The Sea Dragon’s Shangri-La
The rainforests of Sarawak guard their secrets wonderfully well. Among them, a thirty-year-old longhouse carved entirely from Bornean ironwood—belian, as it’s locally known—grown and shaped by the land itself. Impervious to decay. Untouched by termites. When a friend invited me here, I had no idea of its significance.
Erected in the 1990s with fifty-two doors, the longhouse now stands splintered into segments— sturdy and spectral, like a dream unwilling to dissipate. This hidden horizon is roughly a 45-minute journey from the nearest airport, eluding even the precision of GPS. To get there, you must first traverse a river by boat—ten minutes of sacred stillness through a jungle cathedral.
Mobile reception is erratic, yet the longhouse emanates Wi-Fi. Its fragrant ceilings and floors radiate an ancient energy, as if the structure itself had sprouted fully formed from the earth—like bones in the spine of the land.
“This isn’t just a homestay,” said the Tuai Rumah, the chief and caretaker, as she welcomed me.
“It’s a dragon’s breath. A dragon’s promise.”
I chuckled. “How? Did the dragon say so?”
“Yes,” she affirmed. “The Ibans of Sera are fierce protectors of tradition, but not everyone remembers how we came to settle here.” She leaned in, her voice like a spell.
“My ancestor fought beside Rentap himself, but grew weary of war and bloodshed. One day, as he sat weeping at the riverbank, praying for peace, a sea dragon appeared—disguised as a drifting tree trunk. It carried him on its back.”
According to legend, the dragon ferried him upriver and made him a solemn promise: shelter beyond the reach of blade and tide. A haven where hornbills fly unafraid, where his people could survive and thrive.
But there was one sacred covenant: they must forsake greed and thirst for war.
“He led the first Iban expedition to this site,” she said, “where the dragon coiled into the soil and slumbered. This longhouse was built around its resting place—sanctuary for the weary.”
Perhaps the Ibans didn’t just migrate from Skrang. Perhaps they were summoned by something wild and divine. That night, after years of restless sleep, the gentle rain and chirping cicadas lulled me into the deepest rest I’d had in a long while.
For three days, I was welcomed like long-lost kin. Feasted on bottomless tuak—fermented rice wine lovingly brewed by the longhouse women—and luscious ancestral dishes steamed in bamboo, infused with wild ginger and jungle ferns.
Each meal a quiet ceremony, each sip a thread in the tapestry of Iban hospitality. I bathed in rainwater, glimpsed shy spirits cloaked in fur and feather, and let the wilderness mend the seams of my burnt-out soul.
This place is hors du temps. Time forgets itself here.
You don’t just check in at Sera.
You step through a portal woven in hope, myth, and precious belian.
The Sea Dragon’s Shangri-La isn’t just a destination.
Its history passed down for generations.
Forever etched in memory.
And if you’re lucky, perhaps you might find it too. — DayakDaily
Charraine Sudin from Miri is the Gold Winner (Adult Category) in the ‘Homestay Odyssey’ writing competition organised by DayakDaily and supported by the Sarawak Ministry of Tourism, Creative Industry and Performing Arts.
