We continue driving through the karst landscape. Every now and then, I see rustic stalls with local fruits such as langsat, cempedak, pineapples, and durians. We pass by cozy, open air roadside coffee shops with green plastic chairs and tables covered in red tablecloths, where people drink their first kopi of the day.
I don’t mind sitting in the car for hours, having conversations, listening to music, or just enjoying the silence while drifting away to places I forgot.
After around 30 minutes, the road and surroundings get more lively, and cars are parked on the side of the road; we are in Serikin.
Serikin is a small Dayak Bidayuh town located on the border of Sarawak and Indonesia. Locals call themselves BiRikin; they call Serikin ‘Kampong Jagoi Serikin’. We are here to visit the market. The Serikin weekend market was officially established in 1992. It allows Indonesian traders to legally bring their unique goods to Sarawak and sell them. According to Dr. Madros, traders are allowed to arrive on Friday and start their trade on Saturday and Sunday, before heading back to Indonesia on Sunday evening.
We park our car close to a white wooden tandas (toilet) building and walk to the entrance, passing by multiple stalls selling hats, scarves, krupuk, bed sheets, cans with interesting drinks, and many more items. We cross a narrow bridge that arches over a small river. Traditional Indonesian roofs can be seen on the right side, where the great Baruk, a giant food hall, is located. We proceed along the concrete road. My eyes don’t know where to look.
Apparently, I walk too fast, leaving our friends behind. The guy with the dark eyes tells me to slow down and advises me to absorb slowly what’s happening here.
He is right. I tend to go way too fast; he helps me calm down when my mind is racing.
We look at kitchen tools and utensils. One of our friends shows me mortars made in stone and wood. I was reminded that I need one as we are frequently cooking at my place. It’s quite an essential kitchen utensil to have in a Sarawakian household. My friend’s preference is to have a stone mortar, which is called cobek. “Maybe it’s because I’m used to it. The flavor is tastier when using a stone version,” he says. I continue to walk around and eventually decide to buy a gray stone cobek. The guy with the dark eyes helps me negotiate, and I end up paying RM20 for it.
As we explore the rest of the market, we stop at a stall that sells health slippers and oils. The stall owner shows me a bottle of red oil. I can see roots in it, like a magical potion. He takes my hands and rubs some oil onto my forearm. It smells strong and medicinal, and it gives me a tingling sensation. I ask if I can try the slippers. He nods, and I find my size. I place the slippers on the concrete, take off my shoes and socks. It hurts as I step on the right one. The stall owner holds his right hand in the air and shows five fingers. “Five minutes, you have to stand on them.” My friend echoes him. I can’t even wear them for five seconds. I wipe off the slippers, place them back on the table, and put my socks and shoes back on. I thank him, and we continue our walk.
Eventually, I end up with a wooden spoon and spatula, two locally grown avocados, brown rice, pulut (glutinous rice) and tapioca. It’s steaming hot. I put on my cap and carry my items in blue and green plastic bags. We pass by the red oil stall, and the salesman sees me. Our eyes meet, and he holds a bottle of red oil in the air. The whites of his eyes are drained with red borders. While we stare at each other, I tell him, “It’s okay” as I wave goodbye. He looks disappointed, and his penetrating stare follows me as I continue to walk.
Pumping beats of Indonesian house music get louder as we approach the food hall. We walk inside and find a table where we put our stuff and order drinks. I walk through the hall and decide to order gado-gado, a dish that I used to eat frequently when I was living in The Netherlands. The gado-gado served here has more potatoes and is more savory. I like it. I finish it quickly and decide to shoot a couple of videos outside the food hall. I lose track of time.
I notice the guy with the dark eyes and our friends. They are carrying my backpack and the other stuff I bought. “It’s time to go,” one of them says, and I follow them to the car.
Where are we going now?
Thank you for reading Borneo Stories! The best adventures aren't done alone. I’m actively seeking collaborators, locals, and partners who want to showcase the authentic beauty of Borneo together. If you have a unique perspective, feedback or a location to share, I'd love to connect.
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