Brunei

I seem to have got out of the habit of daily writing my blog. I don't know whether it's to do with the change of site. Or whether it is that somehow, since our holiday in France, time just seems to be whizzing by, & I seem to have had so many things to do, to catch up on, that I haven't had much time just to sit down to write. Today, however, is grey & wet so I'm not going to church this morning. Sunday is always our big chore day. I sort the washing while the Fox does the cleaning. I'm always so shattered at the end of this that the Fox does the cooking, so I've not even got the meal to prepare today.

I've started to read about Brunei, the probable destination of our next long haul holiday. I've always dreamt of visiting, but never really believed I ever would. Lack of money, health or time always intervened.

Brunei is the land of my birth, but I came to England as a toddler of two. I'm not sure if I have any memories of my own of Borneo. My childhood home, though, was surrounded by mementos of life in the Far East. In the bookcase were books on Borneo. We had great aerial photos of Brunei. My parents would point out the houses where we lived at various times. They often talked about life there. There were Dayak hand-beaten silver trinket boxes to be polished. The tray we used was made from plaited palm leaves. My mother had a sarong, which I now still have. There were photos of my Dad with the works football & cricket teams - he was a keen sportsman, nearly playing professionally. Among the cookbooks was one on Malay cooking. Indeed, when I started to learn to cook, one of the first things my mother taught me was how to cook a Malayan curry. The table was weighed down with side dishes of various fruits, nuts, eggs, chutneys etc. When we first returned to England, I gather we used to irritate my grandmother by speaking Malay all the time, but now that is a language I've long forgotten.

I suspect I do have some memories. I've always recognised a pineapple plant without being knowingly aware how. I did instantly recognise a banana shrub but I admit, I do remember a photo of my brother, as a baby, being held by a family friend, his godmother, standing in front of a banana tree in our Bruneian garden.

The first time I ventured to the tropics since that epic trip as a toddler, was only a few years ago. We stopped for a few days at Singapore on the way to Australia to see that same family friend from Borneo days. As we stepped out of Changi airport, we were greeted by a thick wall of humid heat. I felt suddenly at home. I'd happily had pad thai (translated on the menu as "carrot cake" though quite why I don't know as it's a sort of prawn & rice mix) for breakfast on the plane. I subsequently bemused one official at the airport by having the local spicy, brothy, soup for breakfast as we waited for the ongoing flight to Australia. He couldn't believe that I, an obvious white woman, could choose it, but to me it seemed homely.

I wonder what else I will find that is somehow familiar & comforting on this trip, if ever we finally go on it.