At the corner of Jalan Bendahara, green roof tiles and curling dragons sit beside traffic lights rather than behind a museum lawn. That is where I would begin with Miri’s Tua Pek Kong Temple: not by counting the decorations, but by looking at how tightly a place of worship still fits into the old trading town. The fish market next door makes more sense of its position than a stand-alone photograph ever could. [image: 1792366598288-1.jpg] Pangalau / Wikimedia Commons · CC BY-SA 4.0 · 28 Oct 2023 · resized, not cropped The temple’s origin belongs to the unsettled early years of the oil town. Chinese workers and traders were among the people drawn to Miri as the petroleum industry expanded. The community’s founding story links the temple to an epidemic and a riverside ritual, followed by the establishment of a shrine in gratitude in 1913. I would read that as a record of how people sought protection and built solidarity in an unfamiliar town—not as a medical explanation for why an epidemic ended. The river mattered here before the street scene took its present form. Worship, landing fish and buying provisions were neighbours, not separate sightseeing categories. The temple beside the fish market lets you read those overlapping routines on foot. It is a better starting point for understanding old Miri than treating every historic building as an isolated monument. [image: 1792366598416-2.jpg] Pangalau / Wikimedia Commons · CC BY-SA 4.0 · 28 Oct 2023 · resized, not cropped Look upward, then back toward the compound. The tiled roofs belong to the smaller-scale temple, while a seven-metre Tua Pek Kong statue rises above it. That statue was installed in April 2023 as part of a much larger extension and beautification programme. The contrast is useful: the landmark is not simply an untouched piece of 1913. A major renovation in 1977 already marked an earlier round of renewal; generations of donations, repairs and new building have continued to reshape it. The older temple and the enlarged surroundings tell different chapters of the same community story. The photographs here were taken in 2023–24, during that changing phase; they are not a promise that today’s barriers or building works will look identical. In August 2025 a further RM500,000 restoration allocation was announced, with particular attention to traditional carving and architectural expertise. I would not assume every corner is accessible just because the temple remains a visitor landmark. Follow the current entrance and any on-site restrictions rather than stepping around works for a cleaner shot. [image: 1792366598522-4.jpg] Pangalau / Wikimedia Commons · CC BY-SA 4.0 · 16 Mar 2024 · resized, not cropped Nor is this only a story of stone, tiles and timber. In May 2026 the temple’s grand procession brought together more than 7,000 participants, including visiting groups and different cultural communities. An ordinary-day stop cannot reproduce that event, but it helps explain why the compound has grown beyond the scale of a small shrine. This is an organising place for living traditions, not a stage set left behind by the oil boom. For a first visit, I would give the roofline, wall decoration and the relationship between the hall and the much larger statue more attention than the number of photographs taken. Keep clear of people praying, ask before photographing worshippers, and let attendants indicate where visitors may stand. A working religious space is easier to appreciate when you do not expect it to behave like an exhibition. [image: 1792366598655-6.jpg] Pangalau / Wikimedia Commons · CC BY-SA 4.0 · 25 May 2024 · resized, not cropped I would combine this with a morning walk around the old fish market and nearby central-market streets, then stop for breakfast in the old town. That route is the attraction: the temple explains the neighbourhood, and the neighbourhood gives the temple a human scale. History-minded visitors already staying in Miri can make a worthwhile short detour; someone expecting an extensive museum, a full-day attraction or a guaranteed procession on arrival may be disappointed. It is not a sensible day trip from Kuching just for this one stop. Use Tua Pek Kong Temple, Miri on Google Maps, beside the old fish market at Jalan Bendahara. Choose daylight for reading the architectural details, check the day’s access with the attendant, and leave some room in the plan for the streets around it. Here, the most revealing view is often the one that keeps the market in the picture.

You know that tiny pause you get when you step off a busy Kuching street and suddenly everything smells like incense, old timber, and red lanterns? That is the mood at Hiang Thian Siang Ti Temple. It is not the kind of place where you rush in, snap one photo, and cabut. Go a bit slower here. [image: 1784945306885-hiang_01_interior.jpg] Source: Kuching Old Bazaar [image: 1784945307143-hiang_05-resized.jpg] Source: Trip.com traveller photos [image: 1784945307850-hiang_06-resized.jpg] Source: Trip.com traveller photos [image: 1784945308238-hiang_08.jpg] Source: Trip.com traveller photos This temple is tucked along Carpenter Street and dedicated to Xuan Tian Shang Di, the Deity of the North. Sarawak Tourism says the present temple replaced an earlier site in 1863, was badly damaged in the 1884 fire, then rebuilt in 1889. KCH Old Bazaar also records the Teochew link very clearly: locals know it as Lao Ya Keng, and the annual deity procession is still one of those old Kuching traditions that can fill the street with drums, flags, and people. What I like about this stop is that it feels small but alive. Tripadvisor reviewers keep saying the same thing in different ways: it is colourful, well maintained, historically meaningful, and worth a quick look even if temples are not usually your thing. One traveller said to remove your shoes and go inside; another liked that the information board outside gives the temple story without making you guess. Trip.com travellers lean more into the photo side: red pillars, roof carvings, murals, ornate altar, that old-school Carpenter Street setting. Wanderlog-style review summaries also mention the same calm feeling, especially early morning or late afternoon when it is less busy. Airial's review roundup adds practical reminders that match the place: speak softly, dress modestly, take off shoes before entering the main hall, and do not touch religious items. Practical stuff: Address: 22, Carpenter Street, 93000 Kuching, Sarawak. Opening hours: Trip.com lists it as 7:00 AM to 6:00 PM. Some visitors have mentioned seeing it open later during preparations, but I would not gamble on that. Entry: Free. Best timing: morning for quieter photos, or late afternoon if you want softer light around Carpenter Street. Nearby makan: Lau Ya Keng is just opposite, so this is an easy temple-plus-kolo-mee stop. Good to know: remove shoes before entering, keep your voice down, and give space if devotees are praying. My take: this is not a huge tourist attraction, and that is exactly why it works. It is a 10-20 minute stop, but a nice one. If you are walking Carpenter Street with a visitor, bring them here before makan and let them see a quieter side of old Kuching. Anyone here still remembers watching the procession when it passed through town?

Most mornings, the smoke from Tua Pek Kong Temple rises before the Main Bazaar coffee shops open. That is the first sign that this temple lives to a different rhythm than the heritage trail that surrounds it. Standing at the corner of Jalan Tunku Abdul Rahman, opposite the Chinese History Museum and a two-minute walk from the Kuching Waterfront, Tua Pek Kong Temple — also called Siew San Teng Temple — is widely regarded as the oldest Chinese place of worship in the city. No one knows the exact founding year, but Chinese temple associations and the Wikipedia entry date it before 1839, decades before James Brooke arrived in Sarawak. What started as a simple attap hut for early Hokkien and Teochew settlers grew through major renovations in 1856, 1863 and 1880 into the building you see today. [image: 1781230879510-img1-resized.jpg] Credit: 愛子棋枰 / Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA) What gives this temple its near-legendary status among older Kuchingites is what it survived. The Great Fire of 1884 burned most of old Kuching's wooden shophouses to the ground — the temple stood. Japanese bombs fell across the city in 1941 — surrounding buildings collapsed, the temple kept standing. Local folklore credits its feng shui: backed by a gentle hill, facing the Sarawak River, the position was chosen deliberately by the original settlers. In 1871, the second White Rajah, Charles Brooke, issued the temple's first official land title — a rare recognition of a Chinese religious site by the Brooke administration. The document is still cited by local historians as one of the earliest land grants in Kuching's Chinese community records. [image: 1781230880238-img2.jpg] Credit: Damian Pankowiec / Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA) The main hall is dedicated to Tua Pek Kong, the God of Prosperity, flanked by Guan Yin and Kshitigarbha bodhisattvas. Business owners from the surrounding shophouses stop by especially on the 1st and 15th of the lunar calendar. You will see them light incense, cast divination blocks and burn joss paper in the courtyard. The temple also used the name Chong Swee Heng (崇瑞兴) in earlier records, a name tied to the Hokkien—Teochew communal trust that managed it. Inside, the carved wooden altar panels, ceramic roof ridges and red lanterns are not museum pieces — they are maintained by the same families whose grandparents worshipped here. The atmosphere is compact and layered: incense hangs in the air, the divination blocks clatter on the stone floor, and the occasional chant drifts from the side hall. [image: 1781230880711-img3-resized.jpg] Credit: Boonjinchung / Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA) You could walk past the entrance in fifteen seconds. Most people do, heading straight for the waterfront. But ten minutes inside — watching a shopkeeper ask for a blessing, noticing the soot pattern on the incense burner that has not moved in decades — tells you more about Kuching's Chinese community than any museum plaque. A few practical notes if you do step in. Entry is free and the temple is open roughly from 6 am to 6 pm daily, though there is no strict enforcement. Late afternoon around 5 pm brings good light through the doorway. Dress respectfully — shoulders covered is the norm. Photography is fine, but pause when someone is actively praying. The busiest days are the 1st and 15th of each lunar month; quieter on regular weekdays. The temple sits about 200 metres from the main waterfront path, making it an effortless detour on any old-town walk. [image: 1781230881352-img4-resized.jpg] Credit: Flickr / Wikimedia Commons (CC BY) Would this temple stand out if it were in Penang or Singapore? Probably not. But in Kuching, where the oldest surviving Chinese structure shares a block with a 1927 fire station and a colonial courthouse, it anchors the old town's timeline. You don't need 30 minutes here. Ten is enough — long enough to smell the incense and let the history catch up with you.