Extended Family

The Day of the Dead and the Day of All Souls are coming up, and as a result, the roads were full of people returning to their ancestral homes. Already precarious roads became more dangerous. Microlits were overcrowded; drivers were passing; motorcyclists were squeezing in everywhere.

We left Janu's dad sitting in the shade outside a supermarket in Baucau, about half way between Tutuala and Dili. His oldest daughter was due to pick him up and take him the rest of the way to Vacaque. She and her family were due in 45 minutes. Thirty minutes later we saw them on the roadside, waiting for another carload of relatives to join them. I think Janu and S were exempt from Day of the Dead activities because they were helping the Canadian visitors.

We took a breather from the oncoming traffic and potholes by stopping at Janu's uncle’s house. That branch of the family lives about half an hour outside of Dili, in a beautiful thatched and bamboo house. We sat under the bougainvillea, grateful for a gentle breeze and wonderful hospitality.

Two sons are studying at university -- one in International Relations; the other in Civil Engineering. A daughter, Lo, was studying English in an intense program locally. The aunt teaches Kindergarten. It was our first visit where men and women mingled, although it took a few minutes for the mom to feel comfortable enough to actually sit with us.  She wanted to be part of the pictures near the end though.

As I started to say, their home was beautiful. The walls were split bamboo; the roof/ceiling thatched palm fronds. The floors were tile atop a cement slab. All this surrounded by a garden resplendent with bloom.

Soon enough, talk turned to crocodiles. Timorese legend has it that if a person is good and kind, they will not be troubled by a crocodile. There's also a creation-of-country story where a young boy helped a crocodile, and somehow the country came into being as a result. I'm sorry, but I can't remember it properly.

Driving back from Tutuala, we saw a few signs warning people of crocodiles, especially when the road was on a flood plain. Turns out the relatives have been harbouring a four meter long crocodile, and have named him Raffi. Only Grandpa cleans it's water, and he's gone away, so no one is sure what will become of Raffi. So far, no one is stepping forward to take over.

Raffi eats chicken, about once a week.

We had a lovely visit. Lo brought out some delicious tea. Engineering student son says he puts a lemon leaf in the pot. It also tasted of cinnamon. She also brought out some dried bananas and a local sweet made from palm sugar. It was rolled up, then sliced. Very delicious. No one fed Raffi, nor was fed to Raffi.

Back in Dili, I washed my hair and wanted to retire early. However, I knew it would be smarter to have dinner first.  Now I'm definitely ready to call it a day.

Tomorrow should be interesting as we visit the graveyard here in Dili.

Tutuala and Jaco

The place we’re staying has a strong Portuguese influence. It's on the top of the hill and has a commanding view. The colours are orange and yellow, and the main building has a wrap-around veranda.

The innkeeper must be used to people booking and not showing up, because we had a reservation for three rooms and some Aussies with diplomatic plates had reservations for four rooms. There are a total of five rooms in the establishment. After being asked, I relocated to the store room, leaving the Aussies (8 adults, 5 children under 9) with three rooms. I ended up with some Aussie craft beer as incentive.

So.  The road to the beach. Think about the road down to Sombrio Beach, but eight kilometres long. It took an hour to go down and 45 minutes to climb up. We went into the lowest four wheel drive gear several times. Only twice did I think we would lose the oil pan, and I never actually thought we’d tip over. I did entertain the notion, however.  Bob says he never braced himself because he was afraid he'd break his arm. I was given a front seat, and found the handle over the door to be very useful. (For those dear readers not familiar with the Sombrio beach road, it's an old resource/logging road that has mostly washed away in an uneven way.)

It was worth it though. We took a fibreglass skiff (20 feet long, four feet wide, 50 horse outboard motor) across for $10/person return. The ride was less than 10 minutes long.

Once we arrived at the white sand beach, we dumped our snacks etc and waded into the water.  It was gloriously clear and blue.  The brown bits that I thought were seaweed were coral, and the coral was teeming with fish.

I popped my head into the water mostly out of curiosity. Once I saw what was there, I was transfixed for an hour and a half. I only came out because I was sure I was starting to burn.

What did I see?  Initially some bright blue fish that were about four inches long, about a hundred swimming together. Further out, the fish got bigger. I saw a yellow and black striped beauty that was at least four feet long. There was an angel fish the size of a dinner plate.  Purply-blue ones about a foot long. Eighteen inch black ones with a white band just before their tails. Ghostly white ones in the deep white sand. Iridescent three-inch ones schooling all around me. It as magical.

The corals were as varied, although not as colourful. Huge fans, branching sticks, softly flowing shrub-like ones that reminded me of astilbe that's past its prime, tubes, spheres, dinner plates. Most of the corals were brown, but every now and then there was a coloured one. I remember seeing red and green. I also saw a few large spindly purple sea stars.

One of my criteria for this trip was the ability to snorkel. Today, my wish was granted for the first time. There are some other places in East Timor to snorkel, so I'll be able to do it again before Anita joins me for Christmas.

Before I sign off for today, I'll give you the cast of characters:
Me, a retired civil servant
Bob, a former work colleague who came to East Timor for the first time in 1999 as an election observer for the independence vote. Bob is still working, and took a six week vacation. His first leg was Myanmar, then he returned to East Timor for three weeks
Janu, Bob’s Timorese friend who works for the anti-corruption ministry (on secondment from the UN)
S, Janu’s brother Sylvester, who loves to drive and does an admirable job
Senior, Janu’s 74-year-old father who tries to talk to me. Sadly we have no common tongues, so we look at each other kindly. He served as a police officer under both Portuguese and Indonesian rule.

I'm proud to say I have mastered the word for thank you ( aubrigata) and no longer say it in a questioning tone. I'm moving on to excuse me (con lisensa). I should learn 25 cents and 50 cents before I start taking microlets (mini-van busses) next week.  My home stay is three kilometres from my volunteer office, and I'd like to walk when it's not pouring rain.

That's it for today. Tomorrow is another travel day, returning to Dili.

The Road to Tutuala

The first half of the journey to Tutuala (two-twa’-la) was supposed to be good. It connects East Timor’s two largest cities. It's a road well travelled.

Maybe it was good at this time last year; today, not so great.  I never would have guessed it was a main road. There were no lines on the road, and in most places there was barely enough room for opposing vehicles to pass.  There were a great many washboard sections, sometimes in completely random places.

In that first half, there were no road signs telling you which road you were on, much less how far it was to anywhere.

The counter to the road conditions, which were much worse for the third quarter, was the scenery.  We kept along the north coast, sometimes at sea level, sometimes climbing a couple of hundred feet.  At times it felt similar to the climb up Anarchist Mountain, leaving Osoyoos.  The hillsides were arid; the climbs sometimes long. Other times, we went through resting rice fields or villages stretched along the highway.

Close to Dili, all the river beds were dry.  After the half way point, they had plenty of water.  The livestock changed too. Initially, it was goats. Then we saw cows, sheep, a few horses and two water buffalo wallowing in the mud.

In every village that we passed by, we saw crowds of people. Initially, they were standing in line to vote in municipal elections. Later, the voters came out to witness the count.  Ninety percent of the adults in the community gathered to watch the count!

Sorry, I can't tell you any results.  I'm being a tourist this weekend, and don't have access to results in English.

One time when I opened my eyes after dozing off, we were in a bamboo forest. Another time, there were sheep trying to cross the road. most of the vegetation was deciduous trees that drop thei leaves throughout the year. There were coconut palm, windmill palm a sometimes banana. I saw a few patches of corn, but nothing significant.

Tomorrow, we'll take a trip around Jaco, an island off the east tip of East Timor. Check it out on google maps if you have a chance.

Socializing on Friday

Today, I experienced island time at its finest. Various people had arrangements to see Bob before he leaves on Wednesday; spoiler alert, not everyone made it.

We started our day at the Gusman Reading Room, the closest thing to a public library. At the front door, there’s a plaster statue of an old man sitting in a chair waiting for visitors. Think of a wax museum figure without the oversized head.  It's benign, and just a wee bit creepy.  (Gusman was the first president after Restoration, the point that East Timor restored its independence.)

Nonetheless, there are several computer stations and it's free.  Bob has already handed over the netbook to me, so he was without any other way communicate with his stamp vendor, family and friends.

Lunch was scheduled with the famous Charlie. He heads an NGO that does political advocacy. Everyone knows and likes Charlie,and once I met him, it was easy to see why.

Bob didn't check his texts. Charlie was running late. He was sitting in a Parliamentary committee hearing equivalent to our Estimates debate. The subject was the Petroleum Ministry.  Oil and gas is responsible for 95% of the nation’s budget, so this committee hearing was VERY important.

We went to lunch at 1:30, and Charlie texted that he would join us when he could. Please order, he said.

Charlie left the hearing early in order to make it to the restaurant before the kitchen closed. We has a lively lesson on the oil and gas industry.  Essentially the offshore fields are almost depleted and the government us not ready to acknowledge this. There are a few on-shore wells, but none large enough to be commercially viable. The first test well was drilled in the mid 1970s, so as resources go, it's quite predictable that the last of the three offshore sites will close in five years or so.

Although Charlie’s group has been publishing such predictions for about four years, this is the first time opposition members have mentioned it in Parliament.

After Charlie returned to the hearings, we went to meet the man who served as Bob’s interpreter when he was here for the independence referendum. Mickey lived through three of modern history’s most significant events.

When the Portuguese pulled out in 1975, the Indonesians invaded.  Mickey’s mother fled to the hills with her infant son, and stayed in the jungle for three years.

In 1991, Mickey was at the Santa Cruz Massacre, and has a bullet wound on right leg to prove it. Protesting students were funnelled into the graveyard and shot at the only gate as they tried to enter. Mickey did not think of himself as an activist. His whole school joined the march as it went by.  When the shooting started, no one knew what was happening or where to run. The shooters were in the Indonesian army.

Survivors were shipped off to Jakarta, and Mickey found himself in a refugee camp. For four months he did not know where his family was,or even if they were alive. Eventually they communicated via Red Cross.

In 1999, Mickey became an interpreter for an international group of election observers. At night, militia members would come to Mickey, point their guns at him and demand he stop helping the foreigners. Mickey replied that the foreigners were there to help and make sure everything was fair. Other than intimidate him, Mickey remained unharmed.

As followers of Timorese history know, things got pretty bad after the referendum (the ballot). Again, Mickey’s family fled to the hills.

He's now in seminary school, working with youth and sport.  Sports here are football (soccer), basketball and volleyball.

We hoped to walk up Cristo Ries with Mickey. That didn't happen. I'll have to tackle those 500 steps another day.

From coffee with Mickey, we walked along the ware front to my hotel. Janu and a friend met us, but alas Felix didn't make it

Janu’s friend Tony is Chinese Timorese, and he told us of his sister's advocacy during occupation. She flew under the radar, getting away with some activist stuff because no one believed that she would be involved.  She's now a rich corporate lawyer in Aus.

The locals all seem to have a story about independence, and they are very very proud of independence. Makes me worried about what will happen when oil revenues dry up.

Saturday, we're off to Tutuala at the far eastern point of the Island. Should be pretty.

Day 3: lots of meeting new people

Today, I experienced island time at its finest. Various people had arrangements to see Bob before he leaves on Wednesday; spoiler alert, not everyone made it.

We started our day at the Gusman Reading Room, the closest ing to a library. At the front door, there’s a plaster statue of an old man sitting in a chair waiting for visitors. Think of a wax museum figure without the oversized head.  It's benign, and just a wee bit creepy.

Nonetheless, there are several computer stations and it's free.  Bob has already handed over the netbook to me, so he was without any other way communicate with his stamp vendor, family and friends.

Lunch was scheduled with the famous Charlie. He heads an NGO that does political advocacy. Everyone knows and likes Charlie,and once I met him, it was easy to see why.

Bob didn't check his texts. Charlie was running late. He was sitting in a Parliamentary committee hearing equivalent to our Estimates debate. The subject was the Petroleum Ministry.  Oil and gas is responsible for 95% of the nation’s budget, so this committee hearing was VERY important.

We went to lunch at 1:30, and Charlie texted that he would join us when he could. Please order, he said.

Charlie left the hearing early in order to make it to the restaurant before the kitchen closed. We has a lively lesson on the oil and gas industry.  Essentially the offshore fields are almost depleted and the government us not ready to acknowledge this. There are a few on-shore wells, but none large enough to be commercially viable. The first test well was drilled in the mid 1970s, so as resources go, it's quite predictable that the last of the three offshore sites will close in five years or so.

Although Charlie’s group has been publishing such predictions for about four years, this is the first time opposition members have mentioned it in Parliament.

After Charlie returned to the hearings, we went to meet the man who served as Bob’s interpreter when he was here for the independence referendum. Mickey lived through three of modern history’s most significant events.

When the Portuguese pulled out in 1975, the Indonesians invaded.  Mickey’s mother fled to the hills with her infant son, and stayed in the jungle for three years.

In 1991, Mickey was at the Santa Cruz Massacre, and has a bullet wound on right leg to prove it. Protesting students were funnelled into the graveyard and shot at the only gate as they tried to enter. Mickey did not think of himself as an activist. His whole school joined the march as it went by.  When the shooting started, no one knew what was happening or where to run. The shooters were in the Indonesian army.

Survivors were shipped off to Jakarta, and Mickey found himself in a refugee camp. For four months he did not know where his family was,or even if they were alive. Eventually they communicated via Red Cross.

In 1999, Mickey became an interpreter for an international group of election observers. At night, militia members would come to Mickey, point their guns at him and demand he stop helping the foreigners. Mickey replied that the foreigners were there to help and make sure everything was fair. Other than intimidate him, Mickey remained unharmed.

As followers of Timorese history know, things got pretty bad after the referendum (the ballot). Again, Mickey’s family fled to the hills.

He's now in seminary school, working with youth and sport.  Sports here are football (soccer), basketball and volleyball.

We hoped to walk up Cristo Ries with Mickey. That didn't happen. I'll have to tackle those 500 steps another day.

From coffee with Mickey, we walked along the ware front to my hotel. Janu and a friend met us, but alas Felix didn't make it

Janu’s friend Tony is Chinese Timorese, and he told us of his sisters advocacy during occupation. Sheflew under the radar, getting away with some stuff because no one believed that she would be involved.  She's now a rich corporate lawyer in Aus.

The locals all seem to have a story about independence, and they are very very proud of independence. Makes me worried about what will happen when oil revenues dry up.

Saturday, we're off to Tutuala at the far eastern point of the Island. Should be pretty.

East Timor Day 2: Stamps and Coffee

Being on holidays is rough. Especially in paradise. Days blend into each other; everything is so new that it seems like a highlight.

On my second morning in Dili, we went to the garden at Cinquo de Mayo Park.  It's a well established area with Banyan and other large trees. There are plenty of cement tables with cement benches to accommodate the large number students attracted by the strong free wifi signal.

The more traditional garden was across the street. I saw lots of Lantana as well as some Fragipani. There were three or four other plants that I recognized but could not name. It's a formal garden design -- flowers trimming lawns with paths crossing midway in both the horizontal and vertical axes. The maintenance was not as strong as it could have been.    

Then we walked up to the post office, built with Korean development money. It's a spectacular modern building with a cement pond out front and a lovely walkway over to the entrance.  Other than two employees and two tourists (us), it was dead empty.  There is no postal delivery service here, so the post office serves as a place for aid workers to pick up packages.  Bob wanted to go to buy stamps for a dealer he knows in Portugal.  Sales to foreign collectors seems to be the main purpose of stamp sales here.

Since the afternoon rains had come on schedule, we popped into a coffee shop next door.  It's the streetfront for a coffee cooperative in the hills, and Leticia is its face.  She's a bright positive force to be reconnect with.  Her smile is infectious and her English is better than my Tatun. At the same time, there were many moments that I wasn't sure which language she was using.

Coffee, she said, has three pickings a year.  It takes about three years for a plant to mature, and the current plants are from seeds of the Portuguese era.  When a coffee bush grows to about three meters tall, it's pruned back to one meter. This is usually around the third picking.

Beans at this cooperative are harvested by hand, which helps maintain quality.  I asked, and vaguely recall that the yield is something like three metric tones per hectare. Leticia is currently working with an Australian company to distribute the crops.

Australian companies are not always reputable.  There is currently an agreement with an Aussie company over oil extraction that is not favourable to East Timor. After it was signed, the Timorese discovered that the Aussie company that built the Parliament building added in some listening devices (bugs) in the Cabinet Chambers that were not on the building’s plans.

The rain stopped and we went on our way. To watch a movie (Keeping Up With the Joneses) in a nearly empty theatre. It was great fun, full of unexpected plot points.

A very full second day.

Juliette = probability of rain

When I landed in Phomn Pehn two years ago, it started to rain. One of those tropical downpours that it is impossible to get around in. That time, Anita loaded her bicycle onto a tuk-tuk so that we could leave for our hotel.

Yesterday, in East Timor, I experienced the same kind of rain. It was a couple of hours after I arrived, but the intensity was the same. Good thing I had my new robin's-egg-blue rain jacket tucked into my purse.

Bob Crane (a former colleague from Housing Policy) is an East Timor pro, and met me at the airport. Stepping off the plane was refleshing, exotic, and familiar all at once. I wanted to be somewhere warm. I got that in spades.  It's currently 31 degrees with 78% humidity (or it was half an hour ago at 9am). When I walked off the plane, it was roughly the same.

So after Bob's Timorese friend Janu dropped us off, we went to the mall to get my SIM card. I grabbed my jacket because it was clouding up. By the time I had secured said SIM card and found a power supply for my apple devices (I left mine in the Bali airport), the skies opened. Rain bounced off the ground. That wonderful tropical smell of wet dirt multiplied. It was fabulous. Or it was what I could expect when visiting the equator in rainy season.

I still haven't figured out how to add pictures to the blog on my iPad. When I have the computer, it should be a snap. So today I can't show you pictures from our first tourist "sight" or the spectacular view from breakfast this morning. You'll have to make do with word pictures.

Yesterday afternoon, Bob and I went to an exhibit in a former torture prison of the Truth and Reconcilliation Commission. The commission was started only one year after the independence vote ("the ballot"), and took testimony for four years. The years between Portuguese withdrawal and independence -- about 30 years -- were hard for many.  The current population of East Timor is 1.18 million, and the number of Disappeared is about 18,500.  An equal number starved to death in the hills avoiding various oppressors and militia.

When the Portuguese left, they set up the possibility of an independent state. Indonesia didn't agree. As in many conflicts, teenaged boys were targeted.  Many were told they were going to Jakarta and instead were taken to a hill cliff to be pushed off. The spot is known as Jakarta 2.

Today, the prison looks like an innocuous place. I told Bob the outside reminded me of a private hospital that Anita and I went to in Kericho, the heart of the tea district in Kenya. The cement buildings are white with blue trim. There are tropical flowers in a courtyard. It's benign.  Until you see the cell block. Absolutely no light. The number of people in an eight by ten foot cell would depend of the size of the party that arrived.  If you came with ten people, your cell accommodated ten people. If you came with 24, that's how many were in the same size cell. The people were small, since everyone was malnourished.

The evening lighted up. No rain. A nice bar overlooking the beach. Great conversation.

It's a good life -- at least for this visitor.

Today, I'm off to see a garden. I'll tell you about it later.

That magic moment

That magic moment is almost here -- the moment when the airplane wheels tuck in and you know you're on your way.

I'm sitting at Gate D54 of the Vancouver airport, listening to construction noises and feeling grateful that I'm no longer in line with the Chinese Women's Ice Hockey Team. Don't get me wrong. They each seemed nice, but they each had a LOT of luggage.  They were checking in for a flight to Shanghai.

Last night, Anita and I enjoyed a relaxed dinner at the Flying Beaver, beside the Richmond Float Plane Terminal. We got a window seat over the water and enjoyed the colourful sunset. It was a wonderful way to spend my last night in Canada for a long time.

More once I've travelled some.