There Is a Border
Inside Malaysia

First, look at the map

Malaysia is a country in two pieces: West Malaysia on the Malay Peninsula, and East Malaysia on the island of Borneo. The South China Sea lies in between, and Kuala Lumpur to Kota Kinabalu is roughly as far as Tokyo to Okinawa. You don’t need a passport to fly from Tokyo to Okinawa. If you did, Naha airport would be chaos.

By area, about 60% of the country is in the East. By population, the East holds less than 20%. Big, and thinly populated. The capital and most big companies sit in the West. The East wins on size and loses on headcount.

Now look closely at the map. Right below East Malaysia, another large country is attached.

The rest of Borneo is Indonesia

Plenty of people assume Borneo is all Malaysia. In fact, about 73% of the island is Indonesian, about 26% Malaysian, and about 1% Brunei. It is a little sad that Brunei, which gave the island its name, holds just 1%, though it seems to have recouped the rent in oil and gas.

The border with Indonesia runs for 1,881 km: more than 60% of all Indonesia’s land borders.

Along those 1,881 km of jungle, there are said to be only a handful of official crossings, on the Sarawak side. Along the rest, the jungle works as an unpaid border guard.

Why you need a passport

Now, the passport. The answer lies in a prenuptial agreement signed in 1963. Malaysia was formed that year, when the peninsula and Borneo came together, and the Borneo side set a condition: we keep control of our own immigration. Prenups, as everyone knows, get reread many times after the wedding.

So entering the East involves immigration procedures even for West Malaysians, and foreigners need their passports. That is why I step off a domestic flight and join the immigration queue. Singapore, which joined the federation in 1963 too, left two years later. A very early resignation.

A word on oil and kings

East and West are also bound together by oil and gas. Sarawak holds about 60% of the nation’s gas reserves. Yet the royalty paid to producing states is 5%. Sarawak wants 20%. Its share is 5%; its grievance is paid in full. Bintulu’s LNG complex sits right at the centre of this story.

The tug of war is between the national Petronas and Sarawak’s state-owned Petros. The names are so alike that proofreaders weep. As of October 2026, I could find no report of a settlement.

One more thing. Kings live only in the West. Malaysia’s king is chosen every five years, in rotation, from the sultans of nine states, all of them in the West. Sabah and Sarawak have, instead of a sultan, a state governor appointed by the king. The title is long; designing the business card must be a struggle.

The East’s history does feature another kind of king: the “White Rajahs”. More on that soon.

Laksa is another country, too

Everything so far has been the starter. The main course is laksa.

Malaysian laksa, roughly speaking, comes in two kinds: sour or curry. Penang’s is sour. Kuala Lumpur’s and Singapore’s are curry. If laksa were three brothers, the sour eldest and the rich middle child live on the peninsula. But across the sea, in Borneo, lives the youngest.

Penang assam laksa

Mackerel broth soured with tamarind. Thick rice noodles, with pineapple, mint and other garnishes. Sour and spicy.

Curry laksa

Coconut-milk curry broth, topped with tofu puffs (taupok), cockles, prawns and more. Rich.

Sarawak laksa

A broth of sambal belacan (shrimp paste), tamarind and coconut milk, with chicken and prawn stock. Thin rice noodles with omelette strips, bean sprouts, chicken and prawns. No curry.

The youngest is Sarawak laksa. Its broth is built on sambal belacan, tamarind and coconut milk. Sambal belacan is a pungent, fiery paste of fermented shrimp and chilli. Chicken and prawn stock are layered on top.

The noodles are thin rice vermicelli. On top: strips of thin omelette, bean sprouts, shredded chicken and plump prawns, finished with coriander. On the side come a small lime and more sambal. You squeeze the lime, add the sambal, and tune it to your taste. In other words, the person eating finishes the laksa. Lime first, before you start. Get the order wrong and the laksa police won’t come (I think).

Then the flavour. There is no curry in it, they say. People from the West are often surprised at the first taste: isn’t this curry? It is also known as the dish the late Anthony Bourdain called the “breakfast of the gods”.

A confession. At the first spoonful, I thought it was curry. Galangal, lemongrass, pepper, and in some recipes even cumin and star anise: a Japanese palate automatically files that layered aroma under “curry”. Locals insist it is not. The pride that it isn’t curry, and the tongue that can only taste curry. That gap may run deeper than the one between East and West Malaysia.

This bowl, by the way, came from the food court on the second floor of The Spring Bintulu. Only one stall there sells laksa. With one option, decision time is zero.

I ordered the deluxe Sarawak laksa, packed with prawns, for RM16. Locally, that is quite a luxury; a regular laksa is RM10. There were three prawns in the photo and the difference is RM6, which works out at RM2 a prawn. Crude arithmetic, but nobody argues in front of prawns.

Same country, same name, completely different dish. Perhaps the stomach is explaining the passport rule. Ask a Malaysian which laksa is best and you will learn where they are from. When laksa comes up, Malaysians get more heated than they do about borders.

Sarawak is not only a laksa country. It is a noodle country, too. This is kolo mee, a noodle dish without soup: egg noodles tossed in lard, topped with minced pork and wontons, with pickled chillies on the side. The name kolo is said to come from the Cantonese for “dry-tossed noodles”. For outstanding kolo mee, try Grandpa Homemade Noodle in Miri.

Sorry for all the noodle photos, but I am a noodle fanatic. In Sarawak, one stomach is never enough. Just one more: prawn kuey teow. The sauce was so beautiful that I forgot to check the noodles themselves.

Bonus: the mystery of the rice

A friend brought me a bag of rice. On it, in Japanese, it boldly says “Obento” and “Japonica rice”.

Who makes it? The HAPPY brand turned out to belong to Lian Hua Seng, a rice miller in Kuching. It runs Sarawak’s largest rice mill, and its main supplier is said to be Bernas, Malaysia’s rice giant. So I found out who bags it.

But where the rice actually grew, I could not find out. The grade is “Super Import”, meaning imported rice. Imported from where? Ask the bag, and the smiling grain just spreads its arms and says nothing. Japanese on the outside, a mystery on the inside. If you know, please tell me.

Same clock, different sunsets

One last thing. All of Malaysia runs on the same clock. The sun has made no such promise. Miri lies about 12 degrees of longitude east of Kuala Lumpur. Same clock, but the sun sets about 50 minutes earlier. One country, one clock, two suns.

Even within Sarawak, the sky differs. Sunset in Kuching comes about 15 minutes later than in Miri. Miri to Kuching is about 500 km in a straight line, further than Tokyo to Osaka.

Why I love Sarawak

As it happens, I am in Bintulu again today. Even among Japanese who live in Malaysia, surprisingly few have been to East Malaysia. No wonder, when a domestic trip comes with immigration.

Still, I love Sarawak. The reason is simple: the laksa is good. The serious stuff was all in the starter.

East and West. Same country, same clock, and yet sunsets 50 minutes apart, different laksa, different ways of counting kings, and immigration on top. Still, it runs perfectly well as one country. Perhaps that is the report card on the promise of 1963, more than sixty years on. The story of the White Rajahs: soon. I don’t say “next time”, out of respect for this column’s tradition of letting trailers mature.