Category: Borneo 2022

Growing up my parents and all their Hungarian friends referred to New Years eve celebrations as “Sylvester”. I never knew the derivation of the word. It is not a Hungarian word and when I asked my parents they did not know either. At the ripe old age of 65 I again reflected on this mysterious description and in a “lightbulb moment” it came to me. Hungarians are a very Catholic society and I googled St Sylvester, surely there had to be one? Sure enough there was a Pope Sylvester who was canonised as a saint. He died on December 31 and henceforth New Year’s eve is St Sylvester’s day.

Our Sylvester is here in the very orthodox Muslim country Brunei. There is no alcohol served or sold here so it will be a more sober occasion for us. This is a funny little country, literally an enclave within Malaysian Borneo it is a sterile, upmarket society. With a tiny population of less than half a million it is the world’s fifth wealthiest resulting from petrol and gas. The Sultan here has had absolute power since 1984. He wields absolute power and, over recent years, has been moving this country further to Sharia law. He also owns all the mineral resources which nets him a mind boggling $3 billion per month! Our accommodation here is the opulent and grandiose Empire hotel and “she who must be impressed” is suitably impressed.

Driving into the heart of town it is impressive how orderly everything is. Traffic is light and the streets are bereft of people. The capitol Bardar Seri Bandwan, known as BSB is also seemingly a ghost town on a work day. We take a cruise through the fascinating water village before visiting the two main mosques and the museum which is devoted to the life of the sultan, of course. We have a guide who manages to bring the place alive, particularly the museum but in essence that’s all there is to this quaint, quirky country.

The afternoon sees us cruising up the river through mangrove swamps again and we manage some good sightings of proboscis monkeys in the wild.

Happy new year to all of my readers and may 2023 be better than 2022, in fact than the last 3 years.

I awaken at 8am and my mind is immediately drawn to the fact that I should be boarding our next flight from Kota Kinabalu to Brunei, not lazing in bed. My travel arrangements had been drawn up and meticulously planned. The last couple of days has been a procession of cancelled flights and scrambling to readjust. Oh the joys of travel!

Three days ago Malaysian airlines sent an email to say there had been an adjustment to our flight into Kota Kinabalu. Normally these adjustments are a few minutes each way. I was gobsmacked to see that this was a 24 hour delay throwing accommodation and onward flights into disarray. A flurry of online activity secures us an alternative flight with a different airline on the correct day. A small compensation is we are rewarded with window seats and great views of Mt Kinabalu.

Seemingly cursed we now get another email rebooking us from the flight to Brunei supposedly the next day. This little effort is insanely not just for the corresponding flight the next morning but it is the next night at 9pm!!! A flurry of international calls gets us on the morning flights and rearranges the accommodation accordingly.

Never one to miss an opportunity I turn my attention to making use of the extra time in KK. A leisurely boat ride to Manukan Island, part of the Tunku Abdul Raman National park fits the bill. A paddle and a snorkel in the warm clear sea and leisurely alfresco lunch with a few beers ends our time in Malaysia.

“I don’t want to see the proboscis monkeys” opined my life partner. “They’re ugly!” As unique to Borneo as the orangutans the quirky proboscis monkeys in habit the coastal mangroves while the orangutans “rule” the jungle. Sadly both of these species are threatened by habitat destruction as poor Malay farmers fell the local vegetation and plant palm oil crops. The cheap and plentiful palm oil is sold to the west and appears in everything from foods to cosmetics. When we buy these products we are contributing to the demise of these apes.

Labuk bay is a half hour taxi ride away from Sepilok and on a fine, almost sunny morning we head off to visit the proboscis monkey sanctuary. The so called sanctuary is only partly what it claims to be. As we drive past the entrance gates to the feeding platforms we drive through kilometers upon kilometers of palm oil plantation amazingly resilient as it is in a wet swamp land. Walking to the platform we get a chance to appreciate the mangroves, the mud, the tangle of exposed roots, trapdoor crabs and mudskippers flitting across the mud. As we get to a more open area we see our first proboscis monkey a younger male sitting nonchalantly on the railing and unperturbed by our presence. “She who must be obeyed” is immediately entranced.

Over time more and more venture out of the mangrove forest, mature males mothers with infants. When the food arrives they jostle and bicker amongst themselves. The alpha male with the longest and most protruberant nose growls at those who antagonise him. We are immersed in the tableaux and are thoroughly fulfilled.

Hot and sweaty Suzanne decides to join in the outdoor shower action.

The evening is spent on a firefly cruise. We start out in the late afternoon on a motorised longboat cruising the rivers of the mangroves. Starting in a small tributary the river quickly opens up into a boad expanse of muddy brown water. All around is thick mangrove vegetation. We are alone with the hum of the motor and chirping of crickets as our company. We spot macaques and proboscis monkeys high up in the overhanging canopy. Their is a brief stop at sunset island but the dense cloud precudes any sunset views. Finally as the darkness dominates the light we see our first flicker of light, then another and soon the trees look like Christmas trees with the firefly bioluminescence lighting. It is magical and a great end to our day.

The next morning after breakfast we went back to our cabin and I was sitting at the desk on my laptop. A massive loud bone shattering thud on our roof breaks the silence and I look out through the windows across our balcony and come face to face with a 1 metre tall orangutan hanging off the branches. For a few seconds our eyes lock and I am paralysed with amazement. As I recover my senses and look to grab a camera or phone to record the encounter he catapults himself further into the canopy and we are left with the sounds and vision of branches moving under his weight and I am left with the image of his face permanently etched in my memory.

“Just be careful and don’t leave anything outside. The chalet we are giving you is at the edge of the jungle and there is an orangutan living in there who particularly likes that cabin.” These were the opening lines from the pretty Malaysian girl who was checking us into our accommodation at Sepilok. I am hooked immediately and the chalet does not disappoint. It oozes old world charm set in the midst of the jungle. Having said that there was no sign of the “resident” orangutan.

Sepilok is an easy 30 minute drive from Sandakan at the edge of the rainforest. An easy but steamy 10 minute walk from our resort is the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre. In 1963 the Malay government set aside 43 square km of jungle as a reserve and a rehabilitation site for orangutans. Today 80 orangutans live independently in the reserve and 25 orphaned are in the nurseries.

Twice daily there is food left on a platform set back from the tourist walkway to encourage sightings and we are walking through the jungle for this when one is spotted in a nearby tree well away from the platform. For me this unstaged encounter was worth the price of admission and some of my better photos are from here. We were lucky to score a similar encounter on the way back with the orangutan shimmying down a vine and landing on the boardwalk railing before sauntering off.

Right next door is the sun bear sanctuary set up in 2014 again in the jungle to rehabilitate sun bears. These bears are the smallest and unfortunately subject to trapping and being exploited for body parts such as the making of bear’s paw soup. This is a most impressive facility with extensive tree top walkways and lots of these cute fur balls to be seen.

Soggy! That’s the prevailing initial impression of Borneo. The views from our aircraft windows set the scene. Skies are grey and there are multiple islands on the horizon. All is filled with thick vegetation and wide brown rivers course through the landscape like turgid varicuse veins. Standing outside the airport it is a surprisingly pleasant 25C without the stifling humidty that these tropical areas are known for. All around is a riot of lush verdant vegetation. The local buildings ageing prematurely with a patina of black mould.

We have landed in Sandakan at the height of their monsoon season. This place that is a tropical backwater has a dark history. For those in the know the name, Sandakan evokes comparisons with the Thai-Burma railroad, Changi prison and the holocaust sites of Europe. It was here that the Japanese brought 2500 British and Australian prisoners of war to in 1942. The initial purpose was to build an airstrip for Japanese war planes in 1942. As the Japanese began to lose the war and the Allies controlled the seas in Asia, the decision was made to move the surviving POWs inland to a town called Ranau at the base of Mt Kota Kinabalu. Suffering from disease and malnutrition the death rate of the forced march was such that only 6 POWs from Sandakan survived.

Late afternoon sees us at the memorial. Nice well manicured gardens adorn the site of some truly horrific war crimes as evidenced by the accounts of the handful who escaped. Tropical trees and vegetation abound cradling the handful of survinving artifacts and the poignant war memorials. As I wander around I close my eyes and try o visualise the World War 11 atrocities that occurred here. The barbed wire fences, the mud, the wooden cages to put the prisoners in, the torture, the screams and anguish. The malnutrition, suffering and loss of life.

Looking around, eyes open, this is so reminiscent of other WW11 sites I have visited, Kokoda, Changi, Bridge on the River Kwai, Pulau. What strikes me is actually how little of that past is evident. Men have designated these spaces as memorial sites areas to be preserved, free from human development. Paradoxically this approach has led, in the tropics, for nature to dominate and in the process the jungle actually obliterates that which we strive to remember. Looking at it in another way, though, how efficient is nature in healing mankind’s scars?

As a refreshing counterpoint to man’s atrocities we visit the beautiful Buddhist temple, Puu Jih Syh. Set high above Sandakan and the surrounding ocean it is a retreat, a haven for peace. A balm to the soul after the horrors of the Sandakan Death March.

Sandakan harbour

I am propelled into mental gymnastics reexamining Christmases past like a modern day Ebenezer Scrooge from Dickens’ Christmas Carol. My life partner asks, when was the last time we spent Chritmas overseas? As I count back the decades she answers her own question out loud, 1979!

It was our honeymoon, me as a fifth year medical student and she as a 19 year old young woman on a trip to New Zealand. It was the first time overseas for all of us and the first time away from her parents for Suzanne. I remember Christmas day well. We were in Queenstown and Christmas dinner was atop Coronet peak with a romantic gondola ride to get there. I remember the romantic but late crimson sunset and the beautiful woman sitting opposite me. Forty three years on, looking back, how young we were!

Each and every Christmas since has been at home with our children but as importantly with Suzanne’s parents who were our rocks. They were our supports and part of the glue that held our extended family together. Christmas would never be away from them.

Last year we lost Suzannes’ mum, Margaret, after a prolonged illness and time in a nursing home.

Saddened, missing her we gathered around her dad as the last of the generation and celebrated what would ultimately be our last Christmas together. Three months ago, after a year of increasing poor health Arthur also passed away.

Forty three years on Christmas is not quite the same. Surrounded by our boys, their partners and our expanding cohort of grandchildren all is merry but this year we celebrate a week early and Suzanne and I are again going overseas. For Suzanne it has been almost 4 years since she had any holiday as a devoted daughter she tended firstly to mum then to dad to the exclusion of any of the luxuries of life such as travel.

We are headed to Borneo for some wildlife viewing and a tropical holiday, but come Christmas day we will raise a glass and shed a quiet tear as we reflect on Christmases past. They will never be quite the same!