Unforgettable charm of Kuching

MY PLANE rolled down the Miri runway. I sank back into my seat as the pilot applied power. The tarmac slipped away. Farewell Miri. The plane climbed and gained altitude. Down below, serpentine rivers coiled through mangroves and the South China Sea reflected the last light of day. The rugged Damai Peninsula appeared as a black silhouette, and to the west a cherry-red sun quietly expired. Then night fell. Drawn on by the shimmering lights of Kuching, my plane emerged from the dark. I was captivated by Kuching's orange and white radiance, a neon jewel in the Sarawak night.

Next morning the city looked relaxed and chic. Kuching's waterfront beckoned, with its paved promenade, red railings and leafy trees. From the far bank a small ferry (perahu tambang) slipped across the surface of the muddy Sarawak River to a nearby jetty. Deftly pushing on oars, the boatman bought it alongside. "One hour, how much?" I quizzed him. "Forty," he replied. We agreed on 30 ringgit. We motored past riverside kampung, past fishermen and past the stylish State Palace (the Istana) with its colonial charm and trimmed lawn. My boatman, Nazri, dropped me at a pier on the opposite bank. From here, I paced up the hill to Fort Margherita, built by Charles Brooke in 1879. This white fort towered over the encircling, emerald jungle. I hauled myself up the corkscrew-staircase, heaved open a heavy trapdoor and gazed down. Intact and still aimed aggressively outward, the cannons suggested a once potent firepower. Whoever controlled the river controlled Kuching and the interior. I returned to my perahu tambang and Nazri steered a course for the Kuching Mosque, upriver. On arrival, he warily nosed the bow into the muddy bank. "Thanks! See you. Jumpa lagi," I called as I jumped ashore. Quietly, I entered the pastel-pink mosque with its gold-gilt domes. Inside the cavernous interior devout worshippers knelt at prayer. Of course, facing Mekah. After leaving the mosque I strolled down India Street Mall with its Iban, Malay and Chinese mix. I passed the colonial Court House and ambled along Carpenter Street with its rainbow-hued Chinese shophouses. In the distance a small, bright-red temple drew me on, a sanctuary of calm amongst the surrounding traffic. This temple, the Tua Pek Kong Temple, sat serenely atop a base-wall embellished with writhing, fire-breathing dragons. Above the entrance hung two red lanterns. Over these, a black, lacquered plaque embossed with gold lettering, looked down. In the courtyard supplicants, hoping for divine favour, burnt fake paper-money in an outdoor-oven and lit joss-sticks. Fragrant blue smoke curled up over the green-tiled roof. Inside, carved stone panels displayed scenes of prowling tigers and agile deer. Candles flickered in the dim light, illuminating lacquered beams supporting the roof. Over the altar, scripted panels told a story unknown to me.

I left Tua Pek Kong Temple and hailed a taxi from the road-side. "Berapa harga? How much to the Kuching Museum?" I asked the cabbie. "Seven," he replied. My cab motored along Jalan McDougal under tall shade-trees.

We turned at the Padang Merdeka with its green lawn and drove up a small grassy-rise to the Kuching Museum and admired its French provincial style. Once inside, I entered an imitation longhouse. My eyes were drawn up to a cluster of white, worn human skulls tied up with string and hanging from the roof. A rapt school-group from China stood ogling. In this museum and its new wing other surprises awaited. That evening my appetite drew me to the chic, Blah Blah Blah Restaurant. "Selamat datang," the waitress welcomed. "Selamat petang," I replied. Set in the floor was a pond with stepping-stones, surging water and swirling goldfish. I nimbly stepped from stone to stone. My waiter took my order of Thai spiced chicken in pandan leaf. Then dessert. Suave background-music beguiled diners. Candles flickered and burnt low. Eventually, I left Kuching, that city of charm and ease. I resolved to return. Selamat jalan, farewell. My plane banked, turned and aligned on Miri.

The Brunei Times