Airports. I have always had a soft spot for them. They mean you are travelling somewhere; getting out of the unroofed thatch that is Ireland; going on holiday; embarking on a backpacking adventure; opening your mind to the wonders of travel. They can, of course, also mean you are coming home, seeing friends and family again, ready for a comfy sofa, a flushable toilet and full fridge in Dallan Avenue.

Airports are also one of my favourite places to people watch. It is surprising how emotional we let ourselves get within the walls of these buildings; mothers forcing back tears as their sons jet off to backpack in Ghana and Borneo; lovers embracing one last time before painfully parting; old friends who haven’t seen each other in years joyfully reuniting. For me then, airports have always been a place of humanity and excitement.
Until now. Coffee Bean. Internet Café. Brunei International Airport.

Perhaps it is because I had a very short gap after returning to Ireland from Ghana and flying off again. Perhaps it is the journeys from Dublin to Heathrow and the 16 hour massacre that is flights from Heathrow to Dubai and then from Dubai to Brunei. Or perhaps it is because I know that I still have two more flights to endure before I get to the jungle, from Brunei to Kota Kinabalu and then on again to Sandankan. All things considered, it is mostly likely down to the fact that I am in the middle of a 9 hour lay-off in Brunei. My attitude to airports has changed.

I feel, not trapped (because trapped is not the right word), but suspended. Almost as if I were in another stratosphere. There is an element of the Tom Hank’s movie “Terminal”, except in my world, the characters are natural and real and not hammed up soft ex-soviet stereotypes. My head is dampened by mild jet-lag and my tongue is recovering from too much aeroplane food. I am not sure if you can understand from where I am coming.

I think for you to understand my place, I must convey the place. Brunei Darussalam. I have had the opportunity to leave the airport for a few hours since arriving from Dubai and to take a look at the capital, Bandar Seri Begawan, with its soaring mosques and picturesque water-villages. It is a unique city and Brunei is a truly fascinating country. Bear with me.

The thing is that Brunei was once an empire that ruled over the whole island of Borneo and the southwest Phillipines. Now it is one of the smallest countries in the world, tucked into two tiny slivers of land lodged in the northern coast of Sarawak. While the Brits were raping Malaysia and stretching their dirty fingers across Northern Borneo and while the Dutch were pawing the southern Indonesian Kalimantan region, Brunei, with it’s rich history and culture, was disappearing. Into nothingness. Then guess what happened. Oh sheet. That’s right boys. Oil.

And I don’t mean they found some oil. I mean they were pissing oil. Oil to beat the band. Some of the largest oil fields in South East Asia. On the bus from the airport into the city we drove past a petrol station. Petrol was 53 Brunei cents a litre. That is roughly 25p per litre. The Ghan filling station in Rostrevor has a long way to go. When you think that bottled drinking water in Brunei costs nearly twice the price of petrol per litre, maybe they should start drinking petrol?

Oil has meant that the Bruneians are living it up. The wealth created has allowed the citizens of his tiny state to enjoy an unprecedented standard of living. They get free medical and health care. Their average life expectancy is 77 years. Even if you need an operation outside the country, the Sultan will sort it out. The government sorts out everyone’s schooling. I spoke with a local tour guide who is going to study in Cardiff next year (God love her). She is getting all her fees taken care of plus a living allowance for her time in the UK.

Literacy stands at 94%. They don’t pay ANY taxes. They have short working weeks. They have the highest minimum wages in the region. The population of Brunei is 400,000 yet there are 1.2 million cars. Most families have several. All sports and leisure facilities are free. They are afforded cheap loans. I am talking serious oil. Serious.

Sounds good, right? Here’s the fun part. Don’t f*ck with the Sultan. This is no democracy. Never has been. The citizens have no say or no control in how the country is run and that is how it is going to remain. The Sultan’s rule is absolute.

But maybe that is not important. Sure, I am not fond of dictatorships (especially after my recent visit to West Africa where I have read much about the demise of most African states largely at the hands of the “Big Man Leader”). But perhaps the Bruneians will disagree with me in terms of my labels and argue that their country is a functioning ruling monarchy rather than any sort of dictatorship. Comparisons with Africa are not really fair or indeed useful given the huge cultural differences between these two parts of the world and these two peoples. No. My major problem with Brunei stems from something else. Drink.

Whatever criticisms people lay at the door of Islam, I can categorically say that there is one area I strongly believe the Muslims have got wrong. Alcohol. I hastily disembarked in Brunei looking for a cold beer. Sorry boys. Illegal. The Bruneian airport staff looked at me confusedly as a lonely tear with absolutely no alcohol in it rolled slowly down my cheek.

As I while away the final few hours of waiting in Coffee Bean my thoughts turn to my next two flights; to meeting the other volunteers; and to meeting the orang-utans for whom we will be caring; and to maybe getting a drink once I get to Malaysian Borneo. You know what to expect as much as I do.