Life seems to move so fast sometimes. Just the day before we were exploring caves and jungle, and now we're on a homestay adventure in the same village as the famous Annah Rais Longhouse. Thanks to incredible timing, we've arrived just in time for the village's biggest yearly festival, celebrating the end of the rice harvest.
There's a knock on the door and Eric, our guide, comes in. He's holding two glasses of tuak, a local rice wine. I look at Kym, knowing that at least one of those glasses isn't for her.
Ahh, alcohol, my old friend...
When I was about 14 my dad took me camping up the river with some friends. One lazy afternoon, as we sat back enjoying the Australian bush and each others' company, Dad asked, "So Brendan, do you want a can of beer?" It was the dream of any young teenager - one of my parents was offering me a whole can of beer, and Mum wasn't even around to witness it! It was a gesture of generosity and camraderie.
"Okay," I said, "so I can chuck it in the river."
Hmmm. So Dad never handed over that beer. Needless to say, I had some pretty big issues with alcohol.
Eric hands me the tuak and I drink it. I've spent enough time in Asia to know that it can be downright offensive to refuse this kind of gesture. Whether I like alcohol or not has become irrelevant.
We go outside to greet the night. The first surprise comes from the layout of the village itself. Each building is raised far above the ground on stilts - I'm told that during the wet season the village would otherwise be underwater - and connected by a series of bamboo pathways and stairways. It's like a maze, with wide open areas where people are milling about with purpose, finishing their preparations and beckoning friends into their homes for a big feast. Things are about to kick-off; the night takes a deep breath.
We sit down in one of these bamboo squares. It's not a huge area, but there aren't heaps of people here anyway. Yet. The MC takes to the mic and introduces the festival, while the band behind him get ready to play. The tension builds. Suddenly the MC is speaking English and looking right at us. "I can see we have two guests here tonight from overseas. We welcome you to this festival, and hope you have a great night. Happy Gawai."
The next thing I know, everything is happening at once. The music has started playing, and some bald guy we've never met is pouring us straight whiskey and offering us rice served in bamboo. The rice is sweet, mixed with coconut milk and a bit of sugar, and goes down well. The whiskey burns like fire. Alas, the festival has begun!
Shortly after, the MC addresses the crowd. "To our two guests, please have some food. There's no five-stars here, but you can help yourself." At once I regret already having eaten dinner at Winnie's, the host of our homestay, because there's no escape from this. Locals shepherd us to tables where food is being served from big, steaming pots, and before I know it I have a mountain of food on my plate. Hey, I've got nothing against a second dinner, especially when it's free. And it doesn't need to have some posh five-star rating, because it's really good stuff. We eat with aplomb.
As we're eating, the TV crew inch rather conspicuously towards us. The lens of their camera has an evil shine. We know what's coming. I'm not used to eating meat with so many bones in it, so I'm sure I have smears of food all around my mouth and stuck between my teeth, but the TV crew record us anyway. This is the second time on this trip that we're on TV. I guess locals like to see foreigners enjoying their traditions and customs. Fortunately this time we're not interviewed, and once they have their footage of us shovelling food into our greasy gobs, they move on.
As the night goes on, more and more people emerge to celebrate in what I can only describe as the village square. We're on a floor of bamboo one storey high that shakes as people dance, but I'm not worried. I wonder briefly if that's because of the alcohol. The MC proceeds to translate everything into English solely for our benefit, which is a huge help as it gives us warning before the traditional dances begin. Ladies wearing glittering traditional clothes make subtle movements with their hands and arms, as if flying like birds, while boys dance in a circle around them, wearing a traditional get-up that I suspect any kid in Australia would rather be caught dead in. They dance and it's terrific.
The drinks keep coming and I lose count of how many people I've spoken to, which sadly means that I have no chance of remembering all their names. After chatting to one really friendly man for a time, he gives me a satisfied look and calls over his daughter, who's about my age. As we introduce ourselves he slinks back into the darkness, smiling to himself, and then he's watching us from afar, still smiling. Something tells me he wants us to marry. She's a cool chick but it's a bit unnerving being watched like that by her father.
I make it through the night without a wedding. Shortly after we return to Winnie's house, we hear fireworks bursting open the night sky in fountains of sparkling colour. The end of the festival? Ohh no. Not by a long shot.
Despite all the drinking I've done, I'm thirsty as hell, and down copious amounts of water before bed. Although the live music keeps going until 6am, it's easy to fall asleep. When we leave to explore the village the following morning, the festival is still raging on. Many characters - like the bald guy who kept feeding us whiskey - have been drinking all night and haven't slept yet. No one seems fall-over drunk, but there are some people who look like they have hangovers. This is particularly interesting because the villagers then take part in a blowpipe dart competition.
Quite curiously, if they hit a bullseye, they win a can of beer. I guess if they're shooting that straight it means they obviously haven't had enough alcohol.
Our bald friend, after losing the competition, runs up to us with a big grin. "Come to my house!" We follow him inside and I regret having had breakfast, because once more I'm forced to eat a full plate of food. All right, I don't have a problem against a second breakfast either, but this one was full of meat, vegies and rice. It was like eating dinner one hour after breakfast instead of about twelve. I'm handed more rice wine. You'd think I'd always loved the stuff.
This is our bald friend, trying to dance except that this lady keeps getting in his way.
We manage to get free and as we're navigating through the bamboo-floored maze of the village, we're caught by some other cheery folk who - you guessed it - sit us down inside and fill our plates with food. The food all looks the same. "It's different," they claim, passing us more tuak eagerly. "Don't drink too much," one man warns me. "You won't feel any of the tuak's effects until after you stand up. Then it'll hit you like a punch to the head." This is useful information and I wish I'd known it earlier. But then, I don't think it would've helped my situation at all.
An hour or so later we thank them for the meal and move on. I don't usually have a protruding gut but my stomach is puffing out at all angles, so it's high-time we head back to Winnie's. On the way we stop off at one more house. I snack on cake and meat and beer. I probably should be at least a little bit tipsy, but I've had so much food that I'm not feeling the alcohol at all. Or perhaps that's just the tuak's stealthy effects. Who knows?
We leave the village that afternoon, but the festival is due to continue for another whole day! I wonder how the villagers can manage it.
As we drive away, I can't help but reflect on the wonders of travel, and how quickly it flies by. After Kuching, our next stop, we only have Sinagpore left. Our trip is really flying by now.
Ten years have passed since I sat in the Australian bush thinking about throwing a full can of beer into the river, but that's flown by too.
Cripes! So damn fast. I think I need a drink.
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