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Gopeng is quintessentially a Malaysian sleepy hollow. It’s a town that whispers to you, a far cry from the roar it had in the 19th and 20th centuries when it was a tin mining hot spot. Today Gopeng is one of Asia's top adventure destinations. From the heritage of this old mining town, a new haven of eco-tourism and adventure has been unearthed.
Friday | Hup Teck Soya Sauce Factory, Gaharu Tea Valley, Adeline Villa & Resthouse |
Saturday | Ulu Geroh (Rafflesia trek), Museum Gopeng, Earth Camp |
Sunday | Nomad Adventure Mountain School |
The town lies two hours away from Kuala Lumpur, and is near Ipoh. As old mining towns go this tranquil one boasts of rivers, caves, and limestone cliffs.
It was the exact answer for me as I searched for a way to keep the centuries old way of life intact for the locals and the honouring of its history as a mining town.
Soy sauce making process at Hup Teck Soya Sauce Factory. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
History meets craft at Gopeng. First up there is Hup Teck Soya Sauce Factory, one of the last surviving businesses from before the First World War. The secret to its survival lies in a fermentation technique for making soya sauce introduced by the late founder from Guangzhou, China. The heavy earthen pots are used for ageing the bean mixture. According to second-generation owner Low Pak Tong, "The pots absorb heat during the day to allow the fermentation to continue at night and their porous surface allows air circulation which enhances the intensity of the flavour.” These pots are at least a century old.
Locals hanging out at the newspaper stall in Gopeng town centre. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
As you enter the heart of Gopeng town where I would highly recommend that you walk… and walk… and walk… and allow the buildings and architecture to introduce themselves to you, one of the first things you’ll see is a roundabout with a Rafflesia emblem - once the site of Gopeng’s historic core. Nearby, a good number of pre-war buildings that survived a great fire in 1886 still exude an old-world grandeur, standing erect. What you see reflected in the original architecture is a legacy of Gopeng’s multi-ethnic settlers. The footprints of these people crisscross the tin mining town of old.
View from the first checkpoint of the Gaharu Tea Valley tour. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
The high fortified wall (dubbed the Mini Great Wall of China) guarding Gaharu Tea Valley - Malaysia’s first and biggest organic plantation for gaharu, the Malay name for agarwood, may seem tacky, but Gopeng’s most-hyped attraction in recent years is quite fun. For just 10 Malaysian Ringgit (USD$2.20), you get to explore the 300-acre property in an air-conditioned van, and find out why gaharu is so highly prized (answer: it’s incredibly difficult to extract), hug a tree, enjoy stunning valley views from the panoramic stage, and sample gaharu ice-cream.
Adeline Kuo. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
Gopeng’s eco-tourism status is intact because back-to-nature resorts and “glamping” sites have mushroomed. One of the sharp business investors at the time built the Adeline Villa & Rest House, which is a must-visit accommodation site.
Adeline Villa & Rest House reception area. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
Set on a hilly terrain surrounded by rainforests, this dual-property, solar-power-fuelled accommodation has bamboo-styled rest houses, upscaled chalets and comfortable dorms to choose from - a far cry from its humble beginnings.
Way back in 2004, single parent and hairdresser Adeline Kuo saw the future of eco-tourism and opened up a barebones campsite as a way to earn a living and better support her children. You can’t help but admire her for her business savviness and grit.
Today, this bubbly lady employs more than 50 workers with some of them from the ‘underserved’ Semai Community who make up one per cent of Malaysia’s population. The Semai people were a formerly nomadic minority indigenous tribe famed for their forestry knowledge. Today they use that knowledge to contribute to eco-tourism and maintain the adventure activities of Gopeng. Adeline’s motto in life is simple, “When you make others happy, you are also happy.”
Breakfast at Adeline’s: Porridge with fried fish, fermented vegetables, braised peanuts, spring onions, anchovies on the side. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
Knock yourself out at dinner with Adeline’s legendary village-style buffet. The ingredients are indigenously sourced. The local specialties include asam laksa, which is rice noodles in a spicy-sour broth, nasi ulam or rice salad, tau fu far which is soya bean curd, barbeque, kueh (dessert snacks), and a whole lot more. A large gulp of cool mountain air is highly recommended after dinner. And the mountain also serves up some delights for the eye. Brilliant orange striped spiders, baby birds and glow-in-the-dark mushrooms.
A 10-minute drive on a narrow hillside road will bring you to Kampung Batu, one of five villages that make up Ulu Geroh, otherwise known as Gopeng’s gateway to fertile grounds of the Rafflesia, the world’s biggest flower. While not unique to this area, researchers say Ulu Geroh has the highest concentration of the Rafflesia, which blooms once every nine months and dies mere days later.
One of many guides available, Bah Insan, is a Semai. Many Semai people resort to becoming tour guides as a way to improve their lives. That way the knowledge they have inherited from their ancestors also lives on.
Rafflesia in bloom. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
To get to the Rafflesia, you will go on a one-hour trek up the Leech Trail (which lives up to its name, so be prepared). The journey can be a little daunting - the trail is one continuous elevation, with some sections at a 45 degree angle - all worth it as you see the Rafflesia in full bloom.
Rajah Brooke’s Birdwing butterfly. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
From here, you’ll proceed to a nearby site famous for spotting the rare Rajah Brooke’s Birdwing butterfly with metallic-green and black wings. Insan hopes to educate the public about Ulu Geroh’s biodiversity so that his community “can have a stronger voice to oppose activities that harm the forest.” A few years ago, he joined forces with the locals to petition against illegal logging and by winning that battle he has helped keep the forest and its wild inhabitants protected for the next generation.
Lunch being prepared. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
A scrumptious communal meal that the Semai womenfolk cook up using natural “utensils” like bamboo and firewood is the icing on the cake. Your host probably caught the fish from the nearby river the previous evening and foraged the jungle for ulam or wild ferns, to go with your rice and durian sambal, a pungent fermented condiment you’ll hate or love. Sorry, there really is no middle path with durian.
Anyam, or traditional weaving by the Semai. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
Post-lunch, Insan’s sidekicks will treat you to an indigenous arts and crafts demonstration. Learn about anyam which translates to traditional weaving, as the ladies skilfully entwine coconut leaves into headgear and baskets. Be pleasantly surprised by the humane philosophy behind Semai hunting techniques; the sumpit, a bamboo blowpipe used to catch small animals, delivers instantaneous death, sparing them from prolonged agony.
Museum Gopeng facade. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
On the way back, drop by Museum Gopeng, which only opens on weekends. Housed in a wooden building that originally served as the horse stables of tycoon Eu Kong (founder of a traditional Chinese medicine pharmaceutical known as Eu Yan Sang), the volunteer-run museum offers a charming look into Gopeng’s past. Rare photographs tracing Gopeng’s evolution from the 1850s, and vintage memorabilia such as mining equipment, rubber tapping tools and other collectibles all hang proudly. In capturing that part of history Gopeng pays homage to the community that helped make this town a rip roaring mining site.
While admission is free for now, donations for the upkeep of the museum are encouraged. Gopeng had other private museums which shuttered after the pandemic, highlighting the challenge of keeping these community-driven initiatives going.
Earth Camp jungle lounge. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
Dinner and a night at Earth Camp is a must-do. This is a campsite and headquarters for outdoor adventure company Nomad Adventure. Located next to the scenic Kampar River, your commune with nature with the bare minimum. Fans and mosquito nets are all you will need - trust me that is more than enough. Designed with green building principles in mind, all the buildings have passive cooling systems, UV-resistant water tanks that are repurposed into low-carbon footprint toilets, and the attractive jungle lounge is made from recovered wood from 100- year-old shophouses.
Nomad’s founder Chan Yuen-Li is the stuff of legends. She has been an outdoor lover whose past lives include stints as an award-winning environment journalist and competitive adventure racer, she captained the first Malaysian team to complete the Eco Challenge Morocco 1998, a multisport ten-day adventure that involved riding camels, kayaking and snow expeditions, among other things.
More importantly, she established Gopeng as one of Asia’s top adventure destinations. She recruited her team by literally showing the locals photos of the sport, and asking, “Who can swim and wants to be a rafting guide?”
These days, the company employs more than 50 people including part-timers, mostly locals from neighbouring villages.
Nomad also invests significant resources into environmental education programmes and activities that benefit the community, such as clean-ups of illegal rubbish dumps, since Gopeng, like many small towns in Malaysia, still has no rubbish collection service.
Student Imran (left) and instructor Rafizi (right) at Nomad Adventure. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
For your last day in Gopeng, it's a full-throttle adrenalin-pumping adventure ahead. White-water rafting is Nomad’s best seller. With 22 rapids, Kampar River offers everything from gentle flat-water rafting for the beginner, to tackling larger rapids for intermediate participants. Also popular: the unique ropes course at their Mountain School.
Nestled in a scenic forested plot of land that’s partly surrounded by a limestone outcrop - with its own private cave - the “school” is really an adventure park that lets you choose from five high-ropes courses of varying levels of difficulty. Fun fact: when building the site, care was taken to ensure the original state was preserved - the durian trees with high-rise jumping-off platforms have been there since day one.
Durian trees at Nomad Adventure’s Mountain School are used for the outdoor learning courses. Photo by Teoh Eng Hooi.
As you test your balance on treetop suspension bridges, climb wobbly rope ladders, and glide across ziplines over limestone pinnacles and lush rainforest below, you will learn about and even surprise yourself. “Our mission is to provide an environment for participants to interact with nature through outdoor learning experiences,” says Yuen-Li. “Nature is our greatest teacher - a place to explore potential and discover purpose.”
I started out saying that Gopeng whispers to you. That’s how instincts also work for most of us – they come as whispers initially. You may wonder then what my travel tip is to you? I say, “Listen to your whispers. Trust your whispers. They rarely let you down.”
Dusty streets, houses on stilts, towering palm trees, At first glance, Banteay Chhmar looks like any other village in rural Cambodia.
Then you notice the moat.
In the very centre of town, just off the main road connecting the community hall with the high school, market and pagoda, a perfectly square waterway appears out of nowhere.
Shaded on all its sides by thick foliage, the moat wraps around a vast temple enclosure, raised to mimic a mountain. This is Banteay Chhmar Temple complex: an Angkorian citadel constructed in the late 12th century under King Jayavarman VII. Nine more ‘satellite’ temples radiate from the main sanctuary.
With the scorching sun on our backs, my guide Mr Pel leads me along the boardwalks erected over the rubble of Banteay Chhmar.
The temple’s crowning glory is its outer gallery walls, which depict domestic scenes, great battles and vignettes from the royal court, in exquisite bas-relief.
For locals, these structures have always been significant sites of worship. The temple’s face towers, bas-reliefs and intricate carvings that fuse Hindu and Buddhist symbology are every bit as impressive as the temples of Angkor. But unlike Angkor, Banteay Chhmar had been lost to the jungle for eight centuries, and had not benefited from conservation or protection from looters.
Until a group of enterprising residents recognised its untapped potential.
Determined to take a socially responsible approach from the outset, they established Banteay Chhmar Community Based Tourism (CBT) in 2007 with assistance from non-governmental organisations like Agir Pour le Cambodge (France) and Global Heritage Fund (USA). The latter trained more than 40 locals to start restoring the main temple.
Hotels are banned in the protected zone around Banteay Chhmar, so CBT started homestays with families in the town, a truly local experience I enjoyed for the duration of my stay. My room was typical of a Khmer home: A plain wooden room with a large bed, a mosquito net, and a fan.
Many families settled in Banteay Chhmar after escaping civil war refugee camps along the border. My host, Mrs Nil Loeun, was separated from her family and forcibly relocated to Banteay Chhmar under the Pol Pot regime.
“When we first learned that the Global Heritage Fund would be restoring the temple, we were worried that villagers would be made to leave, like in the past,” Loeun says. “We are very happy that they are protecting the temple as well as the people of Banteay Chhmar.”
The CBT welcomed its first official guests in 2007, and continues to welcome visitors from all over the world with guided tours of the temples and villages, traditional music performances and other cultural experiences alongside homestays, meals and transportation.
Book a tour package or pick and choose a range of activities.
A project that puts the interests of the community first is still a relatively new concept in Cambodia, but it’s proving to be a successful one.
“Everything has changed,” Sophal later tells me. “Many people now think about protecting and rebuilding the temple whereas before, they only thought about destroying it. Locals were involved in the looting of the temple. But now they understand how important it is to care for the temple, and are involved in its restoration. So now we have more than a hundred people who come to work at the temple everyday, all of them Banteay Chhmar locals. They work to improve their family income.”
Visiting during monsoon season, I expected to be the only guest. But when I arrived, the office was a hive of activity. A large group had just come from a neighbouring province, to learn the ropes of community-based tourism from the Banteay Chhmar team.
When setting up the tourism initiative, the CBT consulted the community to make sure they had a voice in the project. They also wanted to ensure that Banteay Chhmar locals would benefit from tourism, unlike communities in Siem Reap, which remains one of the poorest provinces in the country, despite being home to Angkor Wat, Cambodia’s most popular tourist attraction.
“In Angkor Wat, we saw most local people have moved outside, and fees go to foreigners,” CBT Coordinator, Mr Tath Sophal, told me over lunch. “We thought we should do something to help the local people here.”
The four villages closest to Banteay Chhmar Temple – home to some 2,000 families – are now actively involved in the CBT in some way. Around a hundred people are employed as guides, drivers, handicraft artisans and cooks, while hundreds more benefit indirectly. As well as steady employment, CBT members receive training in hospitality, food hygiene, and English language lessons.
2018 was Banteay Chhmar’s biggest year, with just over 2,000 visitors. But two years on, the COVID-19 pandemic decimated visitor numbers.
“We welcomed 67 local visitors in 2021,” says Sophal. ” With borders opening up again as COVID-19 pandemic restrictions ease, Bantaey Chhmar has seen a welcome increase in travellers, with over 900 visiting in 2022.
As more travellers learn about Banteay Chhmar as an alternative to Angkor, Sophal and the CBT team want to ensure that local families continue to benefit. Profits from the fund have been used for a range of development projects, including rubbish collection, installation of solar panels, and funding community clean-ups and reforestation projects.
Thanks to the extra income they earn, many families in Banteay Chhmar can now afford to invest in their children’s future. “They save money for their kids to go to school, for food, and for saving money for university fees,” Sophal says.
Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC), locally referred to by its old name Saigon, is one of Asia’s most fascinating cities. Home to about 9 million people, the bustling metropolis in Vietnam’s south is a colourful juxtaposition of old and new with east and west.
Friday | Blanc. Restaurant Saigon, Fito Museum of Traditional Vietnamese Medicine |
Saturday | Cat Tien National Park (Vườn Quốc Gia Cát Tiên), Saigon Outcast |
Sunday | Fin Saigon |
The city’s rich imperial and colonial past can be found in its architecture, ubiquitous street coffee culture and hole-in-the-wall eateries serving up some of the most delicious and affordable local and international cuisine in the region
But Saigon is more than its colourful past. Rapid development has brought with it skyscrapers, modernised public transport — rent a public bicycle, take the water bus or even hop on the upcoming metro line — and a lively arts and events scene.
Set out for District 1 (D1), the city centre and default starting point for most travellers to Saigon. If you’d like to base yourself here, look out for Caravelle Saigon, a city icon. Built in 1959, it was one of the country’s icons of modernity, and it is currently only one of two EarthCheck-certified hotels in the whole country.
D1 is home to many of the city’s colonial-era monuments, including the Saigon Post Office and Notre Dame Cathedral. Both are located within walking distance from each other, and a stone’s throw away from shopping malls, streetside coffee shops, and markets selling assorted goods in all colours and tastes — a contrast of old and new that will be a recurring theme throughout your trip.
If you are feeling energised, it’s possible to cover most of D1 within a day with TNGO’s Public Bicycle System app, allowing you to seamlessly navigate the city’s many alleys – some hidden – exhaust-free.
Some of Saigon’s more iconic restaurants and cafes can be found in D1, alongside popular family establishments and street vendors. If you’re not ready to take the plunge into Vietnamese street cuisine, head to Blanc. Restaurant for lunch.
The restaurant serves a fusion of cuisines in a modern setting — think duck breast served with butternut squash puree, Vietnamese basil, starfruit, bamboo shoots and ginger fish sauce. With a few set menus to choose from, helpful staff are on hand to help you make a decision.
And you may notice the menus come with illustrations featuring Ho Chi Minh City sign language (one of three Vietnamese sign languages) for each dish — which you are encouraged to use instead of speaking. Blanc. Restaurant employs staff who have hearing disabilities. According to the restaurant, about 65 to 70 per cent of deaf and hearing-impaired people in Vietnam are unemployed, and the restaurant was opened to give people with hearing disabilities a chance to earn a living.
Make your way to District 10 (D10), a short ride away from D1. On your way, notice the colonial buildings and wandering tourists giving way to a vibrant residential district filled with rows of traditional shophouses, juxtaposed with modern malls and office buildings. D10 is one of those districts where the main roads lead to smaller roads that hide alleys that lead to even more alleys, each with their own little secrets.
Nestled along a single-lane road is the Fito Museum of Traditional Vietnamese Medicine. Founded by Dr Le Khac Tam in 2003, the private museum showcases the evolution of Vietnam’s traditional medicine, a part of its heritage that dates back thousands of years. The museum’s architecture reflects the styles of some of the ethnic minority groups in Vietnam like the Chams, including a Champa temple on the fifth floor. You can also find original traditional instruments and other prehistoric artefacts, including some from the Stone Age.
For dinner, head back to D1 and make for Organik Kitchen Saigon. In true east-meets-west style, your first dinner in Saigon could be a falafel pita sandwich, a bacon salad, or even an Italian margherita pizza, all under USD$6-$7. Besides their plant-based offerings, what’s even more memorable about this vegan establishment is the revolving door of live music performances, stand-up comedy shows, art exhibitions and charity fundraisers within its premises, which it shares with Indika Saigon, an indie bar and events space. Enjoy a house made tropical rum punch as you soak in your first night in Saigon.
Ready for a break from the chaotic energy of Saigon?
Dong Nai Province, home to Cat Tien National Park (Vườn Quốc Gia Cát Tiên), is an ideal escape into nature. The national park is about 150km from Saigon’s D1, a five-hour bus ride away.
At 738sqkm, Cat Tien National Park is about the size of Singapore, and home to Ta Lai village where the Ma, Tay and Stieng ethnic communities live. Primates like the native golden-cheeked gibbon and pygmy slow loris, as well as sun bears and leopard cats, including a thousand species of birds, can also be found at the national park. Endangered creatures like Asian elephants, Sunda pangolins and the Siamese crocodile can also be spotted.
In the park, you can visit the Cat Tien Bear and Wildlife Rescue Station, Bau Sau Crocodile Lake or go on an Animal Night Safari. Better yet, consider an overnight stay at Ta Lai Longhouse, an initiative by the World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) to support the Ta Lai communities by developing their capacities to guide travellers on ecotourism activities like trekking, kayaking and fishing.
These opportunities enable communities to improve their livelihoods and better access essentials like education. Thirty per cent of the bill from your stay is donated to their community development fund which provides job opportunities and supports community projects.
If you prefer to stay in Saigon, check out Thu Duc City; in 2020, Districts 2 and 9 in Saigon were merged to form Thu Duc, effectively a new city in a city.
An up-and-coming major economic zone and technology hub in Vietnam, Thu Duc can be reached via the futuristic-looking Thu Thiem 2 bridge. Its glass-walled skyscrapers, al fresco dining establishments serving international cuisine and high-end serviced apartments are a world away from the colonial buildings and shophouses of Saigon. You may even spot a few metro stations — the city’s first metro line, which runs through Thu Duc, is set to open in 2023.
Saigon Outcast, located just on the edge of the expat enclave of Thao Dien, is an excellent hideout from the concrete modernity of Thu Duc. An authentic and welcoming ambience awaits those seeking a touch of bohemianism with a dash of adventure with a rock-climbing wall greeting you near the entrance. At this alternative events space, don’t miss the Thao Dien Flea Market on Saturdays with pop-up stores by local artists, artisans, and microbusinesses selling their crafts and products. These include colourful cookies from the Little Rose Bakery, an initiative by the Ho Chi Minh City Child Welfare Association to protect and empower underprivileged girls at The Little Rose Warm Shelter.
A short walk away and you’ll see The Factory, a centre for contemporary arts with a facade made from parts of shipping containers. Opened in 2016 by Vietnamese artist Tia-Thuy Nguyen, The Factory is a social enterprise with workshops, live arts, talks, film screenings, and other initiatives to connect and develop cross-cultural dialogue. The profits from the sale of artworks or products are mainly used to fund the running costs of these programmes.If you’re ready for some shopping, head to boutiques in Thao Dien like Purr Nature where you can find eco-friendly products made by local artisans. These range from handmade face masks to organic honey, and all proceeds go towards operating the Purr Shelter, a home for orphaned and abandoned kittens. You can also look for The Organik House nearby if you’re searching for alternatives to everyday plastic items.
Make your way back to D1, where the (by now) familiar scents of suon nuong (grilled pork ribs) and nuoc mam (fish sauce) wafting around the streets will remind you that it’s almost time for dinner.
Eating local is part of any quintessential travel experience, but go a step further with Noir. Dining in the Dark, where you dine in darkness to experience the world the way a person with visual disabilities does.
Run by the same organisation behind Blanc. Restaurant, Noir. Dining in the Dark works closely with the Blind Association Centre in HCMC and other partner organisations supporting people with visual disabilities, providing employment to this community.
The menu, which is also available in braille, comes in three categories: From the East, From the West, and Vegetarian. They all comprise a starter, a main course, and dessert. Through it all, you will be assisted by a food guide, to whom you can explain your dietary restrictions and food preferences, for a custom menu, and a one of a kind sensory experience.
Start your Sunday with breakfast at the Green Bamboo Kitchen, also run by the Ho Chi Minh City Child Welfare Association.
The Green Bamboo was founded in 1993 as a beacon of hope for hundreds of homeless boys in the city by providing them with opportunities and support to lead them toward a stable life. By rehabilitating the boys’ mental and physical health to reintegrate them into society, they have been able to pursue education and even employment opportunities.
The dishes are typically Vietnamese home-cooked meals within the USD$1-$2 price range. According to head chef Ms Thu, the kitchen’s operations took a hit during the COVID-19 pandemic, and they switched to a delivery-only model. However, she aims to resume dining in by the end of 2022.
The city is notorious for its unforgiving heat during the dry season from March to May but luckily, there are many ways to keep yourself hydrated. From streetside sinh to (smoothies) carts, to a vast array of coffeeshops dishing out glasses of ca phe da (Vietnamese iced coffee) and even free water dispensers along the streets – you’ll never go thirsty in Saigon.
Enjoy a scenic 15-20 minute ride down Hoang Sa street, which flanks the Nhieu Loc-Thi Nghe canal, before crossing the bridge towards Phu Nhuan District, another vibrant district popular with young locals due to its numerous secret cafes and juice bars dotting the main commercial street, Phan Xich Long. One such cafe is Fin Saigon, a Vietnamese boutique coffee brand using Robusta beans grown sustainably by farming communities across the country, including the renowned coffee and tea producing regions of Lam Dong and Gia Lai in the central highlands.
Fin Saigon is located on the ground floor of an apartment building and it is the perfect place to find the ultimate souvenir from Vietnam: grab some locally-grown Robusta coffee beans and a filter, and make your own ca phe phin (traditional Vietnamese filtered coffee) when you’re home, dreaming of your next trip back.
In Long Mỹ, a village in Vietnam's Mekong Delta region, Phan Thị Nga and her childhood friend, Chiêm Thị Bé, are working on a batch of colourful patchwork cushions destined for customers from as far as Europe.
As they work, Nga recounts a time in Long Mỹ when travelling on xuồng, local-style wooden boats, was a daily occurrence. "We used to bathe and even cook using the river water, now no one would dare do that," she exclaimed with a laugh, referring to the pollution that has swept the waters.
Located in Hậu Giang province, water still flows into Long Mỹ from the grand Mekong itself, forming countless tributaries and streams, flanked by rows of Flame of the Forest trees.
But the picturesque setting hides decades of poverty from casual eyes. As the land becomes less suited for farming owing to unsustainable farming practices and pollution, the flowing streams leave villagers, who cannot afford their own transport, stranded from schools and other services that might lift them out of poverty.
For women like Nga and Bé, crafting quilts for Mekong Quilts, a social enterprise that creates sustainable work for underprivileged women, was a boon to their fortunes — until orders dried up.
The COVID-19 pandemic’s halt on international travel meant the end of demand for the women’s intricate quilts, which were highly popular with travellers.
But sustained by a small stream of online orders and a pivot towards making new products like face masks, Mekong Quilts, which still operates one shop in Ho Chi Minh City, has held onto its mission to uplift the community.
And as travel gradually resumes, Mekong Quilts is now also running cycling tours to the Mekong Delta, where visitors can get to know the communities behind the crafts.
Nga belongs to the first batch of women trained by a British fabric designer when Mekong Quilts first started in 2001. “[Partly] because I love the job, and because of my previous experience as a seamstress,” Nga says, recounting how she came to join Mekong Quilts.
“Many [of the ladies] saw me making quilts and asked to join and learn the craft!”
Extremely passionate about quilting, she explains the labour-intensive process: "We soak the fabric [in soap water] for one day before drying for another day. After that, we iron all the pieces of cloth to make sure the patterns are well-aligned.”
Larger details are then completed using sewing machines, with smaller details and patchwork finished painstakingly by hand.
"Once [the quilts are] finished, we wash them one more time!" says Nga, who is now the leader of Mekong Quilts sewing team in Long Mỹ village’s Thuận An ward. She hopes that demand recovers as the pandemic dies down.
Adds Bé: “Quilting work gives us stable work. It also gives us voice in the household. Without it, many of us [women] would need to go to Saigon to work.” She notes that it would also be “very difficult for kids to stay in school”, as they may need work to support their families.
For poorer families in the region, traversing 'monkey bridges’, or cầu khỉ, as the locals call them, is an everyday ordeal. Life without a motorbike may mean being trapped in a never-ending cycle of poverty.
In 1994, when Bernard Kervyn founded NGO Mekong Plus — the parent organisation of Mekong Quilts — funding the cost of building better roads and bridges was top on the list of priorities.
"Accessibility means children can go to school and stay in school," says Bernard, who worked in the human rights sector before starting Mekong Plus.
Mekong Plus offered to fund up to one-third of the cost of construction, but early efforts were stymied by a lack of support from local authorities. “We finally arrived in Long Mỹ, and established a long term working relationship with Ánh Dương centre, an independent NGO that shared similar ideals,” shares Bernard. Since the 1990s, Mekong Plus has helped construct at least 10 to 20 bridges and about 20km of rural roads annually.
Then came Mekong Quilts, which was started as a social enterprise to create employment for local women. “Providing the mothers with work means the children can stay in school,” Bernard notes.
So far, over 150 women from the Mekong Delta have been engaged as artisans, who are paid for each item they create — a product range that before COVID-19 included festive papier-mâché hangables to water hyacinth fibre tote bags. Mekong Quilts was such a success that the social enterprise was able to open five shops in Ho Chi Minh City, Hanoi, Hôi An, Siem Reap and Phnom Penh.
Before the pandemic, Mekong Quilts was able to fund a scholarship programme with its proceeds. Due to the Mekong Delta’s remote and difficult terrain, distance and the affordability of basic transport can be hurdles to a child's education. “The average cost of keeping a child [from the Mekong Delta] in high school is almost VND12,000,000 (US$530) a year,” Bernard notes.
The scholarship programme has helped the families of youth like Nguyễn Văn Huynh, who is now working remotely for a European company; his sister Nguyễn Thị Huỳnh Như has managed to continue her schooling.
Mekong Quilts was also able to modestly contribute to Mekong Plus which runs programmes to improve access to healthcare, education and microfinance opportunities for underprivileged communities in the Mekong Delta. For example, the micro-credit schemes help locals to start small-scale pig, eel, duck egg and even straw mushroom farming projects.
‘Brother’ Phạm Thanh Trần, one of Ánh Dương's farming experts, describes how locals with little land can farm straw mushrooms for a quick turnover. A single stash of straw can produce up to US$30 worth of mushrooms a month, using less than a sqm worth of space.
As the pandemic worsened, Mekong Quilts’ quick-thinking team, not willing to simply wait for work to dry up, were able to launch a line of hand-sewn triple-layer fabric masks with eye-catching designs, several of which feature traditional batik and Hmong indigo fabric acquired sustainably from tribeswomen.
The masks helped keep the artisans employed as quilt orders dropped 60 per cent by June 2020. "We began focusing on baby quilts, cushions and also, fashion," Hồ Tiêu Đan, a long-time volunteer, added.
Although less than half of Mekong Quilts’ pre-pandemic headcount of artisans remain working regularly, the social enterprise has managed to stay afloat.
“We make about 1,000 masks every month [now],” shares Út. “Many of us have returned to working in big factories or in the fields but at least there’s still work to do.”
Meanwhile, Mekong Quilts’ bamboo bicycles are finding a growing audience.
Designed by Bernard with Alain Kit, a French bicycle designer, the bicycle takes advantage of the abundance of bamboo in Vietnam. “Except for the wheels, tyres and joints reinforced by hemp fibre and epoxy, the bicycles are fully bamboo!” Bernard says with pride.
At its peak, Mekong Quilts’ bamboo bicycle workshop kept nearly 20 craftsmen and women employed. Currently, only four remain, as the pandemic has driven down demand.
In the last few months however, cycling tours — when allowed by the authorities — on these bikes have helped to support Mekong Plus. Cyclists can visit Long Mỹ over a two-day trip where they see a side of Vietnam that is often overlooked amid the rapid transformation of the country.
First organised in 2014 for donors of Mekong Plus, the trips have become popular since Mekong Quilts opened them to the public, generating some US$2,780 in the first six months after tours were allowed to resume. “[Beyond travelling costs], participants contribute freely to Mekong Quilts at the end of the tours, largely going back into our scholarship programme,” Bernard says.
Tours aside, Mekong Quilts hopes that more people are inspired by the beauty and the stories behind its crafts to make a purchase, while looking forward to Vietnam opening the door to international tourism, allowing more artisans to be employed. As volunteer Đan puts it: “It’s a gift that gives twice.
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At the time of publishing this story, COVID-19 cases remain a concern, and various travel restrictions and safety measures remain in place across countries. During this time, we encourage you to respect prevailing rules and precautionary measures while travelling, and seek out experiences that support communities hit hard by the pandemic.
Shantanu is the director and project head of Habre's Nest, a wildlife travel enterprise on a mission to protect the red panda.
When COVID-19 put a halt to the stream of travellers who visit the far eastern Himalayas hoping to spot a red panda in the wild, one would imagine a blissful reprieve for the shy creatures.
“Actually, during the pandemic, poaching actually increased,” corrects photographer and conservationist Shantanu Prasad. “We can’t stop it all. We call the authorities. But they have weapons. We don’t.”
Each day, Shantanu and his team of rangers at Habre’s Nest patrol the Singalila Ridge, which straddles Nepal and India. Covering anything from 10 to 20km on foot each day, they watch out for poachers and record any sightings of red pandas, to contribute to research on these elusive animals.
But Habre’s Nest is more than just a beacon of community conservation — it is also a source of livelihoods, ensuring that some of the tourism dollars in this region benefit the local community. The rangers are also employed as hosts and guides to travellers, so that they can explore the region while minimising harm to the environment.
With travel back on the radar, Habre’s Nest hopes to see visitors again and channel funds back towards protecting the environment.
Though daily sightings are currently reported by the Habre’s Nest team, this writer did not spot one during my three-day visit in 2019 (visitors are advised to stay a week to allow for higher chances of a sighting).
But while my expectations were high, surprisingly, I was not crushed by not seeing one. Instead, I went home enlightened by what I learnt about the tireless rangers, and thrilled by the stunning surroundings of the Singalila Ridge, which is more than just second fiddle to its famous russet-furred resident.
Stretching from central Nepal to northwest Yunnan in China, the Eastern Himalayas thread through Sikkim (India), Bhutan, the Tibetan plateau and northern Myanmar along the way. Ardent trekkers come to Singalila Ridge to complete the 50km trek from the town of Maneybhanjang to Phalut, the second-highest peak in West Bengal, India (3,595m). Others make for Sandakphu, the highest peak at 3,636m.
But for less rugged travellers, the route is also renowned as a vantage point to take in four of the world’s five highest peaks: Everest (8,848m), Kangchenjunga (8,586m), Lhotse (8,516m) and Makalu (8,485m).
An Indo-Nepali project, Habre’s Nest’s focus is on the wildlife that call the Eastern Himalayas home — protecting them and encouraging local communities to take up the mantle of conservation.
“Tourists aren’t always aware or sensitive about the forested areas they trek through and the wildlife that abounds within,” shares Shantanu, Habre’s Nest’s director
From trails being too crowded, to hikers making too much noise and leaving trash behind in the forest, “unregulated tourism”, as Shantanu puts it, is one of the biggest challenges faced by Habre’s Nest.
Habre’s Nest, which derives its name from the Nepali word for red panda, was formed by Shantanu after he learnt about the species’ endangered status.
Globally, less than 10,000 remain in the wild, living in the trees in mountainous regions. In the area earmarked for conservation by Habre’s Nest, there are just 32. An estimated 86 per cent of red panda cubs die within a year of being born; human activity is the main threat to the species.
In Singalila, the red panda’s main threats are feral dogs which may carry rabies and other diseases, and the clearing of forested land for wood and agriculture.
After identifying feral dogs as a key threat to red pandas, Habre’s Nest began holding vaccination drives for dogs with the help of animal welfare organisations, targeting dogs that belong to households as well as strays from nearby towns that follow trekkers around.
As they got to know the local community better, they realised there was a lack of medical facilities in the area. So they set up free medical camps, fostering greater trust.
This was followed by outreach sessions to create awareness of the need to protect the environment. Villagers were invited to attend training to monitor wildlife and record sightings in a 100sqkm area. Those working in the tourism sector were offered training to become more sensitive to wildlife.
When it ventured into wildlife tourism, Habre’s Nest made sure to hire only locally, ensuring that benefits from tourism stay local. “While the red panda is our flagship animal, our intention is to protect the Eastern Himalayas,” says Shantanu, who was a photographer before he became a conservationist.
Preserving the unique environment and wildlife of the area would in turn benefit locals in the long run as sustainable tourism also sustains livelihood opportunities.
Catching sight of wildlife is a game of chance; after all, truly wild creatures do not show up on demand to delight travellers.
Habre’s Nest recommends staying at least seven nights for higher chances of a sighting. This includes factoring in the altitude’s unpredictable weather and a day of travel to Kaiakata, which is on the Nepal side of the ridge.
Guests do not take part in tracking red pandas; a walk to see the red pandas is only arranged when rangers spot one on patrols. Each visit lasts no more than 15 minutes.
In the meantime, guests can also spend their time at the bird hide on the premises. I was able to effortlessly pass a few hours here — clicking a few photographs every now and then of the avian company, so I could learn their names later from the in-house naturalist.
For hikers, short trek options to Kalipokhri, known for its lake with dark waters, and to Tumling, a renowned viewpoint of both Kanchenjunga and Everest, are options.
The Habre’s Nest team includes ex-poachers who now work as rangers, and double up as guides for guests, as well as manage the kitchen and homestays. Mohan Thami, a ranger at Habre’s Nest, shares, “Before, the means for livelihood were threadbare so people would set traps and poach. Today there’s awareness and a change in behaviour.”
“As trackers, we do our bit to sensitise villagers. After all, it’s because of the red panda and the training that Kaiakata has gotten visibility and sees tourists from all over the globe.”
Mohan Thami Ranger, Habre's Nest
Currently there are 11 full-time and nine part-time staff. Habre’s Nest’s lodge comprises four rooms, which can house a total of eight to 10 guests. Twenty per cent of the profits are directed towards its conservation efforts, such as local outreach on forest protection.
Shantanu notes that a comprehensive census for red pandas is currently underway, with photograph-based evidence being shared with the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN).
“Our goal is to assign this area the status of a red panda reserve – which would aid with conservation while continuing to track and document red pandas while hosting tourists who might be inspired to do something to protect the red pandas,” he shares.
“We want to continue working with government authorities towards improved regulation within and around the national park to minimise and eventually eliminate the harm being caused by unregulated tourism.”
I want to visit Habre's Nest
At the time of publishing this story, COVID-19 cases globally continue to rise, and international travel — even domestic travel in some cases — has been restricted for public health reasons. During this time, consider exploring the world differently: discover new ways you can support communities in your favourite destinations, and bookmark them for future trips when borders reopen.
Mohan is a tracker at Habre's Nest, a wildlife travel enterprise on a mission to protect the red panda.
On an ordinary day, Phare The Cambodian Circus’ big tent is filled with the excited cries of guests as they watch Phare’s artists perform gravity-defying feats, the rising music of the live band, the colourful lights that catch the graceful moves of the dancers. All in celebration of Cambodia’s rich artistic history, presented through a contemporary lens.
But 2020 is no ordinary year, and Phare’s big tent has stood silent for much of the past nine months. plunging its staff and artists’ livelihoods into deep disarray.
No thanks to COVID-19, international travel had ground to a halt. The town of Siem Reap, usually bursting with over 2.5 million tourists a year flocking to the famed Angkor temples, is eerily empty, with boarded-up shop fronts and empty hotels.
“The atmosphere is devastating, a lot of people lost their livelihoods. Drivers, guides, hotels. No jobs. We don’t see the end in sight.”
Dara Hout CEO, Phare Circus
Phare circus, previously featured on Our Better World, is no ordinary circus. It is a social enterprise under Phare Ponleu Selpak, based in Battambang that has made art one of its pillars of improving life for the underprivileged.
The circus’s acclaimed performances, which tell stories of Cambodian social issues and history through theatre, music, dance and modern circus arts, have drawn over 100,000 spectators over the years, helping to sustain Phare Ponleu Selpak’s non-profit work. With performances halted, its reserves are stretched and its capacity to keep offering free education and training to Cambodian children and youth is under threat.
Kitty Choup, a Phare artist, had performed nearly daily, specialising in contortions, jumps and other aerial performances. This ended abruptly in March 2020, when the Cambodian government ordered public performances to close, to prevent the spread of the coronavirus.
Although she is still paid a basic salary, the income from performing stopped. To make ends meet, Kitty sells clothes online and makes fruit and vegetable juices at home to sell in a makeshift stand on her street. She continues to rehearse and train at home with her husband (also a Phare artist), in order to stay in shape and ready for Phare re-opening.
In August 2020, Phare was permitted to reopen for performances in a limited capacity on weekends. This was welcome news, but the situation remained perilous amid a near shutdown of international travel into Cambodia, as most of Phare’s usual audience were foreign tourists or travellers from Phnom Penh.
Undeterred, Phare decided to tweak their model. Previously, its steady revenue from tourism allowed it to offer free 100 tickets daily for Cambodians during its low season from April to October. Amid COVID-19, it is unable to offer free tickets, but it lowered ticket prices, and called for supporters — no matter where they were — to donate US$10 to sponsor a Cambodian family to watch a performance.
“Cambodia as a nation has lost the culture of going to live theatre and patronage, we are trying to revive the culture of going to live performances,” says Dara.
Complemented by street art displays and street food stalls, the revived programme was a hit. Though the audience size was a fraction of what it was before COVID-19 (about 70 to 100 nightly compared to 400), it still meant the artists were being paid for performances again.
More importantly, it was also a morale boost to see the big tent lit up once more. “We are a beacon of hope for our community. They see that we are open, not closed, during this time. And people will try and persevere,” says Dara.
The path to recovery is not without speed bumps. In November, amid a rise in COVID-19 cases, the government ordered Phare to halt performances once more. It was only allowed to resume performances on Jan 15, 2021 and the outlook remains uncertain.
Without performances to drive revenue, Dara says Phare will have to rely on its reserves built up over the years, and go into “sleep mode” in a few months and staff will only be paid a basic income. “We persevere, we try. We don’t want to lose our staff. We want to help everyone to survive, even on a pay cut,” says Dara.
Donations are welcome while Phare develops new revenue streams and brings in potential investors to help the non-profit cope in future, and hopes for travel to open up in 2021.
“We know Cambodia will be very reliant on tourists for a while,” says Dara. “I hope everyone who travels will take responsible travel seriously, and realise their money can impact the local community. There are grassroots, impactful organisations like Phare, and when you travel, you should do research and support these kinds of activities as tourists.”
And even amid the severe challenges, he hopes the stories of resilience in Cambodia travel far and wide. “People continue to have hope in their lives. When people plan their holidays to Siem Reap, I hope they support activities that bring hope to people.” Says Kitty, “I really love Phare, it is not just a business, it is a family. They have helped to keep us going, so that we can support ourselves and our family at this time.
“I just keep working, keep rehearsing, and keep thinking about the future performances. I know I will be performing again.”
Some members of Phare Ponleu Selpak are alumni of the Singapore International Foundation’s annual Arts for Good Fellowship, which fosters a community of practice that harnesses the power of arts and culture to create positive social change.
Help Phare stay the course amid the pandemic
At the time of publishing this story, COVID-19 cases globally continue to rise, and international travel — even domestic travel in some cases — has been restricted for public health reasons. During this time, consider exploring the world differently: discover new ways you can support communities in your favourite destinations, and bookmark them for future trips when borders reopen.
Even over an occasionally fuzzy video call on a tiny screen, Yee Kuat makes you feel like you are right there in Kampung Gurney, sitting outside his house while he tells you about the bounty grown and reared in his village.
Sharing how the villagers tend to the land, his pride is evident: “Our fish only eat cassava leaves,” he shares. “Our food is organic, we live in nature. What we have here is about the mountains, the forests, the river.”
Yee Kuat is of Temuan ancestry, one of 18 indigenous tribes in Peninsular Malaysia collectively referred to as Orang Asli, or “First People” in the Malay language; his Chinese moniker reflects his half-Chinese heritage and education in a Chinese school, where he also learnt to speak Mandarin.
An entrepreneur, he is also the chairman of his village committee in Hulu Selangor, an hour’s drive away from Kuala Lumpur, the Malaysian capital. And even amid a lockdown in the COVID-19 pandemic, he hopes someday that travellers would someday get to experience the land he knows and loves.
Kampong Gurney is flanked by the Sungai Sendat recreational rainforest, the treeline of which can be seen from the hilltop village. Just past the village is the Sungai Sendat waterfall, a draw for many day trippers who revel in its cool, clean waters.
Video courtesy of Native
The waterfall divides the public recreational forest from the Orang Asli's ancestral land, where their durian trees can be found, among other crops and vegetation they cultivate in the forest.
“We hope to open a guesthouse and host travellers, so that they get to know us, get to know nature, our food,” says Yee Kuat. “That’s why I’m glad to have met Daniel, because he has ideas that can help us pursue this dream.”
“Daniel” is Daniel Teoh, founder of Native, a social enterprise in Malaysia that partners with Orang Asli communities to offer travel experiences, to deepen appreciation of indigenous cultures while supporting livelihoods.
Daniel and Yee Kuat connected over that most pungent king of fruits — durian.
Even the most passionate durian fans may have never heard of the durians cultivated by Temuan growers. Often generalised as “kampung durians” or “forest durians”, they in fact bear descriptive names like durian susu (milk durian), durian matahari (sun durian) and durian daun (leaf durian), reflecting their unique qualities.
This ripe heritage was not lost on Daniel, who got to know the durians and their growers over annual invitations to enjoy the fruits of their labour.
“Last year, when the COVID-19 situation was okay, we were able to visit a lot. And they asked if we would buy their durians,” shares Daniel. “So we decided to buy some durians to sell on [the Native] platform. And we also ran two tours, where visitors could be hosted by Orang Asli growers and learn about the durian cultivation process.”
The success of the efforts — some 1 tonne of durians were sold — led Daniel to start Biji Bumi Durian this year as an offshoot of Native, focused on selling durians grown by Orang Asli. Working with 12 growers, over 3.9 tonnes of durian were sold by the end of the season, bringing a much-needed shot of income amid a pandemic.
Central to this effort was Yee Kuat, who has been trading durians since he was 15, buying them from his fellow Orang Asli growers and selling them to retailers or wholesalers in bigger markets. Yee Kuat, says Daniel, “knows everyone”. “We were educated on the names of the varieties, who the farmers are, the farming methods,” he adds.
Typically, the durians were sold to middlemen for about RM3 to RM7 (US$0.70-$1.70) per kilo. Biji Bumi Durian however, paid the growers between RM8 to RM25 (US$1.90-$6) per kilo of durian, depending on the quality and what they would fetch in the market.
“We want to get them better sales, we want their durians to be of better market value,” says Daniel. “We made sure we got the high grade durians, because we really want to change the perception of their durians.”
Forty per cent of every RM1 earned by Biji Bumi Durian was distributed to the 12 growers — totalling RM30,559 (US$7,355) in all. Biji Bumi Durian covered the expenses of transport, packaging and other related costs.
Although durian season has ended for the year, the work continues for Native to help their partners develop opportunities in tourism.
Yee Kuat notes that growing up, he interacted with very few people outside his village, which has a population of 300. “We are strangers to most people. It is hard for people to understand us. Or know us. And we were afraid of outsiders too,” the 33-year-old shares. “We are afraid of what others think of us.”
Those from older generations used to caution against having too many dealings with outsiders. “They would warn us of scams, that other tribes and villages have lost land and had to move,” says Yee Kuat.
“I want people to know why we belong to this land and why it is special to us. And we need to find a way to grow, to develop our livelihoods.”
Yee Kuat Chairman, Kampung Gurney village committee
The 18 Orang Asli tribes, each with its own language and culture, make up less than one per cent of the population of Peninsular Malaysia, and are categorised into three groups: Senoi, Proto-Malay and Negrito.
The Temuan are classified as Proto-Malay, who are thought to have migrated to the Malay archipelago and peninsula between 2,500 to 1,500 BC. Today, they live in the states of Malacca, Negeri Sembilan, Pahang, Selangor and Johor.
Due to land dispossession for economic development and various other policies, the Orang Asli’s ability to preserve traditional subsistence lifestyles are under threat, compromising their livelihoods. Almost all Orang Asli communities in Peninsular Malaysia are in the bottom 40 per cent (B40) income group.
Daniel, who hails from Penang, was a university student when he met Faizul, who is Temuan, in a village near his campus in 2016. The two became friends after Daniel helped Faizul raise funds needed to finish building his home.
Seeing the rise of platforms like Airbnb Experiences, Daniel lit on the idea of creating experiences where others could get to meet and learn from Orang Asli communities as he had. “Faizul was onboard, and we put together some ideas on how we could show people a different side of Malaysia while creating an alternate driver of development in their community,” says Daniel.
“I feel passionately about the cultural transitions that many Orang Asli face, where they often feel like they have to choose between 'modernisation' or tradition. Many communities exist in between and they should have every freedom to shape their culture as they see fit.”
Daniel Teoh Founder, Native
Since 2019, Native has co-led close to 50 tours, working with 15 hosts in four communities, and generated RM12,000 (US$2,880) through these experiences for its hosts, plus RM6,500 (US$1,560) for a community development fund.
Though it has currently paused running activities due to COVID-19, it has kept busy. Apart from the Biji Bumi Durian project, Native is partnering with NGO EPIC Homes to develop a tourism project in Kampung Serendah, to be owned and managed by a Temuan community there.
It has tested out virtual experiences, and also designed online learning experiences for schools with its Orang Asli partners, such as a webinar for the Singapore University of Social Sciences.
And Native remains committed to working with Orang Asli communities to develop tourism experiences owned by the community. “Initially, these experiences can be booked through us, but we hope they run it on their own in future. We see ourselves as ‘incubating’ these enterprises,” says Daniel. “We don't want to become gatekeepers, because it is not in line with our mission of long-term empowerment.”
Says Yee Kuat of Daniel: “He has a good heart, and he comes up with ideas. Our younger folks are open to ideas. They don’t want to work for others forever.”
Within Malaysia, Daniel acknowledges there is a long way to go in addressing the bias and lack of understanding the Orang Asli face. “There is discrimination even in our language, like ‘Jakun’ is a [derogatory] word for stupid, but it is the name of a people.
“Tourism is powerful because it puts the Orang Asli face-to-face with other people. When people have encounters, they spread the story, they share the positivity, and change minds,” says Daniel.
Yee Kuat agrees. “We really hope people know about us, then our village will have hope. We have so much to share, but no one knows about us. Native has given us this opportunity, so that we can work for ourselves and don’t have to be exploited by others.”
Native was one of the six winning teams under Singapore International Foundation's Young Social Entrepreneurs programme in 2019. Through mentorships, study visits and opportunities to pitch for funding, the programme nurtures social entrepreneurs of different nationalities, to drive positive change for the world.
Help Native stay the course amid the pandemic
At the time of publishing this story, COVID-19 cases globally continue to rise, and international travel — even domestic travel in some cases — has been restricted for public health reasons. During this time, consider exploring the world differently: discover new ways you can support communities in your favourite destinations, and bookmark them for future trips when borders reopen.
