Potato Stuffed Squid

Posted by Kaire Kalam (That Estonian Girl) on December 4, 2012 in Stories | Leave a comment

I was starving.

The stalls were busy with women in headscarfs and men in T-shirts selling greasy fried noodles, fatty barbecue chicken, and stinking fish. Gray clouds of steam and smoke hung in the hot evening air of Brunei’s Pasar Gadong Malam night market. It smelled of burnt oil and scorched meat. I spat out a slimy piece of chicken smothered in barbecue sauce. The woman who sold me this lump of fat watched and didn’t flinch. She flipped a burger and turned her chicken skewers. Her pink headscarf was an odd choice for someone wearing such a dull expression.

I walked to the next stall. Standing there was a short man with a sweaty forehead, blank stare and tongs in his hand. John Bon Jovi’s muffled and tinny voice sang from a small radio behind him, “It’s my life, it’s now or never…” I ordered one of the many potato stuffed squids cooking on the grill. In exchange for one Brunei dollar, the equivalent of 80 U.S. cents, he handed over what looked like a dead mouse in a plastic bag. It was my only opportunity to experience a food that was simultaneously tasteless, chewy and mushy. I washed it down with an overly sweetened lychee juice. My cheeks started to itch. I felt hives appear on my neck and my heart rate quickened. I was experiencing a true sugar rush.

This tiny country with a population of about 400,000 people is located on the island of Borneo. It is one of the smallest, but wealthiest countries in the world and owes its riches to the abundance of oil found in the region.

While traveling in Malaysia I needed to get from Kuching to Kota Kinabalu. Royal Brunei Airline had the best offer: A business class ticket cheaper than economy and a 24 hour layover in Brunei. I was excited. I had never been to Brunei – I had never heard of Brunei.

Shortly after my arrival I headed to the center of town to experience the “number one” tourist attraction in Brunei – a boat ride through the largest water village in the world.

“Where are you from?” asked a water taxi driver as I stepped onto his yellow wooden speed boat.

“Estonia,” I answered.

“Ah, okay. You’re smiling,” he said. He steered the boat out into the river and shouted over the noise of the engine, “Nobody smiles around here.”

Wearing a stiff orange life vest I sat in the back of the boat. We fast approached a cluster of villages built on stilts; schools, homes, fire and police department, all connected by a 36km long boardwalk. I saw kids in white and blue uniforms walking home from school; men entering a mosque; a woman in a purple headscarf standing at a water taxi stop staring down at her feet. A family of five sat on their porch eating lunch next to three scrawny chickens in a cage.

I felt awkward. I imagined being at a cookout with my friends and family. Tourists drive by with cameras around their necks, smiling and waving as I bite into a chili dog.

After an hour ride along the river, we spotted two proboscis monkeys sitting up in the treetops. The emerged jaws of a crocodile munched on a floating plastic bag. The nature portion of the boat ride was underwhelming.

After my time in the night market and its odd dinner choices, I needed to get back to my hotel. That turned out to be trickier then I had anticipated. There were no cabs on the streets. I walked past an Aston Martin into a nearby 5-star hotel and asked the concierge to call for a taxi.

The lobby was probably beautiful, 30 years ago. It’s unlikely the service was ever good judging from the slow moving, unresponsive lobby staff. A photo of The Sultan, Haji Hassanal Bolkiah, the ruler of Brunei, one of the wealthiest men in the world, looked out with a vacant expression over the ancient lobby and the country in his care.

The taxi arrived 40 minutes later. The meter was broken and the driver overcharged me for a five minute ride.

“We only have around 30 cabs in Brunei,” he said excusing his delay as I settled into the backseat.

“Nobody comes to Brunei,” he chuckled. “Brunei is boring!”

“So, what do you do for fun?” I asked.

“There is no bar, no good food, no place to go, nothing to do,” he said, shaking his head. He paused for a moment and laughed, “Tourists only come for one day, or a half a day.”

I flew out the next morning. In 24 hours I had experienced it all.