A Breather

Hi all.

I'm sorry that I haven't posted anything in a while. I left Borneo four days ago and returned to Bangkok. I plan on spending a few weeks here writing, trying to turn a bunch of little things into what one day can become one big thing. It is the hardest thing I've ever done, but I'm loving every minute of it. It feels great to go back into my old notebooks and replay everything that's happened over the past four months.

But this isn't the end. I'm also using Bangkok as a base to plan a trip to Burma (Myanmar). I want to spend a month there - the maximum amount of time you can get on a tourist visa. I cant think of a better time to make a trip there, the country is opening up in new and exciting ways and I am more excited for this than I have been for any other leg of this adventure so far.

I plan on writing a lot about Burma so in a few weeks there should be a lot of updates. But for now, I'm happy to relax in Bangkok (that seems like a strange thing to say about this city) and eat lots of crispy pork.

-DC

Everything you need to know about Brunei (sort of)

The first time I heard about Brunei  Darussalam was when my parents bought me a copy of the Guinness Book of World Records, 1999 edition. In the section about wealth, there was a little paragraph and a picture of the Sultan of Brunei, who, for a little while there, was one of the top three richest people in the world.

Now he has dropped a little lower on the list. He only has $20 Billion in the bank, which puts him behind Putin and King Bhumidol of Thailand in the list of richest heads of state, and in front of King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia.

Brunei is a tiny, oil rich country sandwiched into the Malaysian state of Sarawak on the northern coast of Borneo. At one time, the Sultinate was the most powerful force on the island, until the military might of the United Kingdom forced the secession of what are now the Malaysian states of Sarawak and Sabah. Brunei, too, eventually fell under British rule, and didn’t regain full independence until 1984, by which time oil, and the Shell Corporation, had brought a lot of money into the country, making economic independence a viable option.

Most of that money fell into the hands of the royal family, and continues to do so. Brunei functions like a 400,000 person company, everyone working for a benevolent, autocratic boos that treats them pretty well. There is no income tax in Brunei, nor is there any cost for education or medical service. There is also a democratically elected Legislative Council, reformed by the Sultan in 2004, when he also declared himself President and Prime Minister, with full executive authority, infallible under Bruneian law. As Minister of Defense and Finance he is the Supreme Commander of the Royal Brunei Armed Forces, Inspector General of the Royal Brunei Police Force, and holds honorary positions in the British and Indonesian Navies. His wardrobe of decorated military uniforms is plastered on every available public space in Brunei. The Sultan salutes into the distance in Army fatigues, Air Force uniform and Admiralty decoration. He is a truly renaissance man.

He is Brunei. When he dies, his son will become Brunei. His cult of personality is also tied to the state religion – Islam – through the Malay Islamic Monarchy, which makes him first in the line of defense of his people’s faith.  

What he may lack in domination on the world’s list of the richest, the Sultan, (full title: His Majesty Sultan Haji Hassanal Bolkiah Mu'Izzaddin Waddaulah ibni Al-Marhum Sultan Haji Omar 'Ali Saifuddien Sa'adul Khairi Waddien, Sultan and Yang Di-Pertuan of Negara Brunei Darussalam) makes up for with sheer swag and absurdity. His official house, claimed to be the largest operating palace in the world, has 1,888 rooms, with nearly three hundred bathrooms and covers over 2 million square feet. According to Wikipedia, his car collection tops out at 1,932 with 531 Mercedes-Benzes, 367 Ferraris, 362 Bentleys, 185 BMWs, 177 Jaguars, 160 Porsches, 130 Rolls-Royces and 20 Lamborghinis. Once, on a visit to London, he had specially manufactured a Porsche, Rolls hybrid, with the distinctive Porsche backside and intimidating hood of a Rolls.

He has a 100 Million dollar Boeing 747, six small aircraft and two helicopter. A friend of mine, a bus driver in Belgium, was once the driver for Janet Jackson’s crew during a European concert swing. Between stops, they received a call from the Sultan’s staff, and my driver friend was redirected to a private 747 waiting on the airport tarmac. Janet got into the plane, flew halfway around the world, performed privately at the birthday party of the Sultan’s daughter, and was flown back. This man balls hard.

Oh, and he has a Jacuzzi made of pure gold.

I visited Brunei for six hours, saw his face everywhere, and continued on my way. He might be my favorite modern man. 

There are also some really beautiful mosques in Brunei's capital, Bandar Seri Begawan 

I wasn’t so much falling down the hill as I was sliding. A thick sheet of rotten leaves and colorful fungi sailing in front and below me, ushering my clumsy mass down an unbounded path of noisy brown mud. Wooly pillows of moss, inches thick, crawl across the ancient trees all around me as leaves larger than my entire body droop in front, slapping across my face as the uncontrollable tumbling carries me deeper through the forest. Green on all sides. Everything glistens. The air twinkles as the few rays of sun that manage to fight through the canopy shatter their way through the sodden mist. Even the rocks seem soggy, blunted black chunks that look squeezably wet. Sweat refuses to leave my body. It can’t evaporate – there is no room left in the air, so it falls off in sheets, mixing into the forest floor, more wetness. 

It hasn’t rained here in days.

This is Borneo, where the earth exhales. Dark. Green. Always Wet. Life is different along the equator. There is a lot more of it.

I fight to stay upright, streaming through webs and nests whose inhabitants don’t enjoy the disturbance. As I try yanking the sticky skein from my hair, fist size mosquitoes examine my steaming, sputtering presence. Thick, hot, loud life is bombarding from all sides. It is choking me. I am an invader here. I pause in my slide to lash out wildly, throwing my arms through the air to clear some breathing room. But each deep gasp attracts more dangly airborne creatures to my rich carbon emenations, and from below, gummy black leeches materialize out of nowhere to gobble blood from my ankles. I tear them off in a panic and start to run, but after only five steps I find myself tumbling – not along the path but down into it. Face first into the rotting ground. I look up and see the biggest mushroom of my life – orange and glowing and phallic – and a wasp stings me on the shoulder

Welcome to the jungle.