Sandakan meets Sandokan: A tourism story waiting to be told

WHEN my first employer posted me to Sandakan in 1991, I thought I was ready for anything. Like many young plantation men, I arrived equipped with a well-thumbed guidebook, a suitcase of essentials and a generous supply of confidence. After all, how complicated could a coastal town in Sabah be?

As it turned out – quite complicated in the most delightful ways. My real education did not come from maps or briefings, but from the people I met, the places I wandered into, the kopi shops I lingered in, the seafood I devoured and the conversations that stretched long into tropical evenings. Somewhere along that unexpected curriculum, I found something else too – my wife.

Sandakan quite literally changed the course of my life. Years later, I returned again with my family to continue another chapter of plantation career, remaining until my retirement.

Looking back, Sandakan was never just a posting. It became a classroom, a community and, in many ways, a second home. The town has given me stories in abundance – some humorous, some humbling, all unforgettable.

One of those stories began with a signboard. Along the road from the airport into town at Taman Pak Tak sits a seafood restaurant called Sandokan. The name immediately caught my eye. Any place bold enough to borrow the name of a pirate hero deserves curiosity – and perhaps a good plate of seafood.

One day I met the Pak Cik owner and asked a simple question: “Do you know where the name Sandokan actually comes from?” He paused, thought for a moment, and admitted he didn’t. So there I stood, unexpectedly promoted to resident historian of pirate literature, explaining the tale of Sandokan, the swashbuckling hero created by the Italian writer.

I once suggested to Pak Cik that he fully capitalise on the legend – play Sandokan movies, hang a few pirate flags, maybe even have someone dressed as Sandokan welcoming diners at the door. He nodded politely. Very politely. Which in Southeast Asian body language can mean anything from “good idea” to “maybe in another lifetime.” After all, if you name a restaurant Sandokan, a little swashbuckling would not hurt.

What began as a casual question over a restaurant name soon turned into a delightful research – the curious link between a real harbour town in Sabah and a fictional (or factual) pirate prince aka Robin Hood of tropics who sailed through European imaginations. In Sandakan, even the name carries an adventure.

When Sandakan became Sandokan – When history sounds like a pirate story

Say Sandakan quickly enough and you might hear Sandokan. Whisper it slowly and somewhere along the syllables the letters begin to play tricks on the ear. One letter slips. History smiles. Adventure begins.

Sandokan was the swashbuckling pirate hero of old adventure novels, sword drawn, sails full, enemies fleeing across the seas of imagination. Yet if you ask around today, I suspect nine out of ten people in Sandakan may not know him at all.

Which is precisely why I feel obliged to offer this small public service – a bit of literary history and a little tourism idea for Sandakan.

Sandokan may be fiction. Sandakan is real. But the real place – Sandakan – has lived through enough drama, trade, tragedy and triumph to rival any pirate tale ever written. Sandokan himself was created by the Italian writer Emilio Salgari in the late 19th century. His adventures first appeared in 1883 and eventually grew into eleven swashbuckling novels that captured the imagination of readers across Europe and beyond.

Yet the most curious part of the story is this: Emilio Salgari had never travelled to Borneo. Not once. From his study in Italy he pieced together maps, sailors’ gossip and colonial newspapers to imagine a pirate prince sailing the seas of Sabah, Labuan and the Sulu archipelago as if he had grown up there. Reality whispers. Imagination shouts.

Which raises the question: where did the name Sandokan come from? Many believe it echoes Sandakan, the coastal town in Sabah whose waters were once known for piracy and maritime intrigue – perfect inspiration for a novelist dreaming of distant adventures from his desk in Italy.

I first discovered the curious Sandakan-Sandokan link not in an archive but over dinner. At a Malaysian Estate Owners’ Association (MEOA) gathering in Kuala Lumpur, I happened to sit beside the Italian Ambassador, HE Cristiano Maggipinto. When I mentioned I was from Sandakan, his eyes lit up. “Ah… Sandokan – the Tiger of Malaya,” he said. Diplomats, it seems, carry not only passports but their nation’s literary heritage too.

As the evening unfolded, we also found common ground in palm oil. After all, the Italian confectionery group Ferrero – maker of Nutella, Kinder, Tic Tac and Ferrero Rocher – relies heavily on it. So there we were: one man from Sandakan and one diplomat from Italy, with palm oil, pirate literature and chocolate diplomacy meeting quietly between dessert and conversation.

Curiosity naturally followed. Back home, I began digging deeper into the story – discovering the delightful link between a real harbour town in Sabah and a fictional pirate prince born in an Italian imagination. A story worth sharing preferably with seafood and a sunset over Sandakan Bay.

Sandokan – The Tiger of Malaya

In Salgari’s novels, Sandokan is not merely a pirate. He is a Bornean prince whose kingdom was stolen by colonial powers, forcing him to take to the sea in rebellion. His base lies on the mysterious island of Mompracem from where he commands a fierce band known as the Tigers of Mompracem. With his loyal Portuguese friend Yanez de Gomera, Sandokan launches daring raids against colonial ships across the South China Sea.

He is fierce to enemies. Loyal to friends. And stubbornly romantic. He even falls in love with Marianna Guillonk, known as the “Pearl of Labuan.” Now imagine explaining that love story to modern Sabahans: A Bornean pirate prince. A European lady. And Labuan as the romantic backdrop. It sounds suspiciously like the pitch for a blockbuster streaming series.

The first Sandokan films were made in 1941. In 1976, Indian actor Kabir Bedi brought Sandokan to life in a six-part European television miniseries that captivated audiences across the continent – turning the pirate prince into a household name and launching Bedi’s international career. Just imagine the journey of that story: a legend from Borneo, written by an Italian, brought to the screen by an Indian actor – a truly global tale long before globalisation became fashionable.

The latest 2024–2026 adaptation of Sandokan, released on Netflix, has been greeted in Europe as a major television event. In Italy especially, it drew strong viewership, proving that the old Tiger of Malaya still commands an audience more than a century after he first sailed in fiction.

Sadly, Netflix has yet to drop anchor in Malaysia – although ASTRO has begun screening it. Even more curious, the storyline takes a creative detour: Sandokan now grows up in Singapore instead of Borneo. Aiyah… when pirates start changing their birthplace, you know the scriptwriters have been given generous creative freedom.

Still, the legend sails on. YouTube offers a treasure trove of classic Sandokan films and series FOC. Watch a few and you may find this old pirate from Borneo can still hold his own against the modern spectacle of the Pirates of the Caribbean. In short: rebellion, romance and empire under tropical skies – Borneo already had all the ingredients for great drama.

Robin Hood of the tropics

Unlike ordinary pirates, Sandokan was portrayed as a Robin Hood of the tropics – bold, charismatic and fiercely opposed to colonial powers, often dressed in red silk robes embroidered with gold. His adventures roamed across places familiar to Sabahans – Labuan, the northern coasts of Borneo, the Kinabatangan River, Marudu Bay and Pulau Kuraman (the fictional Mompracem) – real maritime routes once used by traders, rebels and colonial fleets.

Here fiction brushes gently against history. Some believe Sandokan drew inspiration from colourful figures who once sailed the waters of northern Borneo, possibly even resistance leaders who challenged colonial authority – though, as with many such tales, the historical record was often written through colonial eyes.

One such figure was the remarkable Don Carlos Cuarteroni (1816–1880). He began life as a Spanish naval captain, but later took a most unexpected turn – becoming a Catholic priest. As Monsignor Cuarteron, he established the first Prefect of Borneo. A sailor turned shepherd of souls – already a story worthy of a novel. Author Mike Gibby did exactly that in his book Crowned with the Stars.

My search also led me to the work of Dr Bianca M. Gerlich, a German researcher who suggests that Sandokan may not have been entirely Salgari’s invention. She notes that elements such as Mompracem and the Tiger Flag may echo real events in northern Borneo, including the resistance of Syarif Osman of Marudu, whose fortress in Marudu Bay was destroyed by British forces in 1845.

Such tales of rebellion travelled through colonial newspapers and sailors’ gossip until fragments reached Europe – where an Italian writer likely thought, “That sounds like a novel.” Ironically, Emilio Salgari, who dreamed of becoming a sea captain but never did, sailed the world from his writing desk, producing nearly 80 adventure novels set in lands he had never visited – including the seas of Borneo.

From jungle port to international harbour

Long before modern Sabah existed, Sandakan was already a trading harbour under the Sultanate of Sulu. Small sailing vessels arrived with forest treasures – beeswax, rattan, edible birds’ nests and jungle resins – linking Sandakan to China, the Philippines and beyond. No cranes, no container terminals – just wooden boats, tides and the rhythm of commerce. Even the town’s name has an unusual story. Sandakan likely comes from the Sulu word sanda, meaning “to pawn.” In other words, Sandakan loosely translates to “the place that was pawned.” Not many cities can claim a name that sounds like a financial transaction.

By the late 1800s, European traders arrived and the town grew into a lively colonial port. Germans, British, Chinese merchants and local traders gathered along the harbour, earning the early settlement the nickname “Kampung German.” Borneo, it seemed, was global long before globalisation.

After a fire destroyed the town in 1879, British administrator William Burgess Pryer rebuilt it and named it Elopura – Beautiful City. Elegant name. But locals simply ignored it and kept calling it Sandakan. And that, perhaps, is how democracy works in Southeast Asia: if enough people keep using the old name, the map eventually gives up.

By the early 20th century, Sandakan had become the capital of British North Borneo and one of the region’s busiest ports. Chinese traders from Hong Kong settled in large numbers, timber exports flourished and the town earned the nickname “Little Hong Kong.” The harbour bustled with cargo boats, steamships, lively markets and Cantonese opera. By 1923, Sandakan even installed an automatic telephone exchange earlier than Hong Kong and Shanghai – not bad for what outsiders once dismissed as “jungle Borneo.”

After World War II, Sandakan rebuilt and later rode the timber boom of the 1970s, when logs flowed through its harbour and fortunes were made. Some joked the town had more millionaires per square mile than many Asian cities. Eventually, the economy shifted again – toward plantations, tourism and conservation.

Sandakan – Gateway to Borneo’s best

Today Sandakan offers something far more appealing than pirates or timber booms – tourism at its best, Borneo style. With direct flights from Kuala Lumpur, travellers can easily reach Sabah’s east coast.

A short drive leads to the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre, where Borneo’s red-haired philosophers descend from the canopy. Further afield flows the Kinabatangan River, one of Southeast Asia’s richest wildlife corridors. Boat safaris pass proboscis monkeys, hornbills and even pygmy elephants emerging quietly at dusk.

Back in town, history whispers along the Sandakan Heritage Trail, recalling the days of “Little Hong Kong.” And then there is the food – seafood fresh from the Sulu Sea, bowls of ngiu chap, roasted meats, fish noodles and seafood bak kut teh. Morning at Sandakan Central Market is its own theatre. Steam rises from noodle bowls, kopi cups clink, and conversations flow in Cantonese, Hakka, Malay and everything in between. It is the town’s unofficial parliament – where news travels quickly, rumours faster, and stories faster than the Wi-Fi.

Add the warmth of its people and sunsets over Sandakan Bay, and you discover the town’s quiet secret. Sandakan does not shout like a big city. It charms slowly – through forests, food, laughter and morning kopi. Give it a little time and, like a good bowl of noodle soup, its flavours stay with you. So, if adventure, wildlife, history and good food appeal, here is a simple invitation: Come and discover Sandakan.

When Sandakan and neighbours meet Sandokan

Before we lower the sails on this story, let me clarify one small matter. Sandokan is not Sandakan. The pirate prince was a fictional creation of the Italian writer Emilio Salgari. My point was simply to tap on the delightful coincidence of the names – Sandokan and Sandakan – and ask whether that literary echo might offer a creative storytelling opportunity.

After all, even in Salgari’s novels the Tiger of Malaya did not sail within neat administrative boundaries. His adventures roamed across the seas of Borneo, Labuan and the Sulu archipelago, even to India – fictional voyages drawn from very real geography.

But the larger thought is simpler. Sometimes opportunities hide in plain sight – or in this case, in a single letter. Sandakan. Sandokan. A and O.

One is a real harbour town in Sabah with a remarkable history of trade, wildlife and resilience. The other is a pirate hero whose adventures have travelled across novels, comics, films and television screens for more than a century. In Europe, Sandokan is not obscure. He is a cultural icon, remembered by generations who grew up with the tales of the Tiger of Malaya. Which raises a gentle question: could Sandakan turn this literary coincidence into a small but imaginative tourism story?

Research by Dr Bianca Gerlich traces some of the historical threads behind the Sandokan legend in Sabah. Perhaps one day Sandakan might allow that story to sail a little further, reviving the tale of Sandokan – the seafaring Robin Hood of Borneo.

Imagine a Sandokan corner along the waterfront explaining how an Italian writer who never visited Borneo created a pirate prince inspired by these seas. Storytelling walks, themed cafés, outdoor movie screenings or playful murals could weave literature, history and local identity together.

None of this would replace what Sandakan already offers. Visitors would still come for the orangutans of Sepilok, wildlife cruises along the Kinabatangan River, the Heritage Trail, and of course the seafood that has quietly resolved many family debates and business negotiations over the years.

Stretch the idea a little further and one might even imagine a Sandokan Cruise linking Sandakan, Labuan and Kota Marudu – or all the way to Sarawak, sailing across the waters that once inspired the legend.

After all, many great destinations thrive on stories. Paris has the Three Musketeers. London has Sherlock Holmes. Transylvania has Dracula. And here in Sabah, Sandakan already has Sandokan – one A and one O.

As Europe celebrates the legend once again through the latest adaptation on Netflix, perhaps the real shores of northern Borneo might seize the moment to tell their side of the story. After all, the seas that inspired the adventures of Sandokan still lie here where traders, rebels, explorers and seafarers once sailed long before novelists and screenwriters discovered them.

It would be a curious irony if the pirate legend continues to sail across global screens while the very harbour whose name echoes the hero remains quietly at anchor. Stories, after all, are powerful travellers. They cross oceans, languages and generations. And sometimes the most compelling ones are those that begin in real places before imagination takes them further.

Sandakan already offers wildlife, history and remarkable resilience. Perhaps it also holds the beginnings of another story waiting to be told – a small narrative thread that connects a harbour in Sabah with a pirate legend known across Europe. Sometimes a town does not need to invent a story. It simply needs the imagination to recognise the one already written about it.

And if the old Tiger of Malaya were sailing past one evening, catching the sunset over Sandakan Bay, he might glance toward the harbour, adjust his tiger flag and smile quietly before saying, “Bah… let’s sail to Sandakan.”

Perhaps that is also a gentle invitation – for Sabah Tourism and its stakeholders to consider how this curious literary coincidence might be turned into a creative opportunity for Sabah.