The Plantation - Di Morrissey [66]
Julie couldn’t wait to explore the quaint city as they drove past the imposing white courthouse, where the white arched colonnade shaded a mosaic tiled footpath. Interesting shops, the smell of spices and the waterfront promenade were all utterly enticing.
‘Oh, look at the cats!’ she exclaimed as their taxi rounded the spectacular statue and fountain.
‘Kuching means cat in Malay,’ said Matthew. ‘Every souvenir in this place is either a picture or a toy of a cat or an orangutan.’
‘Back in Brisbane, you said that you could arrange for me to see some orangutans, David. Are they still out there in the jungle?’ asked Julie.
‘You saw the logging as we flew in,’ said Matthew. ‘And oil palm plantations over the border in Indonesian Kalimantan are also gobbling up their space. Orangutans are vegetarians and need a lot of ripe fruit, seeds, nuts and bark. In other words, they need to have a lot of trees to survive, and the forests they live in are being destroyed, fast. Poachers and illegal logging don’t help, either.’
‘But they’re still around,’ said Julie. She hadn’t expected to see the great apes on this trip, but now the opportunity seemed to present itself and she couldn’t wait.
‘Thanks to the breeding programs and sanctuaries and rehabilitation sites that were started in the 1980s. Now orangutans are a big tourist attraction in both Borneo and Sumatra.’
‘There’s a good sanctuary not far from here. I’ve filmed there,’ said Barry. ‘You could go there,’ he said to Julie.
Julie shook her head. ‘It’s incredible. I just love Kuching. I suppose my Great Aunt Bette must have come here?’
‘She must have. It’s the gateway to Iban country – up in the hill country,’ said Matthew.
‘How do we get to the Iban?’
‘I’m arranging a boat and a friend to take us upriver,’ said David. ‘But we’ll enjoy a day or so here first. Kuching is very pleasant.’
That evening the four of them headed out to where it was lively. Families were walking, children played on the public lawns and people were eating in the cafés and restaurants that faced the water. They ate in a small, smart bistro decorated with pictures from the era of the White Rajahs. The rattan furniture was covered in batik, fans and a Dayak headdress were hung on the walls and the menu was a mixture of local cuisine and colonial excess. While it was humid, the weather was bearable and later, they enjoyed strolling along the esplanade. The lights which were strung along its length twinkled in the Sarawak River. Food stalls were busy and couples and a few tourists sat on the benches, enjoying the views of the modern legislative assembly building, the rajah’s palace, and the old fort.
‘Rajah Sir Charles Brooke called most of the forts in Sarawak after female members of his family. That one over there is Fort Margherita. Then there’s Fort Alice and Fort Sylvia and I can’t remember the others,’ David said with a smile.
The little shops and markets of the old town opposite the esplanade were busy and while the three men ordered a beer at a café in the park, Julie meandered through some of the shops, instantly finding examples of the tourist culture. Most shops had, laid out in front of them, tables covered with T-shirts with pictures of headhunters and orangutans. There were also toy orangutans of every description, fake blowpipes, sarongs, imitation lengths of the fine woven fabric made by Iban women, paintings of longhouses, and picture books on the jungles of Sarawak and the “Wild Men of Borneo”. It was sensory overload.
The following day Julie decided to go to the museum while the others were finalising the details of their