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The Star
07-07-2025
- Business
- The Star
Unpacking the legacy in plantation names
IN Malaysia's early plantation days, life was tough, but creativity flourished. While latex and fresh fruit bunch flowed, so did amusing stories behind estate names. More than a formality, naming was an art, full of humour and quirky charm. These tales remain a delightful part of the plantation heritage. Let's take a stroll down memory lane and discover how inventive those names truly were. Tennamaram Estate It's been 108 years since Malaysia's first commercial oil palms were planted at Tennamaram in Batang Berjuntai (now Bestari Jaya), Selangor. In 1911, inspired by oil palm development in Sumatra, Frenchman Henri Fauconnier brought seeds to his coffee estate, and by 1917, Tennamaram became the nation's pioneering oil palm estate. Now here's the twist: 'Tennamaram' comes from the Tamil words 'tennam maram', meaning coconut tree. Why name an oil palm estate after coconuts? Apparently, Tamil workers mistook the young palms for coconut trees, giving the estate its 'coconutty' name. The actual Tamil for oil palm is 'sempanai maram' or 'enney panai', so the estate's name was based on a botanical blunder. And so, Malaysia's oil palm legacy – serious business with global impact – was born from a linguistic mix-up. Bangsar In 1906, the London-based Kuala Lumpur Rubber Co Ltd (KLR) was founded to plant rubber around Kuala Lumpur, driven by rising demand for tyres as motorcars replaced horse – drawn carriages. Veteran planter M R Chandran, who once worked with Socfin, fondly recalled KLR's Belgian and French founders – Edouard Bunge and Alfred Grisar – who left a lasting mark on the region's agricultural landscape. Back then, naming the estate was a no-brainer for Bunge and Grisar: they simply merged their surnames. Thus, Bunge-Grisar was born. But 'Bunge-Grisar' didn't roll off the tongue for local workers under the Malayan sun. Over time, it was shortened to 'Bungsar'. As the plantation made way for city life, the name got a final polish – becoming 'Bangsar'. Thankfully for today's branding, B came before G – otherwise we would be living in Sarbang. What began as a humble rubber estate under Socfin eventually morphed into the buzzing suburb. Yam Seng Estate Here's a cheerful tale from The Planter by D B Gardner about how a rubber estate in Larut, Perak came to be named Yam Seng – the Cantonese toast meaning 'Cheers!' At the turn of the century, an Irishman – rare among the mostly English and Scots planters – was managing the only Irish-registered rubber company operating in Malaya. When his company acquired land from a local Chinese towkay, tradition called for a handover celebration. The chairman threw a party, complete with rounds of brandy. As spirits soared, so did the shouts of 'Yam Seng!' from the Chinese guests. When the time came to name the estate, the official turned to the Irishman, who, perhaps buoyed by both cultural warmth and brandy, simply raised his glass and declared, 'Yam Seng!' Applause followed. And just like that, Yam Seng Estate was born. Fittingly, 'Yam Seng' also means 'Drink to Victory', a perfect tribute to the estate's hopes for prosperity, success and unity. Today, the name celebrates more than a good cheer – it honours a unique blend of Irish wit, Chinese tradition and the shared toast to progress. MOBE Estate Here's another classic from The Planter about MOBE – a rubber estate named after a frustrated Englishman's sarcastic outburst. Estate rules required a giant signboard listing the estate name. After refusing to register a name and facing repossession, he gave in with that cheeky acronym for his outburst 'My Own Bloody Estate' – and it stuck. MOBE remains a legendary blend of British sarcasm and colonial red tape – with a wink. Nordanal and Lanadron Estates In Panchor, Johor, a clever plantation owner made waves not just with rubber but with naming flair. His estate, Nordanal, sounded grand and mysterious. When he bought a neighbouring plot, He kept it simple – just reversed the original name. And so, Lanadron was born. Workers laughed, 'Did Tuan just flip the name?' But the strategy caught on. Today, both estate names remain as cheeky reminders that sometimes, the smartest move is just flipping the script. Jeroco and Trushidup Let's head to Sabah, where plantation names blend branding genius with local flair. First, Jeroco – a name that sounds like a masked superhero but is actually a clever acronym coined by Hap Seng Plantations in Lahad Datu. No, it's not biblical Jericho with crumbling walls and trumpets. This is Jeroco –practical and all about tropical crops. The name fuses four key ones: JE for Jelutong, R for Rattan, O for Oil Palm and CO for Cocoa. A compact showcase of agro-diversity! Of course, not all crops are created equal. Over time, only oil palm proved unstoppable – efficient, productive and needing fewer resources than its plant cousins. It's the last crop standing. Then there's Trushidup of Genting Plantations Bhd . Sounds like a mythical forest where nothing dies – and in a way, it is. A poetic spin on Terus Hidup (Malay for 'live on'), it evokes images of ever-flourishing palms swaying with eternal purpose. Immortality, estate-style. Excellent Challenger 1 and 2 Back when I was in IJM Plantations Bhd, now KLK, there were two estates in Sugut named Excellent Challenger 1 and 2 – grand names that stuck from day one. Naturally, we shortened them to EC1 and EC2, which, in true Malaysian fashion, became 'Easy-one' and 'Easy-two'. But don't be fooled by the breezy nicknames. These estates sat near the Sugut River, and during the early days, heavy rains regularly turned them into giant ponds. Plantation life was anything but 'Easy', though 'Challenger' felt very accurate. And if battling floods wasn't enough, the rising waters brought more than fish. Yes, there were crocodiles too. So along with tending to the crops, we had to watch the riverbanks. A true test of nerves – and definitely not so 'easy too' after all. As plantation ownership changed over time, many colonial-era names were replaced – taking with them small pieces of our past. But were those changes necessary? Rather than erasing history, we might learn from it and move forward. Shakespeare asked, 'What's in a name?' But on plantations, names were more than labels. They carried wit, sentiment and history – whether as acronyms, tributes or clever wordplay. Some planters also named estates after places or people from home, turning distant memories into emotional anchors in unfamiliar lands. Joseph Tek Choon Yee is the past president of the Malaysian Estate Owners Association and former chief executive of the Malaysian Palm Oil Association. The views expressed here are the writer's own.
Yahoo
12-05-2025
- Yahoo
Journey through the rainforest in luxury on Malaysia's last remaining sleeper train
A rainbow appeared briefly over Singapore, though I was the only one to notice it, standing alone on the open caboose of our train as it travelled north over the Strait of Johor, leaving the Lion City behind. It was only a brief sighting. An embankment of dark cloud was forming, and quickly overtook us as we passed into Malaysia, releasing another torrent of rain and lightning that cut the muggy heat and raised a stench from the dirty strait. Some ninety-four years ago, Henri Fauconnier, French writer and rubber baron, described Malaysia as a place where, though the 'sky exults and sheds abundant tears, dark dismal days are unknown.' And it was true this day, as, despite the weather, I had watched passengers boarding the Eastern & Oriental Express (E&O Express), all of them smiling in eager anticipation of our journey into the depths of the Malayan peninsula. First, we were heading through the jungly central highlands to Taman Negara National Park, then along the west coast line to the colonial outposts of Butterworth and Georgetown, on the island of Penang. Finally, in four days and three nights, we would retrace our path back to the swampy glamour of Singapore. The E&O Express had once run all the way from Singapore to Bangkok before being scuppered in 2020. It was revived by Belmond in 2024 for multi-day round trips through Malaysia, and is now the only sleeper train still operating in Malaysia (the Intercontinental Express still runs overnight from the Thai-Malay border north to Bangkok). Related These tracking holidays offer 'total immersion' into the world of Europe's wolves And, as with anything Belmond, the price – $4,650 (€4,110) – is high, strikingly higher than the national KTMB trains operating on the same rails, but it procures a level of comfort and service more luxurious than any Malaysian sultan in history ever had the good luck to experience. The wood-panelled carriages are warm and inviting, the en-suite compartments roomy and snug. My State cabin had a chair and lounger that each converted to a single bed, and the en-suite a marble handbasin and a full-size shower with its own sweet and charming cabin steward. As we shunted away, I was joined on the observation deck by various characters—Australian lawyers and financial investors, American artists, Malaysian construction magnates—enticed by the adjacent bar car (one of two on the train). They were all dressed to the nines, the E&O Express inspiring a certain etiquette among its passengers. 'An atmosphere of relaxed refinement,' so the brochure assured me, 'calls for smart-casual wear with a touch of understated elegance.' Malaysia is a composite nation of Malay, Chinese, and Indian cultures, and the food, both ample and delicious, mixes those varied local cuisines with a touch of Provence. Our first lunch was kimchi niçoise with a crispy udon galette, and a coconut blancmanger with Nyonya chendol for dessert. Each day, entertainment was provided – a magician, a jazz trio, a karaoke night in the bar – and anyone could avail themselves of the onboard spa or mahjong set. Most, however, chose to congregate on the observation deck, letting the wind blow away the heat and carry the scent of sodden roots and woodsmoke. By morning, we had arrived at Merapoh, where great mounds of grey rock jut from the forest; the region is famous for its caves. While some passengers went spelunking, some went on a photography scout, and others went for a riverine spa treatment, I joined a small group heading into Taman Negara National Park for some wildlife spotting. Related This sustainable Galapagos cruise showed me a side of the islands Darwin never saw In the back of a pickup truck, I sat beside local guide Nizam Khairun, a sweetly enthusiastic bird fanatic, who held up his phone and showed me pictures of hornbills, eagles, and a little red and blue number called a Garnet Pitta. 'Birdwatchers come from all over the world to see this,' he said, thrusting his phone in my direction. We were driving under a green canopy, the fronds above us meeting like eyelashes over the road, the verge lined with palms like green fountains. Soon we came across a covey of photographers waiting to catch a glimpse of a great argus. 'Hang on,' Nizam said, as he jumped from the truck, and went clucking into the undergrowth. A minute later, he reappeared, followed on his heels by an argus, a bird that resembles a Dickensian peacock, with its long, dun-colored tail. 'I call that one brother,' Nizam said as the photographers snapped away. 'I've known him since he was hatched.' The brush of Taman Negara is thick, and sightings are difficult. Within the tangle of trees and ferns, there are elephants and cattle-like gaur, tapirs and sun bears, and some of the few remaining Malayan tigers. We weren't so lucky as to see any of those, but there were plenty of faraway gibbon calls, elephant prints pressed into the red mud, and a tree that had been shredded by a sun bear trying to get at a bee's nest within. That afternoon, we shunted out of Merapoh and returned south, past vast palm oil and rubber tree plantations. Sometime in the night, we passed Kuala Lumpur (just as well, as its grand, central railway station is no longer in use), and over breakfast, we watched the outskirts of Butterworth amass into the city itself. Related 'I'm glad we didn't fly': How I Interrailed across Europe with my two kids A chartered ferry was waiting to carry us to the island of Penang, where we spent the morning exploring the colonial quarter of Georgetown. Chauffeur trishaws (three-wheeled peddle-bike taxis) had been chartered, and all were given a map of the town and the freedom to do as they wished. Georgetown has transformed itself from a colonial administrative centre to a cultural and artistic hub of Malaysia. I spent my time making a tour of the local street art, each mural and steel-rod sculpture detailing some scene of the island's past: rickshaw coolies, bootblacks, imperial police, and sultans carried on litters. Malaysia droops like a closed lily-bud off the bouquet of Asia, and in the evening, we slid like a drop of dew down its western coast, bound for Singapore. It felt too soon to be returning; this pass through the country had passed in comfort and good grace, but too quickly. But then again, all great trains arrive too soon. The writer was a guest of Belmond's Eastern and Oriental Express.
Euronews
12-05-2025
- Euronews
Bursa: Silk, history, and the flavours of an Ottoman legacy
Nestled on the slopes of Mount Uludağ, Bursa has been a centre of trade and culture for centuries. Once the Ottoman capital, it played a key role in the Silk Road, a legacy preserved in Koza Han, a historic silk market. The city's silk gains its distinctive shine from Bursa's unique water composition. Just outside the city, the UNESCO-listed village of Cumalıkızık offers a glimpse into early Ottoman life. No visit is complete without tasting İskender Kebab, a dish perfected by generations. As Bursa balances tradition with modernity, its heritage continues to captivate travellers and artisans alike. A rainbow appeared briefly over Singapore, though I was the only one to notice it, standing alone on the open caboose of our train as it travelled north over the Strait of Johor, leaving the Lion City behind. It was only a brief sighting. An embankment of dark cloud was forming, and quickly overtook us as we passed into Malaysia, releasing another torrent of rain and lightning that cut the muggy heat and raised a stench from the dirty strait. Some ninety-four years ago, Henri Fauconnier, French writer and rubber baron, described Malaysia as a place where, though the 'sky exults and sheds abundant tears, dark dismal days are unknown.' And it was true this day, as, despite the weather, I had watched passengers boarding the Eastern & Oriental Express (E&O Express), all of them smiling in eager anticipation of our journey into the depths of the Malayan peninsula. First, we were heading through the jungly central highlands to Taman Negara National Park, then along the west coast line to the colonial outposts of Butterworth and Georgetown, on the island of Penang. Finally, in four days and three nights, we would retrace our path back to the swampy glamour of Singapore. The E&O Express had once run all the way from Singapore to Bangkok before being scuppered in 2020. It was revived by Belmond in 2024 for multi-day round trips through Malaysia, and is now the only sleeper train still operating in Malaysia (the Intercontinental Express still runs overnight from the Thai-Malay border north to Bangkok). And, as with anything Belmond, the price – $4,650 (€4,110) – is high, strikingly higher than the national KTMB trains operating on the same rails, but it procures a level of comfort and service more luxurious than any Malaysian sultan in history ever had the good luck to experience. The wood-panelled carriages are warm and inviting, the en-suite compartments roomy and snug. My State cabin had a chair and lounger that each converted to a single bed, and the en-suite a marble handbasin and a full-size shower with its own sweet and charming cabin steward. As we shunted away, I was joined on the observation deck by various characters—Australian lawyers and financial investors, American artists, Malaysian construction magnates—enticed by the adjacent bar car (one of two on the train). They were all dressed to the nines, the E&O Express inspiring a certain etiquette among its passengers. 'An atmosphere of relaxed refinement,' so the brochure assured me, 'calls for smart-casual wear with a touch of understated elegance.' Malaysia is a composite nation of Malay, Chinese, and Indian cultures, and the food, both ample and delicious, mixes those varied local cuisines with a touch of Provence. Our first lunch was kimchi niçoise with a crispy udon galette, and a coconut blancmanger with Nyonya chendol for dessert. Each day, entertainment was provided – a magician, a jazz trio, a karaoke night in the bar – and anyone could avail themselves of the onboard spa or mahjong set. Most, however, chose to congregate on the observation deck, letting the wind blow away the heat and carry the scent of sodden roots and woodsmoke. By morning, we had arrived at Merapoh, where great mounds of grey rock jut from the forest; the region is famous for its caves. While some passengers went spelunking, some went on a photography scout, and others went for a riverine spa treatment, I joined a small group heading into Taman Negara National Park for some wildlife spotting. In the back of a pickup truck, I sat beside local guide Nizam Khairun, a sweetly enthusiastic bird fanatic, who held up his phone and showed me pictures of hornbills, eagles, and a little red and blue number called a Garnet Pitta. 'Birdwatchers come from all over the world to see this,' he said, thrusting his phone in my direction. We were driving under a green canopy, the fronds above us meeting like eyelashes over the road, the verge lined with palms like green fountains. Soon we came across a covey of photographers waiting to catch a glimpse of a great argus. 'Hang on,' Nizam said, as he jumped from the truck, and went clucking into the undergrowth. A minute later, he reappeared, followed on his heels by an argus, a bird that resembles a Dickensian peacock, with its long, dun-colored tail. 'I call that one brother,' Nizam said as the photographers snapped away. 'I've known him since he was hatched.' The brush of Taman Negara is thick, and sightings are difficult. Within the tangle of trees and ferns, there are elephants and cattle-like gaur, tapirs and sun bears, and some of the few remaining Malayan tigers. We weren't so lucky as to see any of those, but there were plenty of faraway gibbon calls, elephant prints pressed into the red mud, and a tree that had been shredded by a sun bear trying to get at a bee's nest within. That afternoon, we shunted out of Merapoh and returned south, past vast palm oil and rubber tree plantations. Sometime in the night, we passed Kuala Lumpur (just as well, as its grand, central railway station is no longer in use), and over breakfast, we watched the outskirts of Butterworth amass into the city itself. A chartered ferry was waiting to carry us to the island of Penang, where we spent the morning exploring the colonial quarter of Georgetown. Chauffeur trishaws (three-wheeled peddle-bike taxis) had been chartered, and all were given a map of the town and the freedom to do as they wished. Georgetown has transformed itself from a colonial administrative centre to a cultural and artistic hub of Malaysia. I spent my time making a tour of the local street art, each mural and steel-rod sculpture detailing some scene of the island's past: rickshaw coolies, bootblacks, imperial police, and sultans carried on litters. Malaysia droops like a closed lily-bud off the bouquet of Asia, and in the evening, we slid like a drop of dew down its western coast, bound for Singapore. It felt too soon to be returning; this pass through the country had passed in comfort and good grace, but too quickly. But then again, all great trains arrive too soon. The writer was a guest of Belmond's Eastern and Oriental Express.
Euronews
11-05-2025
- Euronews
I travelled through the rainforest on Malaysia's last sleeper train
A rainbow appeared briefly over Singapore, though I was the only one to notice it, standing alone on the open caboose of our train as it travelled north over the Strait of Johor, leaving the Lion City behind. It was only a brief sighting. An embankment of dark cloud was forming, and quickly overtook us as we passed into Malaysia, releasing another torrent of rain and lightning that cut the muggy heat and raised a stench from the dirty strait. Some ninety-four years ago, Henri Fauconnier, French writer and rubber baron, described Malaysia as a place where, though the 'sky exults and sheds abundant tears, dark dismal days are unknown.' And it was true this day, as, despite the weather, I had watched passengers boarding the Eastern & Oriental Express (E&O Express), all of them smiling in eager anticipation of our journey into the depths of the Malayan peninsula. First, we were heading through the jungly central highlands to Taman Negara National Park, then along the west coast line to the colonial outposts of Butterworth and Georgetown, on the island of Penang. Finally, in four days and three nights, we would retrace our path back to the swampy glamour of Singapore. The E&O Express had once run all the way from Singapore to Bangkok before being scuppered in 2020. It was revived by Belmond in 2024 for multi-day round trips through Malaysia, and is now the only sleeper train still operating in Malaysia (the Intercontinental Express still runs overnight from the Thai-Malay border north to Bangkok). And, as with anything Belmond, the price – $4,650 (€4,110) – is high, strikingly higher than the national KTMB trains operating on the same rails, but it procures a level of comfort and service more luxurious than any Malaysian sultan in history ever had the good luck to experience. The wood-panelled carriages are warm and inviting, the en-suite compartments roomy and snug. My State cabin had a chair and lounger that each converted to a single bed, and the en-suite a marble handbasin and a full-size shower with its own sweet and charming cabin steward. As we shunted away, I was joined on the observation deck by various characters—Australian lawyers and financial investors, American artists, Malaysian construction magnates—enticed by the adjacent bar car (one of two on the train). They were all dressed to the nines, the E&O Express inspiring a certain etiquette among its passengers. 'An atmosphere of relaxed refinement,' so the brochure assured me, 'calls for smart-casual wear with a touch of understated elegance.' Malaysia is a composite nation of Malay, Chinese, and Indian cultures, and the food, both ample and delicious, mixes those varied local cuisines with a touch of Provence. Our first lunch was kimchi niçoise with a crispy udon galette, and a coconut blancmanger with Nyonya chendol for dessert. Each day, entertainment was provided – a magician, a jazz trio, a karaoke night in the bar – and anyone could avail themselves of the onboard spa or mahjong set. Most, however, chose to congregate on the observation deck, letting the wind blow away the heat and carry the scent of sodden roots and woodsmoke. By morning, we had arrived at Merapoh, where great mounds of grey rock jut from the forest; the region is famous for its caves. While some passengers went spelunking, some went on a photography scout, and others went for a riverine spa treatment, I joined a small group heading into Taman Negara National Park for some wildlife spotting. In the back of a pickup truck, I sat beside local guide Nizam Khairun, a sweetly enthusiastic bird fanatic, who held up his phone and showed me pictures of hornbills, eagles, and a little red and blue number called a Garnet Pitta. 'Birdwatchers come from all over the world to see this,' he said, thrusting his phone in my direction. We were driving under a green canopy, the fronds above us meeting like eyelashes over the road, the verge lined with palms like green fountains. Soon we came across a covey of photographers waiting to catch a glimpse of a great argus. 'Hang on,' Nizam said, as he jumped from the truck, and went clucking into the undergrowth. A minute later, he reappeared, followed on his heels by an argus, a bird that resembles a Dickensian peacock, with its long, dun-colored tail. 'I call that one brother,' Nizam said as the photographers snapped away. 'I've known him since he was hatched.' The brush of Taman Negara is thick, and sightings are difficult. Within the tangle of trees and ferns, there are elephants and cattle-like gaur, tapirs and sun bears, and some of the few remaining Malayan tigers. We weren't so lucky as to see any of those, but there were plenty of faraway gibbon calls, elephant prints pressed into the red mud, and a tree that had been shredded by a sun bear trying to get at a bee's nest within. That afternoon, we shunted out of Merapoh and returned south, past vast palm oil and rubber tree plantations. Sometime in the night, we passed Kuala Lumpur (just as well, as its grand, central railway station is no longer in use), and over breakfast, we watched the outskirts of Butterworth amass into the city itself. A chartered ferry was waiting to carry us to the island of Penang, where we spent the morning exploring the colonial quarter of Georgetown. Chauffeur trishaws (three-wheeled peddle-bike taxis) had been chartered, and all were given a map of the town and the freedom to do as they wished. Georgetown has transformed itself from a colonial administrative centre to a cultural and artistic hub of Malaysia. I spent my time making a tour of the local street art, each mural and steel-rod sculpture detailing some scene of the island's past: rickshaw coolies, bootblacks, imperial police, and sultans carried on litters. Malaysia droops like a closed lily-bud off the bouquet of Asia, and in the evening, we slid like a drop of dew down its western coast, bound for Singapore. It felt too soon to be returning; this pass through the country had passed in comfort and good grace, but too quickly. But then again, all great trains arrive too soon. The writer was a guest of Belmond's Eastern and Oriental Express. The ever-sensational Eurovision song contest is taking place in Basel this year, with performers primed to dazzle audiences at the St. Jakobshalle arena next week. The Swiss city will host the 69th edition of the competition, taking place between 13 and 17 May, where 37 countries will battle it out to be the best act. Fans of the high-octane contest are now flocking to Basel and, if you are thinking of joining the musical extravaganza, accommodation is still available. But be warned, prices are as eye-watering as many of the performances. Basel is anticipating that as many as 50,000 fans will descend on the city in the coming days as Eurovision excitement reaches fever pitch. According to the song contest organisers, visitors from 80 countries around the globe will be in the audience for the live event. Swiss fans have bought the most tickets as the competition returns to their country for the first time since 1989. Germany has purchased the second-highest number of tickets, with fans from the UK, France and Spain rounding out the top five. Accommodation prices in Basel are reportedly sky-high for the week during which the competition will unfold. Sports news site has analysed over 1,000 accommodation listings in the city on Booking and Airbnb. The company compared the average prices of six-night stays for two people from 12 to 18 May (from a day before to a day after the contest) to the period in the weeks before and after Eurovision (5-11 May and 19-25 May) For the week of the competition, accommodation on Booking costs on average €6,024, which is 139 per cent more than the week before Eurovision and 137 per cent more than the week after. On Airbnb, a six-night stay between 12 and 18 May will set you back an average of €1,804, 130 per cent more than the week before the contest and 164 per cent more than the week after. The most expensive option on Booking during Eurovision is a studio eight kilometres from St. Jakobshalle for a staggering €21,906. Even so, that pales in comparison with the most expensive option on Airbnb: a loft 2.5 kilometres from the arena for €67,369 for the six days. If that's out of your budget, the cheapest option on Booking is a double room in a capsule hotel two kilometres from St. Jakobshalle for €1,178, while Airbnb's cheapest offer is an apartment 30 kilometres from the arena for €252.
