• Next
• Previous

Latest Entry

The Borneo Highlands

Friday July 14, 2006

Posted In: Borneo | Comments: 9 | Written By: Kai Conragan

From a distance, the vegetation looks indistinct—just a lot of green hugging the steep sides of the mountains. Riding in the back of that pick-up, watching the vegetation grow more indistinct as we pull up and out of the valley, I know otherwise. I know a lot of that green is bamboo, and the people who live in that green use it as food, as storage containers, as knives. I also know some of that green is rubber trees, from which sap is collected and made into latex rubber. There are also Durian trees and Jackfruit trees. Ferns, orchids, and palms.

We just spent several days in that green—in the highlands of Borneo. There is a fancy golf course there, complete with spa, gardens, and plush bedrooms. This is not where we stayed. We stayed with a family in a simple house in the middle of the highlands in a village called Assum. A Kampung actually, for this is what a village is called in Borneo. Kampung Assum.

Kampung Assum

The Borneo highlands occupy the southern part of Sarawak. They are one side of a mountain range that straddles the Indonesian border; on the other side is the vast and wild Kalimantan. Though only about 60KM from Kuching, it’s a different world in the highlands. This is where the only remaining Bidayuh in Sarawak live—Land Dayaks as they were called during colonialism. The Bidayuh used to live in Longhouses built at the base of hills, where they faced fierce attacks from other ethnic groups in Sarawak—namely the Iban. To deter such attacks, they would place the heads of their enemies in front of their homes. Over time the practical need for Longhouses diminished. The Bidayuh began breaking into smaller Kampungs, and these villages spread through the highlands, connected by narrow footpaths and bamboo suspension bridges. Even today, cars cannot make it to most of these villages.

Assum is situated smack in the middle of these highlands; one of many small kampungs in the area. There is nothing, or little anyhow, that makes Assum stand out from any of the other villages—and this is why it’s beautiful. Here, real people and real families live out their lives, much as they have for centuries past. Some things have changed: They are no longer headhunters. Indeed, it seems hard to imagine a time when they were. The men no longer wear loin-cloths, nor do the women walk around topless. They wear regular clothes, just like you and I. Some have televisions. Most are Christian.

Other things have not changed. Most all of them still live largely off the land. Family is still of utmost importance and dominates the social fabric. Families live together, from grandparents to grandchildren. There is always a head of house, who is usually the oldest male, and respect is duly shown. There remains a tremendous sense of community; neighbors walk into each others homes unannounced and are always welcomed by the family.

And it’s here, in Assum, that we were welcomed by one such family and with whom we spent three days living. A simple family in a kampung in the Borneo highlands.

James, Myles and Agnes

How we ended up in Assum is not so simple. It’s not on any tourist map, and it’s unlikely you’ll find it mentioned in any guidebook. That’s not to say it’s undiscovered, perhaps just overlooked. We would have overlooked it too were it not for James. Whether meeting James was pure chance I still can’t say. You could say we met him. You could just as easily say he found us. James is funny like that. What can be said with certainty is that meeting James opened up a part of Borneo we never would have experienced otherwise.

We met James through Myles and Agnes, a couple from Calgary. Like Julie and I, they are on an extended trip through Southeast Asia. Unlike us, they are doing it on bikes. Not motorbikes, but bicycles. They took a flight from Canada, landed in Bangkok, and peddled themselves to Borneo. We first met Myles and Agnes as we were leaving the Borneo B&B—a guesthouse in downtown Kuching—and they were coming. We then met them at Bako National Park three days later, again as we were leaving and they were coming. Two times is a coincidence, three times makes you wonder. So a week later, running into them yet again back in Kuching, it was time to make proper acquaintance.

They invited us to join them for breakfast, and we gladly accepted. It was at breakfast that Myles and Agnes introduced us to James. They had met him the previous week before leaving for Bako. Or perhaps, he too, had found them. Either way, James was intrigued by the notion of them riding their bikes through Southeast Asia and had given them his phone number. When they returned from Bako they gave him a call. The day before our breakfast James had shown them around, taking them outside of Kuching along the coast. On the day of our breakfast James was going to be taking them outside of Kuching on a day trip again. He invited Julie and I to come along, which we did.

His full name is James Ritchie. He was born in Panang but settled in Kuching in 1981 after falling in love with Sarawak and it’s people. He’s become a well-known writer in the area, having written more than 20 books, mostly on political and environmental issues pertaining to Sarawak. When he first arrived, he joined with the local paper as a journalist and worked his way up the ladder, eventually making it to the top as Editor. For reasons which aren’t completely clear, James then left the newspaper but remained on salary as an advisor- leaving him with ample time on his hands. It seems he has filled that time by getting to know the people of Sarawak. Walking around Kuching, you realize that he knows everyone, and everyone knows him. When you go outside of Kuching, little changes. James has an enthusiasm for Borneo—Sarawak especially—that is intoxicating. He loves his country. There is no better way to be shown a place than by one who loves it.

And so it was on this day, after breakfast, that James first brought the four of us—Julie, Myles, Agnes, and myself—to Assum in his beat-up but trusty Toyota station wagon. We only stayed a short while—one stop of many on that whirlwind of a day—but in that time we each caught a glimpse of something we wanted to see more of. We saw rubber being made. The sap had been drained from trees that morning, after which it had been placed in large pans, a catalyst added, and left to dry. Upon hardening it was rolled – much like dough – on a flat surface and then hand-cranked through machines to further flatten and thin the rubber. We also tried betel nut, offered to us by an old woman we met on a trail who thought she was around 80 years old, but couldn’t say for certain. The betel nut – wrapped in a leaf from a vine and garnished with fresh tobacco and lyme – had caused our mouths to become numb and our saliva to turn deep, blood red. And of course, we had met Nau and his family. There we had been offered rice moonshine (“the real stuff”, James had said) and been shown a sword that Nau had made by grinding the carbon steel thousands of times across a large stone in the backyard. Just one of many he has made in such fashion.

A man from Assum pours rubber into troughs for processing.

Rolling out Latex matts with an old press.

An old woman from Assum prepares Bettle Nut for Julie and Myles.

Julie’s spit matches her orange shorts, colored from Bettle Nut.

Kai with one of Nau’s swords as we sit with his family

The rest of that day had been a whirlwind, with James whipping us from one location to the next, most stops requiring us to down at least another shot of moonshine or rice wine. Back in Kuching that evening, James took us to the Sarawak Club, of which he is a member. There – after downing more alcohol – James treated us to three karaoke performances, including a rendition of Sinatra’s_I’ve got You Under My Skin_. He was surprisingly good. After karaoke we had dinner at a restaurant near his house where, mercifully, we switched from hard liquor to beer. Upon completing dinner we headed for a barbecue at another friend’s house. There, downing my umpteenth shot of moonshine, the night grew hazy. The next morning was hazy as well, though memories of the hangover that ensued are not. I made it out of bed by 11am. Myles faired a bit worse and didn’t make it up until late that afternoon. Julie and Agnes, being women, had both escaped without hangovers. Men here are expected to drink when it is offered, women have the option.

James mid-Karaoke performance.

The following day we spoke with James on the phone and he said he wanted to stop by for some coffee. We said yes with some trepidation. Myles and I, having finally recovered from our hangovers, weren’t ready to ensue another day of drinking if we had to make the rounds with James again. Fortunately, James had other plans. He had picked up on our interest in Assum, and had come up with a plan for the four of us to return there and stay with Nau and his family for a few nights. “A bit of an experiment”, he said. We would each pay Nau’s family RM10 per night to stay in their house. Once in Assum, we could hire a guide to take us to other villages deeper in the highlands.

Myles and Agnes had planned on heading out on their bikes towards Sabah in the next few days; Julie and I were working on plans to head to Semporna to go diving at Pulau Sipadan. Yet the possibility of such an experience was appealing. In this day and age of travel it can be downright impossible to find genuine experiences. Often times travelers are treated as nothing more than dollar signs with legs and it’s hard to tell when kindness directed towards you is out of sincerity. Even in Borneo, in the so-called “Longhouse” visits, the families, having become used to travelers, merely don costumes for visitors and then put back on regular clothes after having collected their fee.

James told us to mull it over and to give him a call if the visit interested us. We phoned him later that afternoon.

Three Days in the Borneo Highlands

The four of us spent the next day getting organized for the trip, which was to take place the following day. The Borneo B&B agreed to let us leave a good amount of stuff with them so as to lighten our packs. We each packed as little as possible, knowing the extreme heat and narrow footpaths would be challenging. We purchased some fresh, Sarawak coffee and divided it into small bags; gifts that we could present as we entered villages and met people along the trails.

The following day James picked us up bright and early and, after a quick breakfast, we piled into his station wagon and headed off. Before dropping us in the highlands, James wanted to take us by the Semenggoh Wildlife Rehabilitation Center so we could see the orangutans during feeding hour. The Center provides a refuge place for orphaned orang-utans. One such orangutan is named Ritchie, and this is no coincidence. When Ritchie was young, he had been orphaned from his mother and trapped by an Indonesian man who had him in a cage and was attempting to sell him near the border of Kalimantan- an illegal activity. James discovered Ritchie by chance—or perhaps he found him too—and paid the man to give Ritchie up. He took Ritchie to the rehabilitation center, where he was given the name Ritchie in honor of James. Ritchie is now the alpha male. He weighs well over 100 kilos and has a thick crown around his face that is developed by the release of a hormone when a male becomes the alpha. Ritchie rarely makes appearances and, regrettably, we did not see him this day. But seeing the other orang-utans, mostly the mothers and babies, was enjoyable.

Mamma and baby Orangutans

Shortly after 11am James dropped Myles, Agnes, Julie, and myself in Kumbug, the one kampung with road access. He walked us to the edge of the town, wished us luck, and from there we parted ways. From Kumbug we set out on a narrow footpath that tightly followed a creek. We had come this way on our first trip to Assum, nevertheless, a small boy, perhaps 10 years of age, showed us the way. 45 minutes later, all of us drenched in sweat, we made it to the village of Assum.

Nau’s House

Nau: Head ouf house, father, grandfather, and our guide.

Nau is the head of his house. He lives there with his wife Nyok, his son (who works long hours at the fancy Highlands Resort), his daughter-in-law Marion, and multiple grandchildren. The children attend school back in Kumbug where they stay for the week away from their families, even children as young as six. As such, only two of the children were home: the youngest grandson Mick Miller of 8 months and the three-year old grandaughter who somehow, over the course of three days, we never managed to get the name of.

When James had accompanies us to Assum on our first visit, he had acted as a translator. Now, communication was more difficult. Marion speaks a small amount of english, and through her we communicated our thanks to the rest of the family for their hospitality and presented them with some coffee as a gift, which seemed to be accepted well. We spent an hour playing with the children, who though shy, acted as good ice breakers in getting to know the family.

Once we had cooled down a bit, Nau offered to take us to a waterfall not far from their home. With the heat, a cool waterfall sounded amazing. Nau strapped a home-made knife around his waist, donned a worn-out pair of Bintang plastic soccer cleats, and set off with us close behind. Twenty minutes later—the four of us again drenched in sweat and Nau not having sweated a drop—we arrived at the waterfall. It descended well upwards of a hundred feet, the water shimmering in the sunlight as it fell. At the base of the waterfall lie a small pool which slowly formed back into a steady stream that continued downwards, back towards Assum. At the sight of this I quickly removed my shirt, threw on a pair of swim trunks, and headed in. Julie, Myles, and Agnes weren’t far behind. Nau just sat on a rock, watching us with an amused smile.

When we returned to house later in the afternoon, Marion had prepared a meal for us. It consisted of fresh bamboo shoots—a staple in their diet—wild boar, steamed tapioca leaves, and white rice. The meal was served in a large room vacant of any furniture, cooler than the rest of the house due to its cement flooring. As is typical in this part of the world, dinner was served on the floor.

A delicious dinner served in the typical village fashion, on the floor.

Around dusk, Nau stepped into the backyard and fired up an old generator, which provided electricity to the house. Electricity is not used during the day, only at night for a few hours as occasion calls for; the gas to run the generator is costly and difficult to transport. Nyok brought out two large mattresses, which were to be our beds that night, and placed them in the family room.

With the electricity, came television. The grandchildren, along with several elderly women who had appeared from the village along with the rest of the family, were watching a DVD on a surprisingly new television. The DVD was a collection of recent pop videos, all of which could be characterized as young, previously middle-class but now exceedingly rich, barely clothed white girls rolling around in bed with pouty faces lip-synching about the hardships of their life. Once they were done pouting they would angrily rip the sheets of their bed, and generally go about tearing apart the room in some sort of rage which they otherwise didn’t know where to direct. The elderly women, especially, seemed to get a kick out of this.

Shortly after 9pm, Marion asked us to get ready for bed so that Nau could shut off the generator. During the course of the evening our mattresses had been moved from the large family room into a smaller, private room with a door. We later learned most guests are invited to sleep on the floor. More honored guests are given a mattress and, if available, a private room to sleep in. This was a way of them communicating respect.

Sapit

The following morning we rose early, awakened by the sounds of children running throughout the house. No matter where you are in the world, somethings never change—running children at early hours is one of them.

The night before we had informed Marion that we wished to hire a guide to take us to some of the other kampungs in the area, with the possibility of staying in one overnight. Over breakfast, Marion informed us that Nau wished to be our guide. She suggested we leave our belongings with them, assuring us we would be able to make it to some of the outer kampungs and return to their house before nightfall. We could then stay with them for another night. This sounded somewhat better than hauling our packs up steep trails in the heat, so we agreed.

Shortly before 9am we set off, with Nau leading the way. Our destination was Kampung Sapit, which sits high up in the mountains near the Indonesian border. To get to Sapit we also would pass through Kampung Parang. At one point in time, Assum, Parang, and Sapit had all been part of one settlement called Kakas. In 1880, Sapit split off from Kakas due to limited space in the area. Kumbug, the town James had dropped us in, also split off from Kakas. Kumbug eventually became Tabas. In 1973, Tabas further split into two villages in a dispute over whether to become Christian or remain animist/pagan. Assum became Christian and Parang remained pagan (though eventually Parang also became Christian). In essence, all of the villages in this area were once a single community, and even today they are still closely related.

The trail leading to Sapit was steep and long, winding it’s way up the mountains. Bamboo suspension bridges, tied together with wild boar hair, granted passage over streams. Occasionally we would pass other locals, most carrying giant baskets on their head. The baskets were made of bamboo and rattan and had a long woven strap attached. The strap was placed over the bearers forehead as a means of supporting the weight on their back. The villagers walking down the trail typically carried full baskets of fresh ginger or pepper, likely to sell in Kumbug. The villagers walking back up the trail often had empty baskets, though some were filled with new packs of instant mee goreng or other such food.

Crossing a bamboo suspension bridge

After two hours of climbing, we reached Sapit, which is tucked between two high ridges, lending credit to the kampung’s name, which literally means “very narrow piece of land”. Sapit is comprised of perhaps 30 homes. Each home is built of bare hardwood and elevated several feet off the ground by stilts. Most homes have large, bamboo decks and tin roofs. As Nau led us through the village, a barrage of children peaked their heads out from behind houses and inside doorways. Anytime we made eye contact with them, they would run from view.

Looking down at Kampung Sapit

Nau brought us up a bamboo ladder and onto the porch of one family he apparently knew. He made introductions and the family greeted us, though with some hesitancy. I’m sure we were not the first white people they had seen, but it’s unlikely they often receive four, sweaty foreigners at their door. We dropped our bags on the bamboo porch, found some shade, and sat down to try and introduce ourselves further. Nau speaks no english, and only the father of the family spoke limited english so communication was awkward and halted. After a few minutes of this, we presented the family with some of the coffee we had brought as a gift. Instantly, their demeanor towards us changed. Conversation was still difficult, but the mother ran in the house to make tea and serve some crackers we had also brought along.

Every time I turned my head to look out at the village, I would see a dozen pair of young, bright eyes peaking out at me. Finally, I got up and tried to investigate. As I approached, all the children scattered. Several seconds later, eyes would be peaking at me again. Approaching further, they would again disappear. It started to become like a game, and after 10 minutes of this, the kids started warming up to me. They still would scatter every time I approached, but now they would shriek with laughter as they did so. Most of the kids were centered in one particular house, which I approached. I switched my digital camera on to display mode and set it on the ledge of one of the windows. Inside I could hear giggling, and within a few seconds, three or four heads appeared, necks straining as they tried to get a better look at the image on the LCD display. I took the opportunity to snap a quick picture of the heads, and then placed the camera back on the ledge. When the kids saw the picture of themselves on the camera’s LCD, they erupted in laughter. Soon, each kid wanted his or her picture taken, so they could see themselves on the LCD. I happily obliged.

Curious eyes peek out from a house in Sapit

After a while I returned to the porch that Nau, Myles, Agnes, Julie, and the family were seated on. In my absence, the topic of Indonesia had been brought up; apparently, the border was only five minutes away. After mingling with the family a while longer, we said our goodbyes, and the father pointed us in the direction of the border. A few minutes later, we found ourselves standing in Indonesia. Myles took a small, overgrown path that led from the main path and found a border marker covered in weeds. Why, we as humans feel we must create artificial lines and organize thoughts and people into neat little boxes, I’ll never understand. Nevertheless, here we were at the convergence of two countries. We cleared the border marker and took turns snapping photos of ourselves—one leg in each country. Frivolous, to say the least, but there is something fun about entering a country on foot illegally, even if it is only for a few minutes.

Kai at the border of Indonesia and Malaysia

After our journey into Indonesia, we headed off down the trail leading back to Assum. Going down was a lot easier than going up, but as the day had grown only hotter, the four of us were were drenched in sweat. Nau, of course, still had not sweated a drop. He walked about cheerfully in his plastic soccer shoes, incessantly searching for Durian fruit high up in the tree tops.

An hour or so later, as the trail leveled out, we neared Kampung Parang. We stopped on the ouskirts of town and cooled ourselves in a clear, running stream. Refreshed, we entered the kampung. As we walked through, we saw fresh pepper drying on a bamboo mat on the porch of a house. We stopped to take a look. An old woman was crouching in the doorway of the house, removing fresh peppercorns from the stalk. She let us give it a try, and then let us taste some of the fresh pepper.

Woman stripping peppercorns from its stalk in Parang

Nau led us through Parang, stopping occasionally to chat with people he knew. We got lot’s of curious stares and friendly smiles. Before long, we found ourselves back on the trail and back in Assum by early afternoon. Once again, Marion had a wonderful meal waiting for us.

After lunch, tired from our walk and sated from our lunch, we were happy to just sit and absorb all that was around us: Children running through the house playing; puppies, which had suddenly emerged, clumsily following after; Marion smiling contently as she went about her afternoon chores. Even Nau had dozed off for a little nap. In Assum, they surely face their share of problems and difficulties, but sitting on the cool floor at the moment it felt like a small patch of paradise. This family was perfectly alive and living decidedly in the moment; happy to be in this unique meeting of time and space. This is where they were born, this is where they lived, this is where they would die. Whether this was by choice or not really didn’t matter, for this is the way it was, and is, and questioning such things only serves to complicate that which, if accepted, can be so deliciously simple. It was beautiful and forced me to face my own realization that, for all my wandering, I still have not found a home.

Nau’s granddaughter and Julie’s favorite fluffy puppy which we named Bear

On the back porch, Nyok was keeping herself busy chopping something. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be fresh tobacco. This was the freshest tobacco I’d ever seen, still very sticky and green. She was cutting the tobacco—actually, chiffonade, as it was cut so fine—with a bamboo knife. We learned that bamboo can actually have a sharper edge than steel, the problem is that bamboo doesn’t hold an edge long. To overcome this problem, Nyok rotated to a different piece of bamboo roughly every 10 minutes, insuring that the tobacco was cut with a fresh, sharp edge. After she had rotated through all of the bamboo knives, she would re-carve each one, reestablishing their sharpness, and then resume cutting the tobacco. Julie, no slouch in the kitchen, tried cutting the tobacco with the bamboo but couldn’t cut it nearly thin enough. Nyok just smiled. She cut the tobacco so fast her hand that held the knife just became a blur.

Nyok chopping fresh tobacco leaves

Bamboo is used as a knife.

Faced with such an abundance of fresh tobacco, I was keen to give it a try. Cigarretes are not my thing, but this was as fresh and pure tobacco as you’ll ever get. They don’t smoke the tobacco in cigarettes, but rather through a water bong made from bamboo. Will, a local rubber-maker who had shown up at Nau’s house, happily showed me how it was done.

Will demonstrating the finer points of using a bamboo bong to Kai

As night fell Marion served us with yet another amazing meal. Marion’s husband, who works at the Borneo Highlands Resort, was home this evening. The previous day it had rained hard in the afternoon, washing out the trail between Assum and the resort. As such, he hadn’t been able to make it home.

After dinner, more and more people from Assum began showing up at Nau’s house. Before long, we realized an informal party was taking place. The mix of people was simply wonderful: Old women, young men, lot’s of children. We even saw the old woman who thought she was 80 who had given Julie and Myles betel nut during our first visit to Assum.

Will, resident rubber maker and fine demonstrator of the water bong, coaxed us to go listen to his band play. In a common building two doors down from Nau’s house, closer to the river, another generator was running. Inside the building was a small stage with a set of drums, two electric guitars, an electric bass guitar, a single microphone, and several amps. The drummer was 16 years old, the singer 40, and the rest of the bandmates somewhere in between. The drummer was pretty good, the rest of the band was pretty loose and just seemed to be trying to keep up. Will, at least a bottle deep in moonshine, was on lead guitar. Most of the people from Nau’s house—perhaps 20 in all—had stepped in to listen to the band play. The room was small and the amps were turned up high. It was hard to make out a lot of the songs, but everyone, even the old women, seemed to be having a good time. Shortly after 9pm the show was done; the generators needed to be shut down.

Rock concert in Assum

Goodbye

The following morning we were up early with the children again. We were scheduled to leave and needed to make it back to Kambug by 11am when the only bus of the day made it’s pickups. We slowly gathered our things. Marion told us her daughter was sad that were leaving; she had been very shy when we first arrived but had warmed considerably over the past three days- especially towards Myles who is fantastic with kids. We presented Nau with an envelope that contained some money, which covered the per night expenses, the guiding fee, plus a little extra. James had told us to present the money in an envelope as a gift, as is customary, and not a payment.

Not wanting to postpone the inevitable, we bade goodbye to the family shortly before 10am. They all stood on the front porch, waving to us as we heaved our packs on our shoulders and set off down the trail. Nau hadn’t spoken any english during our visit, but as we walked away we heard several faint, awkward goodbyes. We looked back and waved one last time.

As is to be expected, the bus from Kumbug was full. The driver told us to wait, and that at roughly 1pm another bus would arrive due to extra need. We sat in the shade of the general store playing cards; the one we had sat and had beer with James at when he first brought us to Assum. Before long, a man with his wife and young kid got into a Toyota pick-up with a canopy shell on the back. We asked him if he was heading to Kuching, which he was. We asked if we could pay him the equivalent bus fee in exchange for a ride in the back of his truck. He agreed. We piled into the back of the pickup, he fired up the engine, and pointed the truck up the steep windy road that led up and out of the highlands. The Borneo highlands. We each sat for a few minutes, watching the Kumbug drop away from view as we made it up and over the first hill. The green vegetation, clinging to the mountains further on the horizon, grew more indistinct with each passing bump in the road.

Road out of Kumbug and the Borneo highlands in the distance

***

A word of thanks…

Regrettably, we didn’t get to see James Ritchie again before we left Kuching. As such, we’d like to take a quick opportunity to thank him here for introducing us to a world we’ll never forget.

We’d also like thank Myles and Agnes, who were fantastic traveling partners on our trip ( Go Canadia! ). Be sure to check out their blog and keep up with their trip as they peddle themselves through Southeast Asia. (Julie is fond of their image of a pit viper that did’t exist in Bako National Park)

A word of apologies…

At over 5,000 words, this is by far our longest entry to date. We tried as hard to condense the content and keep it interesting, but it proved difficult as so much happened. If reading long stories on a computer monitor is tough for you, don’t forget you can print these stories and read them from the comfort of your favorite chair or couch. Just print as usual from the File menu, and the page will automatically be formatted for your printer.

Thanks for reading. As always we love hearing your questions and feedback, so comment away!

Comments

Comments are turned off for this article.