From Kuching to Kalbar: When leaving the country didn’t feel like leaving home

USUALLY, when Indonesia comes to mind, most travellers would think of Bali, Java or Sumatra.

My introduction to the country, however, unfolded on the same island that had shaped my upbringing – Borneo.

My first trip abroad did not begin at an airport; instead, I embarked on the journey at a bus terminal, with two worn backpacks and also the quiet realisation that crossing a border did not always mean leaving home.

There I was, at Kuching Sentral, already on-board a bus bound for Pontianak, the capital of Indonesia’s West Kalimantan – or ‘Kalbar’, the acronym for ‘Kalimantan Barat’.

There was a Kuching-Pontianak direct flight, but where would the adventure be in that?

For this first crossing, the road felt more… honest and literally, down-to-earth – slower, rougher, and far more revealing.

The bus rolled south-east towards Entikong, just past Tebedu in Serian.

At the Entikong Immigration, Customs, Quarantine and Security (ICQS) checkpoint, travellers disembarked, had their bags scanned and passports stamped, and waited until everyone had cleared past security, then it was back on the bus.

On the Indonesian side, the border life unfolded quietly.

Locals offered currency exchange, snacks and loose cigarettes.

An elderly woman could be seen pushing a small cart of goods past the weary travellers.

The scene was raw and unpolished.

That said, photography was not allowed at the ICQS checkpoint.

Beyond the border, Kalimantan opened up.

Paddy fields went past the sight, one after another, replacing urban sprawl, while long, low houses and roadside shops blurred the line between home and livelihood.

The bus made a pit-stop at a rest area called ‘Roda Minang’ in Sanggau Regency, and enjoyed ‘teh botol’ (bottled tea) there.

After about eight hours, the bus arrived in Pontianak.

I was greeted by a friend, Eko S Adi – fondly known as ‘Pak Eko’, who brought me in for a late afternoon lunch.

That evening, we attended a local underground extreme music event – loud, abrasive and unmistakably Kalimantan – before continuing north to Mempawah, where I stayed at Pak Eko’s house for two nights.

Bugis influence in Mempawah

There was little sightseeing done in Mempawah.

Still, Pak Eko did brief me on its historical presence.

Once the seat of the Mempawah Sultanate, founded in the 18th century by Bugis nobleman Opu Daeng Menambon, the town reflects a blend of Malay, Bugis and Dayak influences that continue to shape daily life.

“There’s a lot of influences, but mostly they came from Bugis,” said Pak Eko.

At the heart of this legacy stands ‘Keraton Mempawah’.

Modest in scale, yet rich in symbolism, the ‘keraton’ (palace) has been anchoring the town’s identity to centuries of coastal trade and diplomacy.

Sadly, I did not manage to visit Keraton Mempawah or its historical landmarks, as upon arrival, it was already late at night.

The next day, before continuing the journey, we made a stop for lunch at a riverside restaurant in Kelurahan Terusan in Mempawah – we had rice with fried fish.

What stood out from this restaurant was the quaint riverside view, with small square ponds near the restaurant where diners could feed the fishes.

It was quite windy there too.

Hub of major cultural events

From Mempawah, we travelled inland to Ngabang in Landak Regency, which took three hours.

Historically linked to the Dayak Kanayatn community and the former Landak Kingdom, Ngabang stands as a cultural centre of Kalimantan’s interior.

We arrived in Ngabang later that evening and headed straight to Stadion Patih Gumantar where nearby, another extreme music event also took place.

Just steps away stood Radakng Aya’ Landak Kampung Budaya Ngabang – an imposing traditional longhouse adorned with Dayak motifs.

Radakng Aya’ Landak is more than an architectural landmark. Built as a cultural centre for the Dayak Kanayatn people, the longhouse reflects the traditional Dayak philosophy of communal living, where families once shared a single roof, pooling space, resources and responsibilities.

Its façade is adorned with bold Dayak motifs and murals — telling the story of how the ancestral Dayaks live their daily lives that speak to identity, spirituality and continuity.

The site serves as a focal point for major cultural events in Landak Regency.

Among them is ‘Naik Dango’, a post-harvest thanksgiving festival marking the end of the rice season, where rituals, traditional dances, music and communal feasts honour both ancestors and the land.

The longhouse is also central to Gawai Dayak celebrations, as well as cultural exhibitions, traditional weddings, customary meetings and regional festivals that bring together Dayak communities from all across West Kalimantan.

Standing there, it became clear this journey was never about ticking destinations, or even the extreme underground music.

It was about crossing borders without leaving home.

‘Of miracle fruit, Equator marker, and coffee’

On the next day upon the return journey to Pontianak, Pak Eko made a brief stop at a modest roadside plantation.

There, I was handed a small, sour starfruit. As expected, the super tartness puckered the mouth.

Moments later, I was offered a handful of red berries called the ‘miracle fruit’.

After chewing them (the pits were thrown away, of course), I bit into the same sour starfruit again.

To my astonishment, the sharp sourness had vanished, replaced entirely by sweetness – a simple, almost playful reminder that perspective could change everything.

Back in Pontianak, a visit to ‘Tugu Khatulistiwa’ was non-negotiable.

The Equator monument marks the line where the northern and southern hemispheres meet, a symbol so intertwined with the city’s identity that missing it would feel incomplete.

It is said that the monument creates a stunning natural phenomenon, which occurs only twice a year: on March 21-23, and Sept 21-23.

It is the moment when the shadows of the monument itself and surrounding objects disappear as the sun is positioned exactly at 0 degrees latitude, right over the line.

Later that evening, I visited ‘KopiKlaani’, a modest coffee shop run by another new friend, affectionately known as ‘Uun’, and his wife.

They served ‘nasi liwet’, fragrant rice cooked with coconut milk and spices, alongside ‘teh jahe’ (ginger tea).

‘Es buah’ was also served, a perfect cold fruity dessert to cool the body after a day’s worth of journeying.

As night-time arrived, more friends dropped by – familiar faces who had previously travelled to Kuching for a local music gig.

Coffee was never optional. They ordered cups after cups of the hot black brew, exchanging stories and having light moments with one another.

Earlier that day, I managed to purchase two small packets of Pontianak’s ground coffee, or ‘kopi bubuk’ – a reminder of the coffee culture in Pontianak being as strong as the beverage itself.

‘Small reminders of home’

The next morning, my final day in Pontianak began with ‘bak mi’ — egg noodles with prawns, comfortingly similar to Sarawak’s ‘kolo mee’.

There was nothing distinctively special about it, except for the fact that the dish somewhat reminded me of home.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed the ‘bak mi’ at my table, which was adjacent to that of an Indonesian family, whom I assumed was Christian family, as the man – presumably the father – said grace before enjoying the meal.

Before checking out from the hotel, I had ‘ikan asam pedas’, of which the version was flavoured with ‘tempoyak’ (fermented durian).

Overlooking the rooftop restaurant was a stunning view of Pontianak, a perfect ending to a boots-on-the-ground journey in West Kalimantan.

On the way to the airport later that afternoon, the streets told their own modern stories.

Convenience stores such as Indomaret and Alfamart dotted the cityscape, quietly embedded into daily life.

At Supadio International Airport, while waiting to board my flight, I managed to make a stop at Aming Coffee for a final cold brew, paired with ‘nastar’, Indonesia’s pineapple tarts.

The rich, thick and creamy cold beverage made me somewhat regret not having any cup of hot coffee when hanging out at KopiKlaani the night before.

As I made my way to the boarding terminal, purchases in the form of fridge magnets were made to be brought back home, a reminder of my journey to Kalbar.

One souvenir stood out – the miniature replica of the Tugu Khatulistiwa.

It struck the memory of my late grandparents’ house, where there was a larger version of that exact replica.

The flight back to Kuching took just 45 minutes, although it felt a bit shorter than that.

For a first step abroad, West Kalimantan was the perfect beginning – familiar yet foreign, understated, and quietly profound.