Holiday bliss in Bario

THE sky blackened and rain deluged from above; thumping down hard on the roof of my Nissan. The road became a torrent. Water sprayed from the wheels of passing cars and pummelled the windscreen. Waves rippled out from cars heading towards Miri.

Luckily, the skies cleared for my flight to Bario; Borneo's own Eden and capital of the Kelabit Highlands.

My small MASwings turbo-prop settled comfortably into its familiar flight-path and droned on.

Down below on the Sarawak Plain, muddy rivers coiled sluggishly in serpentine curves, heading for the South China Sea.

And everywhere beneath was the moronic monotony of invasive palm-oil plantations; and Borneo's jungle in terminal retreat.

The planet's biodiversity squandered for a common cash-crop, to enrich a few potentates. Our source of clean air, trashed for cash.

My plane started its slow ascent, up and over the limestone massif. Below, the famed Deer Cave came into view, with its gaping, stygian mouth. My plane could easily have flown through that enormous, black portal into the underworld.

The slender Batu Lawi rock pillar appeared port-side, rising to 2,000 metres.

The twin otter cleared the peaks and dropped down into Bario Basin, skimming over the glistening rice-padi, glazed silver in the afternoon light.

On arrival, Steve and Tina Bara offered me accommodation at their longhouse. Their 4WD bounced and wallowed through sloppy mud; and then connected with the concrete ring-road under construction.

Their longhouse sat serenely on a rise, circled by padi. And all around rose a ring of jungle peaks. Apart from three other guests, the wooden longhouse was empty.

Outside it was refreshingly cool and a reminder that Bario was 1,000 metres above sea-level. I pulled on a warm thermal top.

Out in the kitchen Tina created a meal over gas and over an open fire. We enjoyed Bario saffron rice and venison for lunch, and finished with pineapple and passion-fruit.

Everywhere, Steve's paintings enlivened the wooden walls; the longhouse was a living gallery of Kelabit Art. Cambridge, UK had already confirmed an exhibition date.

"Ok, so what's a good trek?" I queried. In response, Steve flicked through a folder of his own exquisite, trekking maps; each map itself, an object d'art.

"Pa Ukat to Pa Lungan should suit," he suggested. "And you'll also need leech socks. Take photographs of my maps and you won't get lost."

After lunch I borrowed Steve's bike and cycled around Bario. Wooden houses sprouted amongst the padi; and the town centre was just a sole suite of shops. I entered a dusty, roadside bar and was invited to share fresh venison and fish. A recently shot boar was slung over a rail.

Bario was calm, quiet and spacious; no noise, stress or traffic lights.

That evening we sat down to a main course of chicken, gourd, pineapple and bamboo slivers; and finished with apple pie and orangeboom.

And all the talk turned to trekking. "You can see snakes and water buffalo," someone chipped in. "But not the clouded leopard," added Steve. "It's nocturnal."

"I guess the jungle here is protected," I queried. "No, not protected," came a reply.

Next day under a full sun, we trekked along the dirt road to Pa Ukat; just a scattering of wooden houses amongst the padi. Lines of washing caught the sun, like coloured quilts against the unpainted dwellings.

After rambling round the village, we found the exit track: past the church, past the padi and across the bridge with the tall bamboo.

Nearby, water-buffalo wallowed; and a rainbow feathered bird flashed past.

Soon the undulating jungle trail morphed to mud. Logs placed in the mire gave a firmer footing. Frequently the route forked. My camera-map gave some guidance.

But our youngest trekker had had enough, "My legs are aching. I wanna go back," she sighed. And so the others returned.

I carried on solo, keen to make Pa Lungan before dark. I stooped to pass under a fallen tree. A column of termites streamed across the track. A light drizzle set in, and direction became a guessing game. It seemed unlikely I would make Pa Lungan before dark; so I turned back, keen to avoid a night in the jungle.

Back in Bario I booked into the Ngi Mat Ayu Longhouse, as the Baras were in Miri.

The air chilled and sheets of drizzle drifted down the valley. Bullet bursts of rain blasted against the iron roof.

Unperturbed, our host Scott prepared the usual gourmet dinner: cinnamon-and-pineapple curry; with ferns and garlic. And then a delectable desert.

Next morning a cool mist enveloped the valley, making my noon departure doubtful. The elements were conspiring to keep me in Bario.

Delayed? Fine by me. Could I handle more Bario bliss? Silly question! Belissimo! The Brunei Times