Sarawak Ultimate Guide 2026

Sarawak is Malaysia's great wilderness—a state larger than England, covered in some of the oldest rainforests on Earth, and home to indigenous cultures that have lived in harmony with the jungle for millennia. While neighboring Sabah draws visitors with Mount Kinabalu and world-class diving, Sarawak offers something fundamentally different: caves of staggering scale that rank among the world's greatest natural wonders, rivers that serve as highways into the primordial interior, and the opportunity to stay in traditional longhouses with communities whose way of life is rapidly changing but not yet lost to modernity.

The statistics alone are humbling enough to reframe your understanding of nature's scale. Sarawak Chamber in Gunung Mulu National Park is the world's largest cave chamber by area—you could fit 40 Boeing 747s inside with room to spare, or eight Airbus A380s wing-to-wing. The Clearwater Cave system extends over 200 kilometers of surveyed passages, making it the longest cave in Southeast Asia, with new sections still being discovered by expeditions. The Deer Cave entrance is so massive that you could comfortably park St. Paul's Cathedral inside. The rainforests blanketing much of the state are estimated at 130 million years old, predating not just the dinosaurs' extinction but the formation of many mountain ranges we consider ancient. The biodiversity concentrated here is so rich that new species of plants, insects, and even mammals are still being discovered with regularity—this is one of the last places on Earth where the catalog of life remains genuinely incomplete.

Yet Sarawak's greatest treasure may be its people. The state is home to 27 distinct ethnic groups, each maintaining its own language, customs, artistic traditions, and relationship with the forest that has sustained them for countless generations. The Iban, the largest indigenous group, were once feared across Borneo as fearsome headhunters and warriors; today, they welcome visitors to their riverside longhouses for cultural immersion experiences that offer genuine insight into a way of life that has survived colonialism, logging, and the relentless pressures of modernity. The Bidayuh of the highlands around Kuching, the Orang Ulu of the remote interior including groups like the Kayan and Kenyah, the coastal Melanau with their distinctive sago culture, the semi-nomadic Penan who remain among the last hunter-gatherers in Southeast Asia—each adds layers of cultural complexity that reward patient exploration and genuine curiosity.

Kuching, the state capital, provides an accessible and thoroughly charming introduction to Sarawak's many wonders. This is arguably Borneo's most pleasant city—compact enough to explore on foot, blessed with excellent food that rivals anywhere in Malaysia, graced with a scenic waterfront that perfectly balances colonial heritage and contemporary vitality, and possessed of a quirky character that delights visitors. The name means "cat" in Malay, and cat statues appear throughout the city, adding whimsy to the serious business of preserving cultural heritage. From Kuching, day trips reach orangutan rehabilitation centers, proboscis monkey habitats, traditional villages, and national parks protecting diverse ecosystems. But the real Sarawak lies deeper—up the rivers where the forest closes in, into the caves where darkness and silence reign, among the longhouses where the old ways persist alongside smartphones and satellite television. This is a destination that rewards time, patience, and a willingness to venture beyond the comfortable and familiar.

Sarawak's modern history is inseparable from the extraordinary Brooke family, the "White Rajahs" who ruled this territory for over a century in one of colonialism's most unusual chapters. In 1841, James Brooke, a British adventurer with modest inheritance and grand ambitions, sailed his armed schooner the Royalist into the waters of northwest Borneo. He found a territory in chaos—the Sultan of Brunei's authority had collapsed, local chiefs were in rebellion, and piracy plagued the coasts. Brooke offered his services to suppress the uprising, and in gratitude, the Sultan granted him the governorship of Sarawak. Thus began a personal fiefdom that would pass through three generations, lasting until the Japanese invasion of 1941.

James Brooke was a complex figure—a genuine adventurer who sought personal glory, a Victorian romantic who saw himself as bringing civilization to the "natives," and yet also a man who developed real affection for his subjects and who, by the standards of his era, ruled with relative justice. He suppressed headhunting and piracy through a combination of military campaigns and diplomatic persuasion, established basic legal frameworks, and created trading systems that benefited both the indigenous population and the growing Chinese merchant community. His critics, then and now, point to his violent suppression of resistance and his paternalistic assumptions about indigenous capability. His defenders note that Sarawak avoided many of the worst abuses of formal colonialism and that indigenous land rights and customs were largely respected.

James was succeeded by his nephew Charles Brooke in 1868, and it was Charles who truly shaped modern Sarawak. Ruling for nearly fifty years until 1917, Charles expanded the territory through treaties with Brunei, established the civil service, built infrastructure including forts and roads, and created the administrative systems that governed daily life. Charles was more austere than his flamboyant uncle—he spoke multiple indigenous languages, spent long periods in the interior, and was known for his frugality and personal integrity. The Astana palace he built in Kuching, visible from the waterfront, still stands as a reminder of Brooke rule. Under Charles, Sarawak became a functioning state with its own flag, currency, and international recognition.

Vyner Brooke, Charles's son, became the third and final White Rajah in 1917. His reign coincided with the challenges of the twentieth century—the Great Depression, rising nationalism, and ultimately the catastrophe of World War II. The Japanese invasion of 1941-42 was swift and brutal. The Japanese occupation that followed was harsh, with many Europeans interned and significant numbers of the Chinese population targeted for persecution. Australian and Allied forces, often working with indigenous guerrillas, gradually liberated Sarawak, but the territory emerged devastated.

After liberation, Vyner Brooke made a decision that shocked his family and many Sarawakians: he ceded Sarawak to the British Crown, ending the Brooke dynasty. The reasons remain debated—financial concerns, exhaustion, genuine belief that colonial administration would benefit Sarawak, or family dysfunction that made succession problematic. Whatever the motivation, the decision sparked the only political assassination in Sarawak's history: in 1949, Duncan Stewart, the second British colonial governor, was stabbed by Rosli Dhobi, a young Malay nationalist. Stewart died of his wounds, and Rosli was executed—but the anti-cession movement eventually faded as Sarawak adapted to its new status.

Sarawak remained a Crown Colony until 1963, when it joined the Federation of Malaysia alongside Malaya, Singapore, and Sabah. This merger was controversial—Indonesia opposed it vigorously, launching the "Konfrontasi" that brought sporadic military conflict to Sarawak's borders. Singapore's departure in 1965 further complicated matters. But Sarawak ultimately found its place in the Malaysian federation, though it retained special constitutional provisions including control over immigration (explaining why visitors from Peninsular Malaysia must show passports).

The post-independence decades brought rapid and wrenching change. Logging transformed the economy and the landscape, with vast tracts of primary forest converted to timber and later palm oil plantations. The scale was staggering—Sarawak became one of the world's largest exporters of tropical hardwood, with billions of dollars flowing through the economy but also irreversible environmental damage. Indigenous communities faced intense pressure on their traditional lands, with customary rights often overridden by state-granted logging concessions. The Penan people, in particular, gained international attention through their nonviolent resistance to logging, with figures like Bruno Manser bringing global awareness to their struggle.

Today, Sarawak grapples with the consequences of this transformation while seeking new paths forward. Large areas of primary forest have been lost, but significant tracts remain, particularly in national parks and remote interior regions. Ecotourism offers one potential model for sustainable development—the very caves, wildlife, and indigenous cultures that logging threatened now attract visitors willing to pay for their preservation. The state government has invested in infrastructure to support tourism while indigenous communities increasingly control their own cultural tourism initiatives. The balance between development and conservation, between tradition and modernity, remains Sarawak's central challenge—and one that makes visiting both urgent and ethically complex.

Sarawak's cultural richness stems from its 27 recognized ethnic groups, each maintaining distinct traditions while participating in a shared Sarawakian identity that transcends any single community. This diversity is not merely historical curiosity—it is living culture, practiced daily in longhouses throughout the state, celebrated in festivals that draw participants from across the globe, and expressed in art forms that range from ancient textile traditions to contemporary performance. Understanding this cultural landscape is essential to appreciating what makes Sarawak unique in Malaysia and in Southeast Asia more broadly.

The Iban, comprising roughly 30% of Sarawak's population, are the largest indigenous group and the most likely to be encountered by visitors. Traditionally riverine people, the Iban built their longhouses along the waterways that served as highways through the forest. They practiced shifting cultivation—clearing forest patches for rice farming, then moving on as soil fertility declined—and supplemented agriculture with hunting, fishing, and gathering. The Iban were also feared warriors, and headhunting was central to their traditional culture. Heads were not merely trophies but sources of spiritual power, essential for major life transitions including marriage and the building of new longhouses. The Brooke Rajahs suppressed headhunting through a combination of persuasion and force, but the warrior ethos survived in other forms—Iban men became renowned as trackers and soldiers, serving with distinction in conflicts from World War II to the Malayan Emergency.

Today, the Iban maintain their longhouse communities while adapting to modern life. Many young Iban have moved to towns and cities for education and employment, but longhouses remain functioning communities where extended families gather, ceremonies are performed, and traditional knowledge is transmitted to new generations. The concept of bejalai—the journey a young man undertakes to gain experience and prove himself—has evolved from headhunting expeditions to include education abroad, professional careers, and entrepreneurship, but the underlying values of courage, achievement, and community recognition persist.

Longhouse culture deserves extended explanation because it remains central to the Sarawak experience and offers visitors genuinely transformative encounters. A traditional longhouse is essentially an entire village under one roof—a structure that can extend hundreds of meters along a riverbank, housing dozens or even hundreds of families in individual apartments called bilik. Each bilik is a self-contained family unit with its own cooking area and sleeping space, but the magic of longhouse life happens on the ruai—the broad veranda that runs the length of the structure, serving as the community's shared social space.

The ruai is where visitors are received, where ceremonies are performed, where children play and elders gather, where the rhythms of communal life unfold from dawn to late evening. Staying in a longhouse means sleeping on mats in the ruai, awakening to the sounds of roosters and children, joining the community for meals, participating in activities ranging from rice wine drinking to traditional dances to jungle walks. It means experiencing a way of life where privacy is limited but loneliness is virtually unknown, where resources are shared and responsibilities are communal, where the forest is not abstract nature but a living presence that shapes daily existence.

The Bidayuh, Sarawak's second-largest indigenous group, occupy the highlands around Kuching and differ significantly from the Iban in culture and temperament. Traditionally mountain people rather than riverine, the Bidayuh built their villages on ridges and slopes, often with impressive baruk—round ceremonial head houses that served as centers for community gatherings and the storage of trophy skulls. The Bidayuh have a reputation for being gentler and more reserved than the Iban, though this stereotype oversimplifies the diversity within the group. Many Bidayuh communities have embraced Christianity more completely than the Iban, and their proximity to Kuching has accelerated integration with urban Malay and Chinese society. The Annah Rais longhouse, about an hour from Kuching, offers accessible Bidayuh cultural experiences including hot spring bathing and bamboo cooking demonstrations.

The Orang Ulu—literally "upriver people"—comprise numerous distinct groups including the Kayan, Kenyah, Kelabit, and Lun Bawang, united primarily by their geographic distribution in the remote interior highlands. These groups developed some of Sarawak's most elaborate artistic traditions, including the intricate beadwork, distinctive tattoo designs, and the sape—a stringed instrument whose haunting melodies have become emblematic of Sarawak's cultural heritage. Orang Ulu longhouses tend to be more formally structured than Iban or Bidayuh communities, with aristocratic families maintaining traditional leadership roles. The Bario highlands in the Kelabit region have become a destination for visitors seeking truly remote cultural experiences, accessible only by small aircraft or multi-day treks.

The Melanau, concentrated along the coast between Kuching and Bintulu, developed a distinctive culture adapted to the swampy coastal environment. Their traditional economy centered on sago palm cultivation—a starchy staple processed through elaborate techniques passed down through generations. The Melanau are also known for their tall houses built on stilts to protect against flooding, and for their complex religious history that has seen communities embrace animism, Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity at various points. Melanau coastal cuisine, particularly the raw fish salad umai, represents one of Sarawak's most distinctive culinary traditions.

The Penan represent perhaps the most dramatic contrast with modern life. Traditionally nomadic hunter-gatherers, the Penan roamed the deep interior forests, living off wild sago, game, and forest products. Their material culture was minimal—designed for mobility rather than accumulation—but their knowledge of the forest was encyclopedic. The Penan could identify hundreds of plant species and their uses, track game through subtle signs invisible to outsiders, and navigate vast territories without maps or compasses. Their resistance to logging brought international attention in the 1980s and 1990s, with activists like Bruno Manser living among them and publicizing their struggle. Today, most Penan have settled in villages, though some communities maintain semi-nomadic lifestyles and traditional knowledge. Visiting Penan communities requires special arrangements and sensitivity, but offers insight into a way of life that is vanishing from the Earth.

The Rainforest World Music Festival, held annually in July at the Sarawak Cultural Village near Kuching, brings these diverse traditions together with international artists in one of Asia's most celebrated cultural events. For three days, the jungle-clad hills around Damai beach resound with music ranging from Iban sape performances to African drumming to Celtic folk. The festival attracts tens of thousands of visitors, sells out months in advance, and has been repeatedly named among the world's best music festivals. Beyond the main stage performances, the festival offers workshops where visitors can learn traditional instruments, cultural demonstrations throughout the Sarawak Cultural Village's reconstructed ethnic houses, and a unique atmosphere that blends authentic tradition with contemporary celebration.

Kuching's urban culture blends indigenous elements with Chinese, Malay, and colonial influences in ways that reward exploration. The city's Chinese community, arriving in waves since the nineteenth century, established trading networks, built temples that remain active today, and contributed distinctive architectural and culinary traditions. The Malay community, though smaller in Sarawak than in Peninsular Malaysia, maintains mosques, religious schools, and cultural practices. The colonial heritage appears in buildings like the Old Courthouse, Fort Margherita, and the Astana, as well as in institutions and legal frameworks that bear the Brooke imprint. Walking through Kuching's compact center, you move between worlds—from the incense and altars of a Chinese temple to the call to prayer from a mosque to the Victorian solidity of colonial administration, all within minutes.

Sarawak's food scene centers on Kuching, which arguably offers the best eating in all of Borneo and ranks among Malaysia's top culinary destinations—though it receives far less attention than Penang or Kuala Lumpur. The city's compact size, diverse population, and strong food culture create a concentration of excellent options that rewards exploration beyond the obvious tourist spots. Unlike the more internationally oriented food scenes of better-known destinations, Kuching's best food remains primarily local—you'll be eating alongside Sarawakians rather than tour groups, in kopitiams (coffee shops) that have served the same dishes for generations, and at hawker stalls where quality depends on decades of accumulated skill rather than Instagram presence.

Laksa Sarawak is the signature dish, and it's genuinely, fundamentally different from other Malaysian laksas—not merely a regional variation but an entirely distinct creation that deserves fame beyond Sarawak's borders. The broth combines coconut milk with a sambal paste whose composition remains a closely guarded secret among the best vendors, but typically includes belacan (fermented shrimp paste), tamarind for sourness, galangal, lemongrass, and a complex spice blend that creates flavor layers revealing themselves sip by sip. The result is simultaneously rich and tangy, creamy yet refreshing—a combination that seems contradictory until you taste it. Vermicelli noodles provide the base, topped with prawns, shredded chicken, thin omelette strips, and fresh herbs. A squeeze of lime brightens everything. Anthony Bourdain famously called Laksa Sarawak "breakfast of the gods," and while such pronouncements are easy to dismiss as celebrity hyperbole, in this case, the enthusiasm is justified.

Every Kuching resident has their favorite laksa stall, and debates about the best can get heated. Choon Hui Cafe is frequently cited, as is Mom's Laksa—but the beauty of Kuching's food culture is that excellent laksa appears in dozens of kopitiams throughout the city. The best approach is to try several versions during your visit, noting the variations in broth richness, sambal intensity, and topping quality. Morning is the traditional time—laksa is fundamentally a breakfast dish, and many stalls close by early afternoon or when they run out. Prices are remarkably affordable, typically RM7-12 for a generous bowl.

Kolo mee, Kuching's other iconic noodle dish, appears deceptively simple: springy egg noodles tossed with lard, soy sauce, and sometimes shallot oil, topped with minced pork, char siu (barbecued pork), and sometimes wontons. The simplicity is deceptive—the quality depends entirely on the noodles' texture (which should be bouncy, with distinct chew, never soft or mushy) and the precise balance of seasonings. Good kolo mee is genuinely addictive, the kind of dish you find yourself craving unexpectedly days later; mediocre versions are merely forgettable. The best stalls have been operating for generations, with techniques passed from parent to child. "Noodle Descendants" on Carpenter Street has earned recognition, but again, excellent kolo mee can be found throughout the city. Prices are even lower than laksa—typically RM6-10.

Beyond these headline dishes, Sarawak offers unique ingredients and preparations that reward adventurous eating. Midin, a jungle fern found throughout Borneo's forests, appears stir-fried with belacan or garlic in almost every Sarawak restaurant. Its slightly crunchy texture and mild, earthy flavor make it an excellent vegetable accompaniment—and a constant reminder that you're eating in a place where the rainforest shapes the plate. Other jungle vegetables worth seeking include paku (another fern), terung Dayak (a small, slightly bitter eggplant), and various greens gathered from forest margins.

Umai, the Melanau raw fish salad, represents one of Sarawak's most distinctive culinary traditions—and one that challenges visitors accustomed to thinking of raw fish as a Japanese specialty. Fresh fish (traditionally ikan tenggiri, Spanish mackerel) is sliced thin and "cooked" with lime juice in the style of ceviche, then mixed with sliced shallots, chilies, salt, and sometimes toasted rice. The result is intensely fresh, bright with citrus, with heat building from the chilies. Umai is traditionally Melanau coastal food, but good versions appear in Kuching restaurants and at Top Spot Food Court. It's essential eating for anyone interested in understanding Sarawak's culinary diversity.

Manok pansoh represents traditional Iban cuisine at its most elemental: chicken cooked inside bamboo tubes over an open fire. The bamboo imparts subtle flavor while the sealed environment steams the meat to tenderness. Typically seasoned with lemongrass, ginger, and tapioca leaves, manok pansoh is simple food that connects directly to the forest—the bamboo itself becomes the cooking vessel, and the technique requires no pots, pans, or other equipment. Longhouse stays typically include manok pansoh as part of the cultural experience, but versions also appear in Kuching restaurants offering indigenous cuisine.

The seafood at Top Spot Food Court deserves special mention. This rooftop hawker center, accessed via a somewhat dingy stairwell in a parking structure, opens onto a bustling collection of seafood stalls where the day's catch is displayed on ice for selection. You choose your fish, prawns, crabs, or shellfish; specify your preferred cooking style; and wait for plates to arrive at your table. Prices are charged by weight and can add up, but the quality is excellent and the atmosphere authentically local. This is where Kuching families come for celebratory seafood dinners, and joining them provides insight into local food culture beyond the noodle stalls.

The kopitiam culture running through Kuching's food scene deserves appreciation as a dining tradition in itself. These old-school coffee shops—often occupying ground floors of prewar shophouses, with marble-topped tables and ceiling fans turning slowly overhead—serve as community gathering spaces where food is only part of the experience. Morning newspapers are read and discussed, business deals negotiated, friendships maintained across decades. The coffee itself, typically prepared with sweetened condensed milk and often with butter or margarine added during roasting, has its own devoted following. Kaya toast—sweet coconut-egg jam on charcoal-grilled bread with butter—provides the traditional accompaniment.

Layer cake (kek lapis) has become Sarawak's signature souvenir, and with good reason. These intensely colored, multi-layered cakes require extraordinary patience to produce—each thin layer must be baked separately, with some complex designs requiring thirty or more layers. The flavors range from traditional pandan and chocolate to elaborate creations incorporating everything from prunes to cheese. The texture is dense and moist, almost fudge-like. Prices reflect the labor involved—quality layer cakes are not cheap—but they travel well and make excellent gifts. Numerous shops in Kuching specialize in layer cake, with some offering behind-the-scenes glimpses of the painstaking production process.