3 Bus tickets: 3.00 BND
Pizza Hut lunch: 32.50 BND
Afternoon tea at a local’s house on stilts: PRICELESS

In a floating home in Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei

“Ying, we can go now! Dai, dai, my papa and I meet you at the gangway, NOW!” Giorgio barked into the phone. I was startled at his urgency, checked my watch again and wondered how come he got off Watch early: it was only 11.25 am.

Not knowing what to expect, I changed and met the both of them at the gangway. Giorgio’s father greeted me with his usual friendliness and cheeky inside joke that we shared. “No, vai via, okay?!” (Literal translation: No, you go, okay?!)

The Brunei sun was burning. Around the Muara port, there isn’t much to see. Newly imported cars gleamed at a corner and scraps of junk metal scattered across the empty bitumen lot at random locations. It wasn’t attractive and I haven’t got the slightest clue what Giorgio had in mind for the day. It was usually me who planned and it was usually me who thought up of things to do….but today, Giorgio was impatient.

“Buzzi told my father that we can go to the aquarium. We just have to take the public bus. 45 minutes,” Giorgio explained.

“Si, bas venti otto!” Giorgio’s father quipped.

And so, we walked towards the bus stop, not knowing where exactly but according to them, a couple hundred metres from the port. Putting on my best Malay accent, I asked around for directions. We found the bus stop but there wasn’t bus 28. No one has heard of bus number 28 and no one knew where the aquarium was either.

“Tengok ikan, tak de?” Some of the locals there would shake their head no.

In the end, we decided to take bus number 38 to Bandar Seri Begawan, which is about 45 minutes away, with hopes that we’d find the aquarium later.

The bus that we took is a tiny 20 seater or so. Everyone starred at us, but not with contempt or hostility. In fact, they looked at us curiously, as if half-expecting us to spout out flames from our mouths.

The scene outside the window was picturesque if seen through foreigner’s eyes. The bus bumbled along the tiny street, passing by quaint wooden houses on stilts, mangrove forests, banana, mango and coconut trees, local children screaming in delight, big mansions that looked not unlike the bungalows that are seen in Malaysia’s rural districts, elegant mosques with colourful minarets and checkered domes, the windy muddy river and tropical greenery. What might be a mundane sight to a Malaysian, is seen as exotic, outlandish and adsorbing by the Italians. I was surprised that my knowledge of being able to tell the difference between a palm and a coconut tree qualifies me as an experienced tour guide.

We eventually arrived at Bandar Seri Begawan at half-past one. After an ordinary lunch at Pizza Hut, the only restaurant that seemed to agree with Enrico’s taste buds, we walked towards the riverside. Giorgio thought it’d be nice for us to tour around the famed Kampong Ayer-an entire village or community on stilts. As we approached the river bank, a couple of water taxis (speed boats) circled around and nearby, each of the driver trying to get our attention. We chose the one who boldly shouted, “20 dollars for an hour!” It wasn’t too expensive and we thought why not. After all, he wasn’t talking about American dollars, British pounds or Euros.

We cautiously stepped onto the boat’s narrow wooden bow and was greeted by a convival, “Mind your head! Mind your head!”

The driver was a dark-skinned man with a gregarious smile, one that’s so welcoming that you wonder what’s in it for him, to be taking us around.

“Where you from? Italia?! Football’s very good….eh? Apa dia cakap? Oh, yes, yes, Brunei’s mangroves have snakes….no, no…yeah?”
The conversation continued like this for the next hour.

He invited us to his house after that. At first, I was pretty skeptical but since Giorgio and his dad weren’t apprehensive, I thought, why not. It turned out that his house was a nice wooden house on stilts, painted in cerulean. His five year old son looked at us shyly as we climbed up the steps. His wife, Manis, had already prepared for us, a selection of Malay’s finest tea time dishes-satay, peanut sauce and sweet milk tea. His house looked like any other Malay ‘kampung’ houses but it was special in some ways because we barely knew each other and all of a sudden, we were invited into someone’s personal sphere. It’s like having a crash course in Malay culture. Giorgio’s father was delighted. He continued to chat nineteen to a dozen while Giorgio and I acted as translators. It felt surreal. Between sticks of satay and cups of tea, he told us about his simple life in Bandar Seri Begawan. Everything’s free including education and medical institutions. He showed us the picture of the royal family and Enrico, Giorgio’s dad used his mobile phone to show him a picture of the fish he caught.

That was a moment of what life should really be.