Magical Morning
On my last day in Kuching I managed to catch the 7:00 am bus to the Sarawak Forestry reserve at Semenggoh, home to the state’s botanical collections and to an Orang Utan rehabilitation centre in a 630 ha rainforest reserve. 22 of the apes have been rehabilitated in this centre after being rescued from captivity or confiscated from poachers and a group of them are now breeding there. They still depend on humans for supplementary feeding (the site isn’t big enough to support them) but during the rainy season, one of the keepers at the information office said with a shrug, I would be lucky to see them: “Many trees are fruiting.”
No sooner had he spoken than a rustling in the trees announced the arrival of a mother and her one-month old baby—the park’s youngest resident. And she wasn’t over at the feeding platform but right in front of us at the visitor compound.
Nursing mothers need feed, I thought even as she was joined by two juveniles, hanging in the branches above us like benevolent apparitions, with the sunlight glittering through the leaves around them. I had to rub my eyes to believe it.
But their antiques soon made me laugh: hanging upside down they would silently clap their hands together, then open them wide: cue for the keeper to throw up a banana or a sweet potato:
Before long, my attention was diverted by the arrival of a large male, although not the dominant in the group. By then we had a veritable Orang Utan convention surrounding us. For a brief, magical moment it was just the keepers, the apes and myself. Then the first group of package tourers arrived and the keepers led us all down a short path to a hide in the forest, overlooking a platform where one of them stood with a big bowl of food, uttering a low, keening call from time to time.
“Waiting for Richie,” those in the know whispered: “The alpha male.”
But Richie did not show, and so the youngsters took advantage of the left offerings, followed by Prevost squirrels and others (flying squirrels?). 
After an hour, the keepers called the last of us straddlers back to the centre. They were aiming to keep a distance from the Orang Utans who were after all being rehabilitated for a life in the wild. There was no touchy-feely business here; in the presence of visitors, the animals interacted hesitantly with the keepers to obtain their food and retreated to higher branches to eat it in peace. It demonstrates how shy Orang Utans are—any human presence or disturbance by logging will drive them away into the already overpopulated reserves.
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With the bus running past the reserve only every two hours or so, I embarked on a 45 minute walk to the next village, but had barely left the park compound when a man stopped his car, scooped me up and dropped me at a coffee shop in Jawa village, a hundred yards from the bus stop. I thought that the morning could barely be more perfect when the whole of the Jawa police force descended on the place. For a brief, hard-stopping moment, I envisaged a raid, then relaxed. With the birds and insects chirping in the background and velvety red and purple damselflies chasing each other over the flower-speckled banks of a nearby brook, the officers took of their hats and sat down for their morning coffee break.
***
So it was time to leave Kuching. I visited the streets and museums one last time while monsoon clouds gathered, relieving the burning heat of the day.
Kuching had turned out to be a city of surprises—the friendliest I have been to so far and with oodles of caracter despite the high-rise buildings that are springing up all over the place. It is famous (in my mind) for its pastries, delicious arrays of which are lined up in air-conditioned cafés at the waterfront or displayed in colourful heaps by vendors. The yam-cake which the guys at the BBB made me taste is second only to Sri Lankan Love Cake. And it’s famous (in everyone’s mind) for—cats. There are cat figurines on display everywhere, life cats slink across the streets, a cat statue sits in the centre of a small square and—get this—there’a a cat museum. Then there are the many wonderful craft shops where I could, and did, lose whole afternoons browsing. Alas, postage is expensive or else I would have blown my budget on enough rugs and ornaments to refurbish the entire house.
While I strolled the streets and updated this blog, the owners of the Borneo B&B kept an eye on my things, and offered me to stay until it was time to leave for the bus: “Have a sleep, have a shower!”
I’m almost sorry to leave, but the journey must go on.
Denni