Continuing on the subject of beliefs from the last post about the longhouse, the orang asli village is about ninety percent Christian - unlike the predominantly Muslim mainland - but this is intermingled with animist beliefs. Not being a religious person myself i am dubious enough about the credibility of major religions let alone belief in spirits but our host told us the story of why he believed in the spirits and although i'm not convinced by it, it is worth recounting.
During the 1990s he had witnessed some of the decapitations that occurred on buses in Bali on his way home. Understandably this lead to acute insomnia that lasted eight months but stopped the night after he visited a place that he was advised the spirits frequented. Once there he underwent tests, so to speak, from the spirits. He claims to have been bitten hundreds of times by mosquitoes and stood still as a python climbed up his body before licking up his throat. Having endured this he followed a small child to a hut where he slept and from that night on he slept in peace.
I understand that this sounds far-fetched. But this man believed every word he said and i believe that he believed that this was what happened and that the forces at work helped him overcome a very difficult period in his life, and that shouldn't be so easily dismissed for it is this sort of experience on which faith is built upon.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
life in a Bornean longhouse
Something i found surprising about the Annah Rais longhouse was the fact that there were even more cats here than Kuching, a place called "Cat" in bhasa Malaysia. Before i go on to tell you about the longhouse's customs i should probably point out that, despite the name, a longhouse is not a single house. In fact it is a series of regular size houses - generally made of bamboo and/or wood - which all sit on top of a raised platform also made of bamboo.
The day traditionally starts by everyone going out onto the pathway outside their house and smoking with what looks a lot like a bong, the smoke is piped through the water before being inhaled. Everyone goes and joins their friends for a smoke and it is a very sociable way to start the day - an alternative to meeting for brunch i suppose. The bamboo floors seem to be not perfectly constructed as there are little gaps between each shoot but this is part of the design so not only do you have somewhere to stick your bong pipe but it keeps the place clean. This works by waiting for any dirt to dry as it will then simply fall through to the forest floor below.
Having walked around the village we were told that it took a week to do a round trip to Kuching a hundred years ago, a trip that took us an hour and a half the day before. Then we were taken to the equivalent of the village hall where they kept the skulls that remained from their head hunting days which were just over a hundred years ago. Oh, sorry. Did i not mention that they used to be head hunters? It must have slipped my mind. Well that's all done now and to prove it they have exchanged peace trees with the neighbouring tribe. It struck me as strange that if a particular insect was heard from the forest - which it was the day before - then it meant that someone in the village would die in the coming days but the fact that their peace tree was clearly dying signified nothing. That would strike me as a bad omen but, you know, each to their own.
The hall itself was simple but it was interesting to hear stories of how young men had to stay in here as part of the passage to manhood and somewhat disturbing to find out that they used to have over a hundred heads here. Firstly disturbing to think of that many decapitated people but it was mainly the reason why there are only about ten left that was strange; they had been broken whilst being played with. Yes that's right played with. And the only reason they said that they couldn't now was because otherwise they would run out of skulls to show visitors. This lack of reverence for the dead seems even stranger in retrospect given something we found out about other orang asli tribe's methods of dealing with the dead, but that is another story, one i will tell another time.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
The day traditionally starts by everyone going out onto the pathway outside their house and smoking with what looks a lot like a bong, the smoke is piped through the water before being inhaled. Everyone goes and joins their friends for a smoke and it is a very sociable way to start the day - an alternative to meeting for brunch i suppose. The bamboo floors seem to be not perfectly constructed as there are little gaps between each shoot but this is part of the design so not only do you have somewhere to stick your bong pipe but it keeps the place clean. This works by waiting for any dirt to dry as it will then simply fall through to the forest floor below.
Having walked around the village we were told that it took a week to do a round trip to Kuching a hundred years ago, a trip that took us an hour and a half the day before. Then we were taken to the equivalent of the village hall where they kept the skulls that remained from their head hunting days which were just over a hundred years ago. Oh, sorry. Did i not mention that they used to be head hunters? It must have slipped my mind. Well that's all done now and to prove it they have exchanged peace trees with the neighbouring tribe. It struck me as strange that if a particular insect was heard from the forest - which it was the day before - then it meant that someone in the village would die in the coming days but the fact that their peace tree was clearly dying signified nothing. That would strike me as a bad omen but, you know, each to their own.
The hall itself was simple but it was interesting to hear stories of how young men had to stay in here as part of the passage to manhood and somewhat disturbing to find out that they used to have over a hundred heads here. Firstly disturbing to think of that many decapitated people but it was mainly the reason why there are only about ten left that was strange; they had been broken whilst being played with. Yes that's right played with. And the only reason they said that they couldn't now was because otherwise they would run out of skulls to show visitors. This lack of reverence for the dead seems even stranger in retrospect given something we found out about other orang asli tribe's methods of dealing with the dead, but that is another story, one i will tell another time.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
waterfalls in Borneo
After a few days of side trips from Kuching we headed deeper into Borneo to stay in a longhouse with the orang asli - the indigenous people here - for a few days. We were greeted with a shot of rice brandy...at nine in the morning. If we were still teetering on the edge of sleep - having woken up early to get there - we weren't anymore.
The plan for the day was for a couple of guides to take us on a walk to a waterfall about an hour away (retrospectively we wondered on what transport). Oh, it's an hour for the guides, maybe it will take you two if you stop a lot to take plenty of pictures. Stop a lot, we did not (no rhyme intended). Take a lot of photos...although it was an amazing walk, better even than Bako, due to the fact that ten inch caterpillars and leeches found us whenever we tried to stop so we did not. Walk at break-neck speed up, and it was always up, for three hours, we did. But wait. That's not a waterfall. That's a road. We could have driven this far!? "Okay, now we're halfway." Halfway!? what on earth happened to an hour if you didn't take pictures!? Sure we stopped for a couple of minutes to take pictures of the insect-eating pitcher plants but that was a couple of minutes no a couple of hours!
Fortunately halfway was a bad estimate. We arrived at the waterfall what seemed like a quarter of an hour later. In reality it took an hour but being able to walk on a flat and dryish path made the time feel negligible compared to our uphill drag across bamboo bridges - one at a time please or we'll roll back to the bottom - slipping back a few inches each time you took a step. But even if we had been walking for ten hours the waterfall would have been worth it. The cool water refreshed our hot sticky skin (my t-shirt as a matter of interest took 48 hours to not quite dry afterwards). The waterfall was layered so it was possible to climb up the rocks to another couple of levels and at the top one, across a pool, the full force of the waterfall could be felt. Finally i understood the herbal essences adverts.
After cooling off and climbing the rocks a bit more we settled down to the bamboo chicken soup that our guides had prepared for us whilst we played in the water and we started contemplating our route home. Down the way we had just come up, back across the bamboo bridges (bridges might be an overstatement, try three shots of bamboo tied together with, sometimes, another as a handrail), back past the leeches, back on the slippery path or on the hilly road which was dry and firm and easy for walking. The shadeless road was unanimously chosen. Shirts were taken off. Shoes were taken off. And we walked up and down the Bornean hills back to the village surrounded by panoramas of the jungle. Lovely.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
The plan for the day was for a couple of guides to take us on a walk to a waterfall about an hour away (retrospectively we wondered on what transport). Oh, it's an hour for the guides, maybe it will take you two if you stop a lot to take plenty of pictures. Stop a lot, we did not (no rhyme intended). Take a lot of photos...although it was an amazing walk, better even than Bako, due to the fact that ten inch caterpillars and leeches found us whenever we tried to stop so we did not. Walk at break-neck speed up, and it was always up, for three hours, we did. But wait. That's not a waterfall. That's a road. We could have driven this far!? "Okay, now we're halfway." Halfway!? what on earth happened to an hour if you didn't take pictures!? Sure we stopped for a couple of minutes to take pictures of the insect-eating pitcher plants but that was a couple of minutes no a couple of hours!
Fortunately halfway was a bad estimate. We arrived at the waterfall what seemed like a quarter of an hour later. In reality it took an hour but being able to walk on a flat and dryish path made the time feel negligible compared to our uphill drag across bamboo bridges - one at a time please or we'll roll back to the bottom - slipping back a few inches each time you took a step. But even if we had been walking for ten hours the waterfall would have been worth it. The cool water refreshed our hot sticky skin (my t-shirt as a matter of interest took 48 hours to not quite dry afterwards). The waterfall was layered so it was possible to climb up the rocks to another couple of levels and at the top one, across a pool, the full force of the waterfall could be felt. Finally i understood the herbal essences adverts.
After cooling off and climbing the rocks a bit more we settled down to the bamboo chicken soup that our guides had prepared for us whilst we played in the water and we started contemplating our route home. Down the way we had just come up, back across the bamboo bridges (bridges might be an overstatement, try three shots of bamboo tied together with, sometimes, another as a handrail), back past the leeches, back on the slippery path or on the hilly road which was dry and firm and easy for walking. The shadeless road was unanimously chosen. Shirts were taken off. Shoes were taken off. And we walked up and down the Bornean hills back to the village surrounded by panoramas of the jungle. Lovely.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
Bako National Park with Proboscis monkeys
The day after Semenggoh and the caves we journeyed to Bako National Park (which, as i'm sure you've noticed, has the unfortunate acronym BNP). Because it is on an island we had to take a boat from mainland Borneo. Although extra travel time may seem like an inconvenience, especially given our hostel's positioning right on the Kuching waterfront with antique shops lining our street, the boat trip was one of the highlights of the day. That is not to say that Bako was not amazing, but there is only so much one can take in trekking through dense rainforest. The boat on the other hand, offered a speed (and a breeze) that was conducive to leisurely appreciating the magnificent scenery that went by. We pulled out of the jetty, passed old fishing boats and house on stilts that lined the mouth of the river and before long we were cutting along the coastline. Most of the land was untamed and as a consequence was densely populated by foliage. We streaked past islands of trees and jutting cliffs, our imaginations allowed to run riot on what fauna might exist there.
We docked at a jetty which was positioned next to a skeletal clump of dead trees, knee deep in water. One of Borneo's most famous - and peculiar looking - animals is the proboscis monkey. If you don't know what one looks like have a quick Google search. Right, see what i mean now? That is one strange nose; in fact it was originally called the Netherlands man monkey after the Dutch settlers. Now i've been to the Netherlands and travelled with a Dutch firl...let's just say Dutch people don't look like that. If you don't believe me it might be time to use that Google search again. Now that that is all cleared up, suffice to say: we saw some, which apparently was rather lucky, so that's nice.
But before we were to see a group of four of these strange monkeys from up close and with a direct line of sight we trekked up through forest along paths that were so inundated with roots they looked as if the roots were trickles of water, separately running down from the top of the island just to get a flash of proboscis through the trees. It was a combination of these roots and something which seemed like moss but, when trod on, compressed about two inches that broke my sandals. Luckily we had already reached the plateau on top of the island and descended past otherworldly purple rocks to a lovely beach where we paddled in water as warm as a bath and started our return to the jetty before it happened so there wasn't too much climbing left to do.
Usually when walking with roots underfoot you need to keep at least one eye on the ground. With your heel sliding every which way at the back of a sandal, then, you would be forgiven for concentrating entirely on your route and it would be very easy to miss the poisonous snakes asleep on branches and a massive spider in its correspondingly massive web overhead but these delights were pointed out to me. Nothing like fear of death to put fear of twisted ankle out of mind. Fortunately neither materialised and all that was left to do was get the boat back past some impressive sea stacks.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
We docked at a jetty which was positioned next to a skeletal clump of dead trees, knee deep in water. One of Borneo's most famous - and peculiar looking - animals is the proboscis monkey. If you don't know what one looks like have a quick Google search. Right, see what i mean now? That is one strange nose; in fact it was originally called the Netherlands man monkey after the Dutch settlers. Now i've been to the Netherlands and travelled with a Dutch firl...let's just say Dutch people don't look like that. If you don't believe me it might be time to use that Google search again. Now that that is all cleared up, suffice to say: we saw some, which apparently was rather lucky, so that's nice.
But before we were to see a group of four of these strange monkeys from up close and with a direct line of sight we trekked up through forest along paths that were so inundated with roots they looked as if the roots were trickles of water, separately running down from the top of the island just to get a flash of proboscis through the trees. It was a combination of these roots and something which seemed like moss but, when trod on, compressed about two inches that broke my sandals. Luckily we had already reached the plateau on top of the island and descended past otherworldly purple rocks to a lovely beach where we paddled in water as warm as a bath and started our return to the jetty before it happened so there wasn't too much climbing left to do.
Usually when walking with roots underfoot you need to keep at least one eye on the ground. With your heel sliding every which way at the back of a sandal, then, you would be forgiven for concentrating entirely on your route and it would be very easy to miss the poisonous snakes asleep on branches and a massive spider in its correspondingly massive web overhead but these delights were pointed out to me. Nothing like fear of death to put fear of twisted ankle out of mind. Fortunately neither materialised and all that was left to do was get the boat back past some impressive sea stacks.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
Bornean caves
Although the Wind Cave would later buck the trend, the fairy cave continued on from Baku's lead by positioning itself high up and thus many stairs up. Since the years of Chinese gold mining a new staircase has been built but some of the old one remains. This looked slightly magical as it was not connected to the rock-face at any point other than the base and the summit. The stairs were constructed by laying a long piece of wood against the wall and building steps with concrete on that before stripping away the wood once the cement had set. Having no railings - health and safet...what? - and seemingly supported by faith alone the stairs really did have an air of magic about them.
Once in the cave the climbing continued, much to the despair of my sweat-sodden shirt; although in my defense the term 'Borneo's sweaty interior' seems not only to refer to those who travel it but the rainforest itself which seems to perspire the mist that undulatingly rolls through it. Sweating up the elvish tracks which would around boulders and sparse vegetation it felt like you might encounter Tolkien's Moria. It would not shock me to learn that Tolkien journeyed here and drew inspiration from the place.
Only once you had climbed towards the stalactites, picking your way through the stalagmites could you admire the true beauty of the cave chamber. The meandering stairs you had just climbed seemed to disappear into an abyss and there was a huge opening allowing the Bornean sun to stream in, almost blinding you but for the dense greenery that framed the opening.
Lord of the Rings must have been on my mind or maybe the place just provoked thoughts of it but i would have believed that elves had made this place long ago and since abandoned it to nature, leaving only their paths and a few platforms - one of which, in particular, would have made an excellent station for a throne. However, shocked as i'm sure you'll be, it turned out that it was not elves but the Chinese gold miners who had made and abandoned the site in the 1970's though there is also evidence to suggest that a long time ago people did live here too.
A few kilometres further North is the Wind Cave. This offers the tunnel network ying to the Fairy Cave's grand chamber's yang. There was very little natural light so we rented a torch for our boardwalked stroll along the mercifully flat tunnels. The darkness was far more conducive to bats than in the Fairy Cave so we could hear the chitter chatter of these little echolocators but, unfortunately, not the billowing wind that the cave was named after - though a pleasant breeze remains - as changes in pressure levels mean you can no longer hear the formerly deafening wind.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
Once in the cave the climbing continued, much to the despair of my sweat-sodden shirt; although in my defense the term 'Borneo's sweaty interior' seems not only to refer to those who travel it but the rainforest itself which seems to perspire the mist that undulatingly rolls through it. Sweating up the elvish tracks which would around boulders and sparse vegetation it felt like you might encounter Tolkien's Moria. It would not shock me to learn that Tolkien journeyed here and drew inspiration from the place.
Only once you had climbed towards the stalactites, picking your way through the stalagmites could you admire the true beauty of the cave chamber. The meandering stairs you had just climbed seemed to disappear into an abyss and there was a huge opening allowing the Bornean sun to stream in, almost blinding you but for the dense greenery that framed the opening.
Lord of the Rings must have been on my mind or maybe the place just provoked thoughts of it but i would have believed that elves had made this place long ago and since abandoned it to nature, leaving only their paths and a few platforms - one of which, in particular, would have made an excellent station for a throne. However, shocked as i'm sure you'll be, it turned out that it was not elves but the Chinese gold miners who had made and abandoned the site in the 1970's though there is also evidence to suggest that a long time ago people did live here too.
A few kilometres further North is the Wind Cave. This offers the tunnel network ying to the Fairy Cave's grand chamber's yang. There was very little natural light so we rented a torch for our boardwalked stroll along the mercifully flat tunnels. The darkness was far more conducive to bats than in the Fairy Cave so we could hear the chitter chatter of these little echolocators but, unfortunately, not the billowing wind that the cave was named after - though a pleasant breeze remains - as changes in pressure levels mean you can no longer hear the formerly deafening wind.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
is that an orangutan i see before me?
On our first day in Kuching (which is bhasa malaysia for cat - yes i was excited too) we started with a trip to Semenggoh. Semenggoh is an orangutan sanctuary so all of the orangutans are wild and don't interact with the humans running it; they are just kept an eye on and provided with fruit handouts at feeding platforms - though they rarely go to these during fruit seasons due to their own ability to find their own. As it is only a protected area sightings are not guaranteed so we felt very lucky to see a mother and child pair just before the entrance gate, well. we saw them from there, they spend most of their time in the trees. Given the ease and grace with which they move this isn't hard to believe. At one point the child orangutan was moving along a horizontal vine with just its right foot and right hand in contact whilst it hang down; it was hardly surprising to find out they are seven times stronger than humans of equal weight. The baby slid its foot towards its hand until they touched then let go with its hand and grabbed further along, repeating the action until it caught up with its mother who carried him on her tummy as she climbed somewhat more sensibly. This was the first indicator of the interchangeability of feet and hands. The second was when the same monkey held a bamboo shoot on with side of it with its hands - at a casual twenty five feet above the ground - whilst feeding itself with its feet.
Given the fact that they were wild, the only place you could reliably see these people of the forest was the feeding platforms. After a short walk through the dense rainforest we came to another clearing from where you could see another feeding area, but this time it was occupied by a male. Now the males weight twice as much as the females and this fella was big. With his enormous pile of fruit though, i couldn't help but think of King Louis from the Jungle Book. and with a Disney-esque sense of humour and timing another child orangutan snuck down a bamboo shoot and took some bananas which it ran off with in its foot fingers. Our attention was immediately recalled to the male as we heard a loud bang. A war cry? A threat to this tiny primate? No. Coconut opening time! The large male stripped the outsides with his teeth before thwacking the coconut against the platforms and opening it in just two blows. Now anyone who has ever won a coconut at a coconut shy - or had a dad help at one and get some of the un-won ones afterwards (guilty as charged) - will know how hard coconut shells are. Just another exhibition of the apes' immense strength, just a teensy bit less playfully demonstrated than the child monkey's philosophy on gravity: "Upside down? No Problem. Gravity only chooses which way I fall (if that ever happened) not the direction or the angle that I climb."
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
Given the fact that they were wild, the only place you could reliably see these people of the forest was the feeding platforms. After a short walk through the dense rainforest we came to another clearing from where you could see another feeding area, but this time it was occupied by a male. Now the males weight twice as much as the females and this fella was big. With his enormous pile of fruit though, i couldn't help but think of King Louis from the Jungle Book. and with a Disney-esque sense of humour and timing another child orangutan snuck down a bamboo shoot and took some bananas which it ran off with in its foot fingers. Our attention was immediately recalled to the male as we heard a loud bang. A war cry? A threat to this tiny primate? No. Coconut opening time! The large male stripped the outsides with his teeth before thwacking the coconut against the platforms and opening it in just two blows. Now anyone who has ever won a coconut at a coconut shy - or had a dad help at one and get some of the un-won ones afterwards (guilty as charged) - will know how hard coconut shells are. Just another exhibition of the apes' immense strength, just a teensy bit less playfully demonstrated than the child monkey's philosophy on gravity: "Upside down? No Problem. Gravity only chooses which way I fall (if that ever happened) not the direction or the angle that I climb."
on Singapore
After the cultural shift that was Malaysia Singapore feels strange. It is odd to be in such a Westernised place and although it's impressive that such as young country is so developed (Singapore celebrates its 46th birthday soon) it doesn't really appeal after Malaysia. Things i might enjoy at home seem superficial and frivolous expenditure here, especially given the Western prices. Sure it was nice to have soft pillows, fancy showers with showerheads like suns, air con that actually works and coffee you can drink but Singapore is more of a palate-cleanse than a taste to savour. It is firmly back in the comfort zone with easy meals at Subway and a wooden toast shop (which i must admit was rather exciting and did do good toast). Breathing is markedly easier given lower pollution levels and humidity levels the right side of seventy percent again. I think my preconceptions of a country famous for its ex-pat community and astronomical fines for the possession of chewing gum set me against it from the start. This was not helped by the list of fines outside the underground station: $1000 for smoking; $500 for eating or drinking; a more understandable $5000 for flammable goods; and an understandable, if rather comical, ban of the durian fruit.
Odd bans and high fines aside i'm sure it would be a nice place to live it's just hard for a backpacker to particularly identify with or connect with. I was ready to bemoan the materialistic culture of shopping centres you need a Masters degree to navigate and flower beds that pump music at you as you walk past before i fell prey to it myself in a National Geographic shop though in my defence i spent under $18and bought biodegradable shoes which i plan to use as in Borneo as they will be more leech-proof than my sandals. I will admit it: the shopping is very good, that just isn't what i travel; the variety of cuisine is gargantuan and to a high quality but again it is difficult to accommodate it in a shoestring budget. However, it definitely will serve as a reset button for my travels and was some welcome respite and for that i am grateful.
If you fancy reading non-travel stuff i have a selection of poetry and discussions on gender, identity and eco-graffiti amongst other topics at alexleclez.blogspot.com
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