Inside Borneo’s Best-Kept Secret: The Dayak Cultural Experience

The longhouse of Sungai Utik. Photo credit: author.

By Masri Sareb Putra – reporting from Sintang, West Kalimantan.

🌍 PONTIANAK | BORNEOTRAVEL :

In the heart of Borneo —the world’s third-largest island— lie communities whose cultures are among the oldest and richest in Southeast Asia. 

The Dayak people, indigenous to this vast rainforest, possess a trove of traditions that remain largely invisible to the outside world. Their ancient customs, their sacred dances, their intricate longhouses—none of these have yet found a prominent place on the map of global tourism. And yet, the potential is staggering.

From the towering Rumah Radakng in Pontianak to the lesser-known but culturally significant Ensaid Panyae in Sintang and the longhouse of Sungai Utik in the deep interior of Kapuas Hulu, these architectural marvels are more than just homes—they are living embodiments of communal life and spiritual connection. 

These longhouses, unique to different Dayak subgroups, tell stories of belonging, survival, and reverence for the land. But tragically, they have not yet been transformed into viable economic engines for the communities that built them.

While Indonesia’s tourism strategy has long focused on Bali’s beaches or Yogyakarta’s ancient temples, the Dayak highlands remain a blank canvas. The region’s rich cultural heritage has yet to be integrated into a sustainable, community-driven ethno-tourism model. This is not just a missed opportunity for revenue, but a lost chance for cultural preservation.

Why Dayak Ethno-tourism Matters

Travelers today —especially younger generations— are searching for more than just leisure. They crave meaning, authenticity, and connection. They seek to immerse themselves in stories, in ways of life that challenge their assumptions. The Dayak offer all of this and more.

Their world is one of sacred forests and rivers, oral histories passed down for centuries, motifs etched into wood and skin. Their festivals—such as Gawai Dayak—are not performances for tourists, but genuine celebrations of the cycle of life and gratitude to the spirits. Their traditional weaving, known as ikat, is a visual language rich in symbolism. Their relationship to nature is one of stewardship, rooted in a philosophy of mutual respect and balance.

In this sense, Dayak culture offers precisely the kind of experience today’s discerning travelers are looking for.

But ethno-tourism is not merely about attracting outsiders. Done right, it becomes a means of empowerment—allowing communities to tell their own stories, on their own terms. It creates jobs for local guides, artisans, cooks, storytellers, and hosts. It enables young people to see value in their heritage, not just as nostalgia, but as livelihood.

Most importantly, it incentivizes cultural preservation. When traditions bring pride and income, they live on. They evolve, adapt, and inspire. They are not museum relics, but engines of renewal.

A Roadmap for Development

The first step in building Dayak ethno-tourism is mapping the cultural assets scattered across Borneo. Every village has its own stories, its own rituals, its own unique expression of Dayak identity. Not every longhouse should become a tourist attraction—but some, with community consent and support, could become entry points for deeper cultural engagement.

Capacity-building is critical. Local residents need training—in hospitality, guiding, digital storytelling, hygiene, and customer service. Artisans and weavers must be given access to markets, both physical and virtual. Traditional foods must be packaged not as curiosities, but as expressions of ecological wisdom. Cultural performances should be curated with dignity and context.

Above all, the local community must lead. Governments, NGOs, and private partners can assist—but they must follow the rhythms and priorities of the people. The process must be participatory, respectful, and slow. Culture cannot be rushed.

Next comes digital presence. Each site —be it a longhouse, a weaving center, or a medicinal plant garden— should be visible online. Google Maps, Instagram, short documentaries on YouTube, travel blogs, even virtual tours—all are tools to help put these cultural sites on the map. In today’s world, digital visibility often precedes physical visits.

Finally, the experiences themselves must be deeply curated. Imagine staying in a longhouse deep in the forest, sleeping under a thatched roof, eating rice steamed in bamboo, listening to elders recount myths under oil lamps. Imagine joining a dawn fishing trip on a misty river, or learning to weave an ikat pattern that tells the story of a flood, a battle, a peace. These are not fantasies—they already exist. What’s needed is a bridge between tradition and a market willing to pay for authenticity.

Culture as Currency

Let’s not be afraid of the word “money” when we talk about culture. For too long, cultural preservation has been viewed through the lens of charity or nostalgia. But when culture generates income, it becomes resilient. It is not sold —it is honored. The Dayak deserve more than passive admiration. They deserve opportunity.

Rumah Radakng, Endaid Panyae, and the Sungai Utih longhouse can serve as pilot projects. With the right investment and care, they could become models for how Borneo’s cultural wealth can generate both pride and profit. Every visit becomes an act of support. Every story told to a traveler is a story that survives another generation.

The Time is Now

We can no longer afford to let the Dayak cultural heritage sit idle, admired only during festivals or on the occasional NGO report. The world is hungry for connection, and Borneo has what it’s looking for—authenticity, wonder, and wisdom. What’s needed is vision. And action.

Dayak ethno-tourism is not just about saving a culture. It’s about letting that culture lead, speak, teach—and thrive.

The longhouses are still standing. The elders are still telling stories. The forests still sing. All we have to do is listen—and follow their lead. *)