Shrink-wrapped culture

The Melanau tall house

I'm not sure what I was expecting when I went to the Cultural Village. Given the hullabaloo about Damai Beach I certainly was expecting more than a fairly ordinary hotel with a muddy bay and yellow flags up saying you couldn't go swimming. Alas, my expectations were too high, leading to my final judgement on Kuching and Sarawak in general: if it is on your destination list, cross it off. Can't believe I wasted a whole week here! I caught the shuttle to the extraordinarily overpriced Cultural Village at 9am. There are seven houses in a large village, which depict the seven individual ethnicities of Sarawak. The first was a Chinese farmhouse, as apparently the Chinese make up a third of the population. The Iban (Sea Dayaks) are also a third, and the rest make up the other third. I suspect they are building the 8th display, a model of a seedy condo which will house the common "old white man with young asian wife" community.

The houses were actually pretty impressive, though I wouldn't have wanted to be born Melanau as they live in tall houses - tree trunks underneath and then 3 or 4 storeys on top. Not only that but the steps or ladders or whatever you want to call them are just tree trunks with notches in the side. Some of those tree trunks are very narrow. I could have lived in the Chinese farm house, that was nice and cool and airy. Unfortunately the centre was dominated by an enormous group of about 100 or more teenagers from Miri. I know they were from Miri, because before the dance show a video was shown about Sarawak and when Miri came on, they cheered and wouldn't shut up after that. The video was enough for me to decide to try and leave Sarawak completely on Monday giving Sibu and Miri a big miss. The show itself was good, with dances from many groups putting on their show. One instrument was played by a child who couldn't have been more than 12, and he did an amazing job.

Traditional guitar

Mostly though it was all a big money-grubbing attempt. Every house they tried to sell you local cakes and biscuits that, although still cheap by Australian standards, were a gigantic rip-off. Or asked you to pay to try top-spinning, or blowpipe... blowing. And if you didn't buy them, they didn't talk to you. I didn't buy them. It was a weird day. Then I got to the Orang Ulu (basically a cultural salad of different interior ethnicities) house where there were a couple of musical instruments. An old Orang Ulu guy working there accosted me and gave me the guitar, insisting on taking a photo of me. Then I asked him to play the wooden xylophone that kids had been plonking away at. He got all set up, adjusted the wooden pieces... and played "Mary had a little lamb". I thought he was being funny, but that was actually his sole offering. So much for tradition.

It's a strange place, Sarawak, and reminds me of Singapore. The teenagers are obnoxious as teenagers are, however they are the daggy kind of obnoxious that thinks Dungeons and Dragons is cool, and has to run out the front and kneel in a suitably awkward "photographer pose" to get a photo of every dancer in the show. I think they have nothing to do, and there is such pressure on the girls to find husbands early that they behave like simpering fools. Much like in Fiji, the first question I'm asked is always "where are you from?", and then "are you married". (I'd answer yes but I lack a ring!) The utter shock they display when I say no is almost funny... almost.

Anyway I tried to get something to eat at their restaurant but the staff, like most places of this particular genre, were unwilling to help and unable to communicate with me anyway. Most signs were in English around the park, but they chose not to have a menu. She said "it depends on what you choose." Yes but I don't want to end up with a 20 ringgit meal so can you give me any clues? No, apparently not. I left without eating and walked over to what I thought was going to be a village, but was actually just a hotel. Discovering that there was a shuttle back to town in 15 minutes I sat outside in the roasting sun and waited grimly.

Poor old Tom

On the way back I noticed we were going through Petra Jaya, which is where the cat museum is. I asked the shuttle to drop me off nearby - luckily he drove me right there, I hadn't realised it was on a hill with a looooong walk up. The museum is located at the Kuching North City Hall, in a location completely unsuited to tourism (Sarawak strikes again). It wasn't bad. I had to pay to take my camera in (the man was very particular and even made me put a little sticker on it; I didn't mention I had an iPhone as well or he would have made me pay for that too!) Oddly enough, the photos weren't ace anyway. I did learn that only 10% of local cats have long tails, and there's an old Iban folktale that explains why but it's a bit gruesome, click on the picture if you want to read it. Poor old Tom.

Walked back down the hill and found a small shopping centre with (of course) a KFC and a Pizza Hut - the two western staples in Malaysia. I chose Pizza Hut because by now I was starving! Then I walked over to the bus stop which had a shelter that didn't actually provide any shelter. When a clapped-out minivan flashed its lights and pulled up after 5 minutes, my choice was between getting in, or waiting in the full sun for a bus that may or may not be coming. Since Big Momma was driving and the passengers were all women and children, I got in. Man that woman drove like a maniac! But she got me there.