• 
• 

I ponder the question while sipping my morning coffee and watching the rain trickle down the hotel window.

Kota Kinabalu - KK to the locals - gets its name from Mount Kinabalu, located about 90 kilometres northeast of the city. Asked what "Kinabalu" means, some Malaysians point to "Aki Nabalu", mean¬ing the "revered place of the dead". Others opt for the legend of the "Chinese widow" - Kina means "Chinese" in the Kadazandusun language and Balu means "widow" in Malay.

As the legend goes, a Chinese prince shipwrecked on these shores fell in love and married one of the locals who rescued him. After promising to come back for his wife and children, the homesick prince sailed back to China. His waiting wife climbed the mountain every day for two years, searching the sea for his return. When she died brokenhearted on its cold slopes, the mountain spirits rewarded her devotion by turning her to stone so she could gaze forever across the South China Sea.

 The melancholic explanation sounds right in this gloomy weather.

 "How about a visit to the city's landmarks then an afternoon trip to the mountain if the rain stops?" asks my travelling companion. Suddenly the future looks brighter.

We hop on a tour bus heading to our first destination, Tun Mustapha Tower, formerly known as the Sabah Foundation Building. Thirty storeys high, its cylinder of glass is suspended on a pedestal and wrapped around a core of steel rods. This strangelooking building is one of only four in the world built this way.

Back on the bus, the next stop is Kota Kinabalu City Mosque at Likas Bay for a taste of contemporary Islamic architec¬ture. The mosque sprawls over a manmade lagoon, giving us the impression that it's floating on the water.

A tour of KK's landmarks wouldn't be complete without a visit to the Atkinson Clock Tower. It stands on a bluff along Signal Hill Road close to the old police station. It was built in 1903 in memory of Francis George Atkinson, the first district officer of Jesselton - as KK was then known - who died of malaria age 28. All wood with no nails, the clock tower sur¬vived the destruction of Jesselton during World War II and is now the oldest build¬ing in the state of Sabah. Residents can still set their watches by it today.

Back on the bus we're told that landslides around Mount Kinabalu mean we're being diverted to Monsopiad Cultural Village, a halfhour's drive out of the city.

A showcase of the local Kadazandusun culture, Monsopiad Cultural Village is stuffed with activities. Visitors can take part in cultural dances, canopy walking, ricewine making and sagoworm tasting. (Guess which one I skipped.)

After getting our fill of the Cultural Village we move onto the scarysounding House of Skulls, just opposite.

"Siou do mohoing," I say, trying out the unfamiliar words written on the plaque over the locked door. Our guide smiles:

"Good, that's right."

"What is?" I have no idea what she's talking about.

"Every visitor has to say 'siou do mohoing' before entering the house. You are asking permission, in the Kadazan language, to step through the door."

"But nobody lives here," my friend points out. "Whose permission are we asking?"

"The spirits of the skulls, of course," says the guide, with a mysterious smile. She unlocks the bamboo door and slowly pushes it open.

 "The House of Skulls was home to the legendary Kadazan warrior Monsopiad 300 years ago. His living descendants have set aside this part of their house as a museum. They live next door.

"Monsopiad was a man with great power. He fought off robbers, pirates and warriors from other tribes and chopped off their heads as trophies of his victories." We follow the guide's pointing finger to fortytwo skulls hanging from the beam right above my head. "Siou do mohoing," I mutter to myself.

 "The heads were sundried on bamboo poles outside the house. Dried palm leaves would be woven around the skulls to ward off evil spirits. In return, the skull spirits had to protect Monsopiad's house and family. That's why you have to ask their permission before entering this place."

Looking up again, I see the empty eyes staring back. I gulp and drag my shaky legs out of the house, trying my best to look calm.

On our way back to KK, tummies start grumbling. With a little prodding, our guide agrees to take us to Seri Selera Kampung Air for a dinner of local delicacies. This openair terrace in the heart of the city is packed with food outlets and diners get cultural shows on stage as an extra. Seafood is the main draw and tanks of prawns, lobsters, fish, clams and crabs are lined up in front of the eateries. Pick whatever looks tastiest and it'll be served up to you in minutes.

I linger over prawns that each have a bottle to themselves.

 "Mantis prawns are aggressive," explains the vendor. "They have to be kept like this to prevent them tearing each other apart."

I peer closer and see a huge prawn clawing the glass walls fiercely. A grumpy crustacean doesn't sound like a recipe for a tasty dinner, so I pass on by.

If you go ...

Malaysian airlines fly daily from Bangkok to Kuala Lumpur (flying time two hours, 10 minutes) and from Kuala Lumpur to Kota Kinabalu (2hrs 35mins).

(The writer travelled as a guest of Malaysian Airlines and Tourism Malaysia.)