Ah, here I am in lovely Kuching. Those of you that are familiar with the patois that's spoken in these parts probably already know it means "pussy". And there are quite a few pussies running around here. Some are well groomed and look like they take care of themselves. Some, though, look like they've seen better days, if you know what I mean. Some of the tail around here looks like it's been around the block a few times. A bit of the bad bush.

But say what you will about the denizens of Bandar Pussy, I dig the place. It's wet and warm, and the beer's dirt cheap. And they've got pussy statues, a pussy museum; it seems like this village here proves a whole gamut of social scientific theorems ranging from international politics to psychology purporting that yes, indeed, it's all about pussy. I could go on all day about pussies.

Teeheehee.

But seriously folks, I love Kuching. I have since I first came here five years ago, when I tumbled through on the Lonely Planet circuit (at which I will lash out at below). Now, though, I'm here on business, or at least what passes for business for me. As regular readers of this column know, I'm living in Malaysia under some sort of scholarly auspices, conducting some academic project that I prefer to keep as ambiguous as possible to prevent anyone getting their hopes up that some product might actually result from my time here.

This is what I really do

Suffice to say, however, that I am down in Sarawak to check out some of the national parks and to learn a bit more about the new Sarawak Forestry Corporation. Some things have not changed in the past five years. My favourite place to drink a beer and take in the evening, Seng's, is still going strong at the end of the market square. And the Tun Razak wing of the Sarawak Museum is still closed.

The clerk told me that the place was closed for remodeling for four years, then it opened for a few months, and now they are between exhibits. And to tell you the truth, I don't even know if this town is truly named after its prolific pussy population; according to an article by Chang Pat Foh that appeared in the April 1991 issue of the Sarawak Gazette, there are some competing theories, including one that Kuching is named for the Chinese characters denoting "Old Well", and another suggesting the town is named after the old word "Cochin", but no translation is provided. I still prefer Kota Pussy, though.

It's a good change of pace from KL. I enjoy Sarawak because it's different. I'd call it a bit more diverse, a bit more open. It lags behind the Western Peninsula in terms of development, and has served, along with Sabah, as Malaysia's "resource frontier," according to a brick-thick longitudinal economic analysis I've been toting around in my bag. Here's what it says about Kuching:

Kuching is a city without an industrial base, in which a proportion of the wealth derived from logging and oil and gas elsewhere in the state has been devoted to urban 'modernisation' and large-scale construction. [One commentator] viewed the expenditure on upgrading Kuching's facilities as resulting in 'a grossly disproportionate growth of population,' with the bureaucracy as the prime beneficiary. In fact, it seems that much of Kuching's population is still relatively poor despite the traffic jams and the new five-star hotels.

This description throws new light on the town for me, although the tome from which it comes is almost 10 years old. At least some of the description probably still holds true, as the state tries to put a pretty face on its main economic activity, which is primary resource extraction. And if the whisperings and rumours I hear at various dining tables around town have any truth to them, there is significant discontent with the politics of the state.

It's a family trip

So far it's been interesting. I brought my wife and daughter along, and my mother flew over from the US to meet us, so I am juggling my research endeavours with playing the role of tour guide. I've seen some interesting things, met some good people, and have been to some places I've never been before. A few highlights:

1. My first direct experience with a snatch thief. It happened as me and my peeps were returning to the hotel, a pair on a bike crept up behind my mother and attempted to nab her handbag. They didn't get it, but they did manage to pull her into the street, and she suffered some minor abrasions from the fall. I was walking about 10 meters in front, pushing the stroller, and by the time I realised what had happened it was too late, although I ran in vain after the assailants, hoping that I might apprehend them and thus be featured on the front-page of the Steller English Language Press.

2. Discussing the whereabouts of Bruno Manser with some upriver folks. If you're not familiar with the Bruno Manser saga, here's some background. Manser gained fame as an environmental activist back in the 1980s, when he lived in the rainforest with the Penan. His activities earned him the title of "enemy of the state number one", and he's been described as "a Swiss Robin Hood".

Around 1990 he escaped back to Switzerland via Brunei and founded a non-profit to benefit the Penan. Then in 1999 he snuck back into Sarawak, and it's widely held that he's no longer among the living. However one feels about Manser and his antics, he has, for better or worse, encouraged the public to take a second look at the logging industry in Sarawak and the government's treatment of indigenous peoples.

3. Smacking the hell out of a monkey. This happened at Bako National Park as we were waiting for the boat to take us back to civilisation. An intrepid, and, I might add, shameless, macaque made a rush at our table to grab something shiny, not unlike the aforementioned snatch thieves.

He didn't net his quarry, but he did get a solid right jab square in his little monkey kidneys, and I hope when he made his way back to his monkey hive, or whatever lair the little bastards hang out in, he related his failed attempt to his monkey-minded cohorts, and maybe it will give them pause next time they think about screwing around with yours truly. I have no patience for kleptomaniacal primates of any stripe.

4. Finding a couple of gems in downtown Kucing not listed in the Lonely Planet, including the Bollywood Caf, at 66 Carpenter Street, which serves North Indian cuisine that is out of sight, and The Red Bookshop, 68 Wayang Street, which is a soothing spot with a great selection in the midst of everything that is obviously run by folks that love what they do. I think that there is a "Lonely Planet" effect. I call it that because I think it's the most popular guidebook, and I see hordes of tunnel-visioned and stinky honkies buried in the familiar blue book everywhere I go.

It seems like it's just one step from package tourism, as they all go to the same places, eat the same thing, and think the same thoughts. Mass-consumption exotica. I think it encourages an insularity, though, as thousands of tourists, trying to get by on a shoestring, watching their backs and bags, guarding their meager possessions (the only connection to the civilised world, the umbilical cord in the backpack), constantly enjoy the feeling of living on the edge and exploring without really embracing.

The problem for the locals, though, is when the book isn't updated for several years, as is the case with the Malaysia Lonely Planet. It's still in its second printing, from about 2000. Businesses that start up in the interim miss the boat, and the buckets of cash that accompany all the travelers searching for a bit of safety and a sure bet. I'm not saying that guidebooks are not useful; they do have their place, I'm simply suggesting that guidebook tourism as a phenomenon is a little bit disconcerting.

5. Bizarro Spelling-Bee. As I was walking along the river this morning I heard long before I saw a loudspeaker enunciating, not very clearly, somewhat obscure English words. When I arrived on scene, I found a group of parents observing some sort of spelling challenge. All the participants looked to be about 12-14 years old. There's nothing out of the ordinary in this, except the fact that the moderator was absolutely mangling the words. The poor kids were dumbstruck and terrorised at his thunderous challenges.

I heard words twisted in ways I never thought possible, like some quadruple-jointed circus contortionist possessed by an even limberer demon writhing against nature and any constraints, be they tendon or ligament. I thought about liberating them from the torment. One hapless girl, who was summarily and unfairly dismissed, was tasked with sounding out "secularism". However, the way she heard it, she spelled "C-I-R-C-U-L-A-R-I-S-M." I was appalled.

It wasn't enough that the moderator's bastardisations where an assault on improper pronunciation. He was infecting others, primarily the weak and defenceless youngsters, and causing them to give birth to hideous abortions of linguistics as well. Oh the humanity.

I may not come back

So it goes in Pussyville. I'll be back in a couple of weeks, but don't wait up for me. Hell, maybe I'll stay. I did a quick and informal study of commodity prices in various cities in Sarawak (based on data featured in the Sarawak Gazette and my own empirical observations) and found that over the past 20 years cans of my favourite rotgut have remained constant at about RM2.80 each.

This in itself is a minor economic miracle, as even though other foodstuff and household items have increased in price, booze has stayed steady, a bulwark against inflation with pleasing intoxicating side-effects. Dependable, reliable, like a good friend.

KEITH BETTINGER may be deported by the SPCA for smacking monkeys. To petition against his leaving, e-mail him at kisu1492@hotmail.com. In his other life, Keith is a Fulbright scholar, living in Kuala Lumpur, and writes for various publications such as the Asia Times.