One of Those Moments

It's hot, hot, hot, right now.  Even for Borneo.  The last two or three days have been almost cloudless, allowing the Sun to suffuse the countryside with a buttery yellow light and making the temperature almost unbearable.  Yesterday evening Sue's colleague Catherine invited me on a cycle ride to a nearby longhouse which she had visited recently and where there was a promising bike trail.

About ten kilometres out of Saratok we turned up a backroad which quickly became a dirt track.  It was hard work with the Sun still above the tree line and passing four-wheel drives throwing up clouds of dust, their occupants peering at us inquisitively, then smiling and waving.  Eventually we came to a turning off the track down to a longhouse, which to my surprise turned out to be the one of which my friend Ambrose is Headman.  I had been taken there by Ambrose about three months ago and could not  remember the way back.  The picture above was taken from his garden and we crossed the suspension bridge you can see in it to an island in the river where there is a school.

There was a security man on duty at the entrance to the school, despite this being Saturday afternoon in the middle of nowhere.  We passed the time of day with him then made our way to the other side of the island where there was a smaller suspension bridge, leading to another, yet more remote longhouse.  As we walked our bikes across the bridge we could see down into the river where a young woman with long jet-black hair was bathing while her son swam, looking like a lithe tan-coloured frog from our vantage point high above him.   Our eyes met theirs and we acknowledged each other with smiles.  The Sun was visible through the trees and there was dappled light all around and a strong smell of woodsmoke in the air. At that moment on the bridge in the middle of the jungle I was aware of being in a kind of paradise, remote and safe from the world of everyday cares.  I toyed with getting my camera out and dismissed the idea, as taking a picture would only break the spell of the moment and seemed somehow too intrusive in what was, after all, someone's open-air bathroom.

We got to the other side of the bridge, said "hello" to some of the occupants of the other longhouse, then made our way back up a steep and winding track and eventually onto the main road back to Saratok.  The moment on the bridge may have been no more than a few tens of seconds, but it has sown a seed of memory which will grow and take strong root, I think.

Back in Borneo

In the UK I felt in the grip of two opposing forces - guilt and concern for Dad on the one hand and on the other the desire to get back to Borneo as fast as possible to carry on with what feels like my "real" life.  After two weeks the dynamic equilibrium shifted from Lincoln to Sarawak and I felt able to book my ticket back.  I arrived in KL on Thursday morning after a twelve hour flight from Heathrow feeling tired, bewildered and very old.  Sue had been spending a few days with a fellow Mentor, Catherine, in the Cameron Highlands, high in the hills of the Malaysian Peninsular and the plan was to spend the night together in KL before flying back to Sibu the next day.  I got to the hotel at about 9am desperate to get some sleep and crashed out in a sun-lounger by the pool until our room was ready after lunch.

It was good to touch base with Sue that evening.  We're both finding that the variety of experiences we've had over the last ten years is making us detached from friends and family in the UK and that more and more the people we have most in common with are ourselves and other travellers.  This feels both sad and inevitable and doesn't reflect badly on anyone, it's just that if you spend a lot of time in cultures other than your own, your frame of reference changes and what you have to say has less relevance to people from your home culture and somehow you feel less connected.  Don't get me wrong, I still like going back to the UK and seeing family and old friends, it's just that the experience is different.

We touched down in Sibu on Friday afternoon and far from arriving in a strange and threatening environment, it was like stepping into a warm bath into which I immediately relaxed and felt "at home". Such is the pace of change here that the shabby concrete terminal that I described when I landed six months ago has now been replaced with a brand new building, complete with smart luggage carousels and new counters for the Immigration Officials, who even seemed more friendly.  It's good to be back, for now at least.