Bursa: Silk, history, and the flavours of an Ottoman legacy

Euronews

12-05-2025

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.