jungle love
Yesterday I rode back down the Ulu Skrang river, 2 hours by longboat, to a bus stop in the middle of nowhere, to catch a bus that took four hours to bring me back into Kuching. Last night I spent here in town, as I will again this evening. Today I saw orungatans and the largest flower in the world, which, it turns out, is not really a flower, but actually a form of fungus. Tomorrow I'll be heading to a coastal national park for a few days of hiking and camping on the beach. My life is pain.
I'm in Sarawak, East Malaysia right now, on the island of Borneo. I arrived on Friday night, and when I got to my hotel heard that a trip was leaving the next day for an Iban ghost festival.
(explanation:
the Iban are the indigeneous people in Kalimantan, sharing the island with other ethnic groups like the Dayak. The iban used to be headhunters. Also on the island, mostly the coast, are Malays and Chinese ethnicities.
the ghost festival is a big ass party that happens every 25 years to honor the ancestors of the iban people and insure a prosperous future
the main characters:
Me
Leander: a German guy making his way home from here overland, with whom I've got on well
Ernst: a Swiss fellow travelling the world for tattoos . . . picture pre-Roman Germanic tribes coupled with a childlike demeanour, little English, lots of hand gestures and a desire to discuss almost nothing but tattoos
minor characters:
Abba (our guide)
dutch couple
danish girls)
7am we (the above characters) leave Kucing, 4 hours by car to Abba's longhouse southeast of kucing. we arrive and walk from his longhouse to the party, talking place across the river at another longhouse in the village. we cross a shaky suspension bridge over a muddy river apparently full of crocs. music and shouts pour out from house. we walk in and are greeted with cheers. then comes the food. chicken and pork, rice and vegetables, over and over and over (yes, I've forsaken vegetarianism for the time being . . . when in Rome . . .). I stuffed myself, and with good reason: after the meal came the alcohol. whiskey, vodka, tuak (rice wine). Massive quantities, and an inability to refuse are seldom a good combination. this goes on for several hours. By 4pm I'm feeling quite hammered. At this point they unveil the food and drinks that need to be eaten to appease their ancestors. bottles of whiskey, gallons of vodka, truckloads of beer. We need to finish this tonight. more drink . . . Down to the river to take a break, back to Abba's house for a swim and a rest, then back to the party. . .more food. more drink. more food. more drink. dancing, processions, more drink. food. drink. dance. drink food. drinkfooddancedrinkdrinkdancefood. and the stumble home on the already shaky suspension bridge. out like a light. it's only midnight, but I've been drunk since 2pm. ouch . . .
the next day it's up the skrang river (the next river system over) on a two hour boat trip and we spend two nights at an older longhouse, farmers and hunters for the most part, are kind enough to welcome us in. only ernst, leander and I stay for both night, everyone else goes home after one night. we trek through the jungle, roast a chicken on a spit over an open fire . . . all in all it's been pretty fantastic. tomorrow I head to baku national park with Leander for a few days of hiking and nights on the beach. . . back to sing on monday and thailand on tuesday. . .