Banjarmasin

Banjarmasin's history begins on the water. A trading settlement at the mouth of the Kuin River grew into the capital of the Banjar sultanate in the 1520s, when Prince Samudera won a struggle for the old Hindu-Buddhist kingdom of Negara Daha with help from the Muslim sultanate of Demak in Java, adopted Islam and took the name Sultan Suriansyah. The mosque and royal graves at Kuin still mark the spot. Pepper, rattan, beeswax, resin and later diamonds from the fields inland moved down the Barito, and the port drew Chinese, Bugis, Arab, Malay and European traders.

The sultanate spent two centuries manoeuvring between the Dutch East India Company, the British and its own rivals, shifting its court upriver more than once. Dutch pressure tightened through the 19th century, and a disputed succession set off the Banjarmasin War of 1859–63, in which Prince Antasari led resistance across the river country; the Dutch abolished the sultanate and put its territory under direct rule from Batavia, and fighting dragged on for years afterwards. Colonial Banjarmasin became the administrative and shipping centre of the south, with a canal network dug to drain and connect the swamp.

Japanese forces occupied the city in the Second World War, and Australian troops took it in September 1945. After independence it grew as the outlet for South Kalimantan's rubber, timber and, later, coal, and as the gateway for transmigrants arriving from Java. Land transport slowly replaced the rivers for freight, the port moved downstream to Trisakti, and many canals were filled in for roads. In 2022 the provincial government seat moved to Banjarbaru, leaving Banjarmasin the largest city of the province but no longer its capital.

This is the centre of Banjar culture: a Malay-speaking, Muslim river people with their own language, Banjarese, still the everyday speech of the markets and the boats. Islam here is old and deeply rooted, shaped by the 18th-century scholar Muhammad Arsyad al-Banjari, whose name the grand mosque carries, and by a strong tradition of religious teachers whose annual commemorations, or haul, draw crowds far larger than any secular festival. Trade is the other pillar of local identity — the Banjar are known across Indonesia as merchants, and bargaining is expected rather than resented.

The best-known craft is sasirangan, cloth patterned by stitching and tying before dyeing, which was once made for healing and ceremonial use and is now worn as everyday shirts and school uniforms. Wooden boatbuilding, ironwood carpentry and the making of the sweet cakes called wadai are all local specialities, and the saying that forty-one kinds of wadai should be laid out for a celebration is taken seriously.

Manners are quiet and formal. Religious observance sets the rhythm of the week, with Friday prayers emptying offices at midday, and the fasting month reshaping the whole city's timetable. Visitors on the rivers are met with curiosity and good humour, though it is worth remembering that the floating markets are working trade, not a performance, and that the stilt houses along the banks are people's homes.

About 680,000 people live within the city itself, and more than two million in the wider Banjar Bakula built-up area that runs east towards Banjarbaru and Martapura. Banjarmasin lies barely above sea level on soft delta soil, so buildings stand on piles, roads sink and crack, and tidal flooding is a normal part of the year rather than an emergency. The city's old reputation as a place of rivers is only partly true now: many channels have been culverted or filled, though rivers and canals remain in daily use.

The economy is trade, transport and services. Coal, palm oil, timber and rubber from the interior pass through the port at Trisakti, wholesale markets supply much of the province, and government offices, universities and hospitals employ a large share of residents. Fishing, boatbuilding and small workshops continue along the water. The city's dependence on coal has made the wider province prosperous and left it exposed to price swings and to arguments over the damage mining does upstream.

Days begin very early — markets and mosques are busy before dawn, and heat drives activity indoors by the middle of the day. Traffic on the bridges is the daily complaint, and the afternoon rain sets its own schedule. Flood defences, canal dredging and the arrival of the new national capital being built in East Kalimantan are the subjects that dominate local discussion about the city's future.

Banjar cooking is the most distinctive in Kalimantan, and soto Banjar is its emblem: a clear chicken soup scented with cinnamon, clove and star anise, poured over shredded chicken, boiled egg and ketupat rice cake, and often eaten for breakfast. Ketupat Kandangan, from a town to the north-east but sold everywhere here, pairs rice cakes with smoked snakehead fish in a thin coconut sauce. Nasi kuning, turmeric rice with fish or chicken in a red chilli sauce, is the other standard early meal.

Freshwater fish define the main courses. Haruan, the snakehead, is grilled or cooked masak habang in a deep red sauce coloured with dried chillies; patin catfish is cooked in sour broth or grilled in banana leaf; and udang galah, the giant river prawn, is the local luxury. Sambal acan, made with fermented shrimp paste, accompanies nearly everything, and the fruit of the forest — durian, its orange-fleshed relative lai, cempedak and rambutan — fills the markets in the rainy season.

Sweet things matter here more than almost anywhere in Indonesia. Wadai Banjar covers dozens of steamed and baked cakes: amparan tatak, a banana pudding in coconut cream; bingka, a rich baked cake of egg and coconut milk; and layered cakes cut into small squares. They are sold from boats at the floating markets, from stalls at the roadside, and in great spreads during Ramadan, alongside strong sweet coffee and tea.