The sight of it was unmistakable: a small satellite dish listening and picking up messages from the outside world. It was totally incongruous to the 30 minute-or-so boatride through the Lemanak River cutting through a rain forest of Sarawak, a Malaysian province in Borneo.
The narrow boat, negotiating through shallow waters and river stones, had revealed to us—I and fellow travelers from the media—a moving picture of age-old trees, crowned with bromeliads and draped with vines.
It’s naïve, however, to think that the residents of the longhouse, the traditional village dwelling in these parts of Malaysia, wouldn’t have been touched yet with the boons (and banes) of civilization.
There was after all, electricity, as what our guide, Henry Gu had told us. He also clued us in on customs, such as how to accept food offered by the locals (by accepting a small piece and spitting it out discreetly if in case it didn’t suit our taste) and pay homage to the village chief (apparently, a handshake would work). But still, the satellite dish caught me off-guard.
The longhouse is what its name suggests: an elongated, continuous dwelling which, because of its size, can be considered a village of its own. (Ours was relatively small, with less than 20 rooms and 100 or so residents).
I took the stairs which was actually just a series of steps carved on a tree trunk as a woman pounded a gong to signal our arrival. We were offered their version of the rice wine, which shared a similar taste with sweetened vinegar.
Possibly an interpretation of a modern-day longhouse, the one we visited didn’t feel lost in time. Save for carvings and baskets and other traditional accoutrements, the longhouse didn’t constrain on convenience.
Some areas of the floor were covered with linoleum and videoke wasn’t exactly unheard-of. Still, the bones of the house were spare, elements poured in from openings across the corridor and the fact that it was enveloped in rain forest, well, that made all the difference.
What I loved about this particular longhouse was its emphasis on decoration, limited in scale it may be. Residents had different versions on how to beautify the space, such as using posters of Malay teen-age stars for instance. A running motif was the curled strips of pale wood that adorned the ceilings and the posts. Like little, fluttering banners, they made the atmosphere festive.
The narrow boat, negotiating through shallow waters and river stones, had revealed to us—I and fellow travelers from the media—a moving picture of age-old trees, crowned with bromeliads and draped with vines.
It’s naïve, however, to think that the residents of the longhouse, the traditional village dwelling in these parts of Malaysia, wouldn’t have been touched yet with the boons (and banes) of civilization.
There was after all, electricity, as what our guide, Henry Gu had told us. He also clued us in on customs, such as how to accept food offered by the locals (by accepting a small piece and spitting it out discreetly if in case it didn’t suit our taste) and pay homage to the village chief (apparently, a handshake would work). But still, the satellite dish caught me off-guard.
The longhouse is what its name suggests: an elongated, continuous dwelling which, because of its size, can be considered a village of its own. (Ours was relatively small, with less than 20 rooms and 100 or so residents).
I took the stairs which was actually just a series of steps carved on a tree trunk as a woman pounded a gong to signal our arrival. We were offered their version of the rice wine, which shared a similar taste with sweetened vinegar.
Possibly an interpretation of a modern-day longhouse, the one we visited didn’t feel lost in time. Save for carvings and baskets and other traditional accoutrements, the longhouse didn’t constrain on convenience.
Some areas of the floor were covered with linoleum and videoke wasn’t exactly unheard-of. Still, the bones of the house were spare, elements poured in from openings across the corridor and the fact that it was enveloped in rain forest, well, that made all the difference.
What I loved about this particular longhouse was its emphasis on decoration, limited in scale it may be. Residents had different versions on how to beautify the space, such as using posters of Malay teen-age stars for instance. A running motif was the curled strips of pale wood that adorned the ceilings and the posts. Like little, fluttering banners, they made the atmosphere festive.
Continue reading (Incl. Pic) at: Sarawak Longhouse Story
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