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Perhaps it's not surprising to anyone at home, but I can happily announce that I have survived 8 weeks in Timor-Leste! It was touch and go for a while there.. Not because I was worried I'd get bored or fed up with it, there are too many wonderful things about this country for anyone to be in danger of that. Rather, I quite literally thought I would die on sporadic occasions; usually when in a small car with ten squealing high school kids and a driver threatening to have a heart attack at any moment, sometimes while recklessly (sic: drunkenly) walking home through Dili at night, and once while struggling against a sudden and overwhelming current that threatened to pull me into the croc infested seas south of Timor. But, I'm alive! And as I write I'm flying over the Indonesian archipelago with easily the best views I've ever seen from a plane of turquoise water and island volcanos, bound for Singapore then on to Manila!
I will start where I left off though (ashamedly long ago - sorry about the blog delays). I mentioned last time that I've been hanging out with a group from the University of Victoria in Melbourne who are doing a study tour for their course in international community development. It's bizarre how similar their experience has been to what I did in Indonesia. They even have characters that are equivalent to some of the more enigmatic people on our trip - I never thought I'd meet anyone comparable to The Rooster... Anyway, they knew I worked at Ba Futuru and were keen to do a q&a and a tour so I set it up for them. It was good for me too to find out more about the people I was volunteering for. Mostly though it was just surreal to be back in that setting, all that was missing was Mister Jeff and intermittent exclamations of 'manis!'
I did the last of my big road trips with the school that weekend (June 29) and I must admit to being very glad I've reached the end of that chapter of my trip. As always I had about nine or ten people in the car with only Akon on the stereo to distract me. We went to Manatuto again and for some unimaginable reason we left at 4am. I've since stopped pondering Timorese motives where timing is concerned but considering the sun doesn't even rise til a lazy 6:45am and the trip only takes 2 hours with an extra 30 minutes added to allow the boys hanging off the back of the boot a little break... I struggle to fathom the reasoning. Thankfully I was free to have a nap in the car once we got there but the kids weren't so lucky.
The purpose of the trip was a big sporting and cultural collaboration between Sao Miguel and San Antonio, the school in Manatuto. It was quite a sight to see all the kids roll in from Dili packed into three or four trucks, singing the school song and chanting 'viva Sao Miguel'. It was a sight that was lost on me though, as I struggled to keep my eyes open while driving from the passenger seat with the two video camera operators hanging out each front window, sitting on the sills.
That night we all slept on the floor of one of the classrooms and all I had was my batik sheet from Indonesia and my bag for a pillow. That wasn't the uncomfortable part at all though. I thought after a while the rowdy card games and loud chatter would wind down but it didn't. All night. Not even the light was switched off. So needless to say I didn't sleep very well and you're probably starting to get a picture of why I doubt I'll find these memories endearing in the future.
A thousand times more traumatic than lost sleep though was the scene I woke up to the next morning. Dazed and confused, I saw Crisna being carried into the room unconscious and clearly in the midst of another of his 'attacks' that he's been having on and off since I arrived. He came to but was completely incoherent. When it happens - on this occasion, two episodes in one day - the kids have to massage him and pump at his chest. I'm not sure if Crisna understands why this makes him feel marginally better, but it's obvious to me that his heart is in such bad shape that the students have to manually pump the blood around his body.
Now Timorese people are undoubtedly more thick skinned than me, but given that I find this image totally unsettling, I really worry about the impact it has on the students. Sometimes I forget how young they are. More urgent though is the danger these spells of his pose when on the road. I always took on all the driving whenever I could but I have nightmares about how dangerous it is for Crisna to be driving a car filled with kids in the state he's in.
Of course, seeing a cardiologist would be anyone's first priority but that is more easily said than done in Timor. I've tried to convince Crisna to look seriously into going to Bali or Darwin and he has thought about it but keeps balking and has been seeing a traditional medicine practitioner instead. He wants a quick fix pill or shot to make him better but doesn't understand that he needs to change his lifestyle; diet, exercise and particularly rest need to be prioritised.
With the latter in mind I tried to convince him to come on the mini holiday I had planned to Atauro but it was no use. In hindsight I'm glad he didn't come, it was so good to get away from Dili for a while. The island is only 90 minutes away but we had a very rocky trip over. The swells were massive and I was instantly thankful I didn't take the cheaper option - a three hour journey on a local boat that is commonly compared quite cruelly by expats to asylum seeker vessels. It's an accurate comparison though. There are no life jackets and I heard horror stories before I left about people being stuck at sea all day long with no water or shelter.
Anyway, our journey was nauseating enough so I was happy to have taken the (exorbitantly) expensive option. I also met the lovely Anna, which turned out to be fortuitous, because if we hadn't gotten along so well and agreed to share a room they probably wouldn't have been able to fit us in at Barry's. The eponymous owner is a Queenslander but has been living in Timor for eleven years. He is a genuinely wonderful guy and he and his adorable twin 4 year olds - Marty and Micky - give the place a lot of character. The food and particularly the Timorese coffee is incredible too and basically I just can't rave about the place enough. The accommodation is thatched huts and it feels a lot like five star camping. I've never had such a pleasant experience with a pit toilet!
The morning after Anna and I arrived we enlisted two others and went on a big trek over to the other side of the island which is more protected and as such, doesn't get all the rubbish coming in with the tide from Dili. We walked for about two and a half hours on the way there and two hours back. It was reasonably challenging but very easy to enjoy too. When we got to the village at the other end we signed to some locals to get us some young coconuts to drink. It took a while but eventually one of the men went off with a machete and cut four down for us.
When I got back to Dili preparations for the election were really starting to heat up. There had been a number of raucous parades through the streets starting exactly one month before polling but in the week before, the riotous motorcades for the various parties (mostly CNRT and Fretilin) reached outrageous decibel levels and seemed to stretch miles down the main roads. They were all ostensibly in good fun, even if at times it felt like the people, young, rowdy men for the most part, we're more of a rent-a-crowd than honest supporters. It's funny to see what Timorese people will do for or with a free tshirt or poster.. Often their homes will be decorated with stickers or other merch given out for free at political or social responsibility events, with no attention paid to the message being promoted. Despite this, the parades seemed peaceful, excepting the man I saw come racing around a corner on a bike sans helmet. He ran into the curb and went flying into a fence but brushed himself off as if nothing happened.
The election itself was a massive anticlimax, which of course is probably the greatest coup you could give to STAE, the electoral commission equivalent. I was part of an election observation team and we were briefed to anticipate an expectant sense of ceremony, with people dressing in their Sunday best, feeling excited and privileged to exercise their democratic function. In true Timorese fashion, the car I was repeatedly assured I'd be able to borrow for the weekend wasn't available all of a sudden, so I couldn't go into the districts like I'd planned. Instead I stayed in Dili, and contrary to our briefing, the mood was every bit as apathetic as it is toward elections in Australia.
The actual work itself, which I'd been looking forward to since I arrived, was incredibly boring. As you can imagine, watching people line up for hours then come out with the blue indelible ink stain on their index finger gets old quite quickly. The next night there was a thank you event at the Australian ambassador's residence for the observers. Going to a cocktail party with red wine, Melbourne Bitter and appetisers was totally bizarre after nearly two months in Timor. Luckily the Vic Uni group was there so we made the most of the free drinks and bailed.
The north coast road trip I did with Tenille and Rowan was definitively the highlight of my time in Timor. Juli, a sixteen year old boy from Sao Miguel 'came with the car', which I borrowed from Crisna. Having a sensible number of people in it for once was a welcome change. The first night we drove from Dili to Bacau and slept on the beach. After a massive breakfast that extended to lunch we left Ossalata and went into the old town of Bacau. It has a strong Portuguese flavour and lots of old buildings left from when the city was the centre of colonial administration, including the giant natural spring pool which is filled and drained every few days. The water in it is so fresh that I came out cleaner than I have been since I left home. I was interested to see whether the thong tan I had cultivated was real or just a thick layer of impenetrable dirt - turns out it was a little of both.
We frolicked around (it seems an appropriate verb!) in the pool for a long time before we realised Juli had run off with the car. He doesn't have a license and I would guess that he's driven about 3 times ever... Once we located the joy-riding delinquent we laughed it off of course, but I silently resolved to hold onto the keys myself. Juli is a great kid though, and his English is getting pretty good. There are a few students, him included, who could be really successful if only they are lucky enough to get a scholarship or perhaps sponsorship to study overseas. The opportunities are so rare though that it really upsets me to think that so much of their future will be determined by good or bad luck.
That afternoon we undertook the single worst stretch of road I've ever seen, let alone driven on. After Bacau the main 'highway' (for lack of a better word) gets a lot more bearable, with long expanses of flat agricultural land. But to get to Tutuala, our destination for the night, you have to spend at least an hour traversing the steep wall of rocks that apparently constitutes a road. It was unpleasant and at times terrifying but we made it, and had a very satisfying and well deserved Bintang when we got to the bottom.
There are two small clusters of thatched roof bungalows at Tutuala and all of them were empty, which made it really special for us. The main reason we came was to visit Jaco island, a small and perfectly preserved sacred animist site. we paid a fisherman a couple of dollars each to get across in his outrigger boat and he left the three of us alone on the island for a few hours. I've never seen such perfect white sand and clear blue water, and the $80 I invested in my own mask and snorkel would have paid off even if I had only used it for this one spot. The clarity of the water and the biodiversity was unbelievable. I saw a squid as well as about 4 different types of fish that I'd never seen before. From the shore, we were pretty sure we saw dolphins jumping at one stage too. I went for a walk to the other side of Jaco and was able to look right down the south coast of mainland Timor. It was spectacular. I took so long on that mesmerising walk that Ro and Tenille were about to get back in the boat and go looking for me at sea when I finally got back. Incidentally, this is the spot where I had the scare in the strong current that threatened to wash me back to Australia.
Rowan nearly flipped the car on the way back up that horrible road but we made it and went to pick up my friend Leo in Lospalos. He is Timorese but has been going to uni in Hawaii for a couple of years. He's a good example of one of the lucky ones who was fortunate enough to be given a good opportunity and some hope for upward mobility, although I don't doubt he worked really hard for it. By coincidence, it happened to be his 21st birthday, so we took him to Com and had a few celebratory rum and cokes (all we could get our hands on). Com is described in the Lonely Planet as the closest thing Timor has to a backpacker town, which I guess is conceivable but certainly a stretch. Unfortunately we got there late and had to leave early to head home, so we didn't get much of an opportunity to suss it out. I imagine that the frequent crocodile sightings will probably affect its attempt to assert itself as a beach resort town though.
Saying goodbye to Dili was bitter sweet. It was awesome to realise that I had
successfully integrated myself into the Tasitolu/Rai Kotu/Comoro community. This small section of Dili contains Ba Futuru, Sao Miguel and my house and by the end I couldn't walk down the west end of Comoro road without 10 people or more saying 'hello mana Sophia'. It was a nice feeling but it made the last few days and all the goodbyes more difficult. Having said that, I was ready to move on, particularly to things like fast internet and hot showers. I've been in the Philippines a few days now and still no hot water, but it wasn't until I used the (much more readily available) wifi in Manila that I realised how snail-paced it is in Timor. Now there are no more excuses, so I'll have to keep up the blog! Except perhaps the fact that my musings will become much less interesting now that I'm just another solo traveller making my way through South East Asia and Europe... Stay tuned to track the rate at which these entries become more and more contrived!
- comments
Pip That was well worth the wait. Keep it up Buchsy!
sophbuchs I don't believe for a second you read it all haha
Toby Good one Soph. Sounds like the last month has been pretty incredible! Lexi is back in Sydney so we had brekky at Gallery for old times sake. Enjoy the next stage and look forward to reading the next instalment.
John Buchanan Soph - nice story telling. It was a great read. Hope the weather is back to nice. Had dinner with Lexi, Toby and Mum at Faheems in Enmore Rd last night. Neil Gordon took us there and order the Muslim food in Urdu. Good fun but I'm paying a little today. When are you on the move next?
Sally ANOTHER ROOSTER!? Nooooooo......ahahahahaha can't believe it's been 2 months already, sounds like you had an absolutely amazing time in Timor. Exciting times ahead :)
Jo Hey Soph. I'm really loving your blog and hearing all about your fantastic adventures