the park.

Here is some of what I captured.  

(If you don't like monkeys, don't watch.  It's monkeys):

In moderation Monkey!  In moderation!