Juliette, I'm very disappointed in you.

Today I walked in the door to read to the five year olds, and one asks loudly “Juliette do you believe Santa is real or not real?”


I'm in a room of five year olds. There's only one answer to give. “I believe he's real.”


Trouble is, this little girl comes from a very Christian home, and her family supports the season of Christ’s birth.  She says “Juliette, I'm very disappointed in you.”

“Well different people are allowed to have different beliefs, and I believe in Santa Claus.”

“Some people don't believe that Jesus was real. I know he was. I don't believe in Santa or the Easter Bunny or the tooth fairy either.”

“Wow.  You don't believe in the tooth fairy. That makes me sad.”

And the rest of the kids isolated her by telling me that they each believe in Santa. Faith is a hard sea to navigate. It's a good thing she has strong convictions.

Soon the topic changed to cousins. That particular girl has 200. Most had four. Some, like me, had two. They didn't settle down for their stories today. I had a rapt audience of two, and they were grateful for the two books that I read.

And while most children were finishing off their snack (late today), one quick eater had a Where's Waldo book. He had it memorized, and flew through it as quick as quick can be.

The potluck was mayhem. It was kids, parents and staff. I don't know why I was surprised by the kids and parents. Fortunately, we did not have another discussion about Santa. And the salad I got from Agora was both pretty and delicious. No mangoes. Just marinated pumpkin topped with rolls of peeled zucchini.  It was a feast for the eyes and tongue.

Reading to the five year olds

I've said it before: reading stories to the five year olds is my favourite thing to do each day.


There are anywhere from six to 10 of them, and we have developed our routines. I appear at 11 am, and one in particular has been pursuing the collection to pick that day's selection. Once I've come through the door, she'll run up to me and put her choice in my hand. Others who haven't figured out the signal will grab something and shove it at me when I get closer to the reading mat.


I try and make sure that everyone has a chance to make a selection at some point in the week, but sometimes it's just too chaotic to tell.  Every now and then I'll be handed a book in Tetun or Portuguese, and I have to explain that I can only read English.


Last week, I was handed the same book on three successive days, and had to decline each time because we had read that exceptionally short board book the previous week.


Then I sit down and ask everyone to sit on the mat beyond my reach. If I can touch you, then that means someone else can't see through you. I stretch out my arm and wiggle my fingers. One little boy always insists that I touch him before he will move back. Then a few others Bob their heads, shouting “Can you touch me? Can you touch me?”  If I touch one person (after the always boy), there is much manoeuvring until everyone has had had a turn being touched.


For a week, I went through “Do you want me to read the publication date?  Do you want me to read the ISBN number?” Until one particularly bright girl started answering yes.


Then I actually get to the first book. I ask questions throughout. Does anyone know how to sleep?  Can someone roar like a lion?  Can you lick your hand?  Occasionally it gets out of control, but mostly it's a good way of engaging the kids.


Most of the kids have Australian parents. There's one boy with Korean parents, two Timorese girls and an Indonesian boy. His English skills are negligible, so he normally squirms, then wanders off during story time. I would too, in his position. But one day, he came up to me after story time to tell me, in his language, that he had seen me at the market. He was sooooo excited, although he didn't say anything at the time. I was thrilled, because until then, I didn't know there was a language barrier, and I thought he wasn't interested in the stories. And it's nice to be recognized.


Another little boy is very serious, and really enjoys story time. A few times, when everyone else has lost interest, I'll read a story just to him. He won't sit beside me on such occasions, so I'll still hold the book up so that he can see the pictures and read the words upside down.


Thursday we were reading a story about spiders and he knew something important that the rest of us didn't. So he explained the detail at length. He doesn't have the confidence to talk smoothly, but I made the other children keep quiet until he was finished. Unfortunately I can't remember the exact topic or the content. All I can remember is that he knew a lot.


One day I left my purse in the work room, and a sharp eyed boy asked where it was when I waked in. Oops, I'll go get it. Another time, the same boy asked why I had a small scrape on my knee. I'm not looking forward to having to report out on my spectacular fall.


When I leave, the kids that still have some attention span left give me a hug. Depending on who starts it, I'll be mobbed or recognized by a single child. There are definite leaders in that society, and others follow a specific leader’s actions. Most of the time, they'll have moved on and give me a quick verbal goodbye.


I find my 15 minutes a day with them to be so refreshing. It's a real treat for me.

Hot sun, gentle breeze

It was a nearly perfect day. The sun was dying, a gentle breeze was blowing not enough to make the palm trees sway but enough to make the beachside walk refreshing.  Children were splashing in the water. Most were boys. Most were naked. When they came close to the sidewalk, I wasn't sure where to look, and was grateful for my sunglasses.


I walked downtown. Earlier I checked with Janu, who reported that Independence Day events were in Lospolos this year. Celebrations rotate between the districts.


So it was nice to see people out enjoying the day.


When i got close to the ferry terminal, I saw one of the most sensible lineups ever. People were orderly, and in the shade. There were gaps in the lineup wherever there was sun, i.e., between the trees.


Unfortunately my intended lunch spot was closed. Bowls and Rolls didn't have a sign in English. It was just locked. So I went next door to Gloria Jeans Coffee and got a panini. It's the first sandwich I've bought in East Timor. Any other time I've been temped, the sandwiches have looked like they have cheese on them. This one didn't, and it was delicious.


The walk home wasn't as glorious. Not far west of the lighthouse an SUV clipped a motorbike. The woman was wearing a helmet, but seemed to have suffered an eye injury. Her passenger, a girl between seven and nine, had no helmet and a bloody lip. The SUV stopped. The man driving didn't get out, though his female passenger did.  A passing police officer stopped just after I did. I was about 50 feet from the accident site, and heard it, but didn't see what actually happened. I assume the SUV clipped the bike because it had skidded sideways and I saw driver and passenger get up.


It's the second accident for which I've seen the immediate aftermath. Surprising, since driving doesn't seem that safe to me. People don't seem to use their mirrors, and the centre line is too often used to centre the vehicle.


I made it the rest of the way home without incident, although I saw a few people selling fish, and that reminded me of something I've been meaning to tell you. A couple of days iMessage in the past two weeks, I've seen cars with fish hanging off the passenger side mirror (the true reason for side mirrors is revealed). The fish will be strung on a strip of coconut leaf (leafs loofed through the gills and mouth) and these loops are collected on another loop and tossed over the side mirror.  I'm not sure whether someone is selling individual fish or has bought the whole string and do ant want to stink up there car.


Often I see individuals holding such strings of fish, and it's obvious that they are trying to sell them. It's just not as obvious when the fish are accessorizing a car.

Basic -- Because you deserve more

Every day I walk by the Basic store. It's in a quanset hut, in kind of an industrial strip. It wasn't until they put they Christmas stuff out that I realized it is a store. One reason that it took me a while to catch on is their catch phrase “because you deserve more.”  I don't really get it, but chalk it up to language differences. There were some pretty amazing store names in Kenya (none of which come to mine as I write), but I don't remember anything quite so contradictory.

Today, I went in the opposite direction. It was finally time to climb up to Cristo Rei, a 27 meter high statue on the top of a hill on the western edge of Dili.

My previous knowledge was there are 500 steps to the top, and it's ⅔ the size of Rio’s Christ the Redeemer statue.  And there are stations of the cross alcoves on the way up.

In order to avoid sounding ill informed, I checked the Wikipedia entry. The statue was sanctioned by Indonesian President Suharto in the mid 90s, after being proposed by the Indonesian governor of East Timor. The job of fundraising was given to the head of Garuda Airlines, the official airline of Indonesia. He raised a quarter of the retired funds, and the the hat was passed around locals.


The copper statue was made in Indonesia and assembled on site. And it was placed about eight years after Pope John Paul’s visit to East Timor.

The walk up was very pleasant. Shallow steps, except at the beginning of each flight. Then the initial step was higher. Not typical Southeast Asia high, bit higher than normal North American high.


Although the  base was open, the staircase is lined with trees, casing a gentle shadow on the route, and two thirds of the way up, there's a plaza.

The final third is steeper, and the handrails are for people much shorter than me. Regardless, it's a very pleasant walk. 

When I arrived, I discovered Christ is standing on the globe, and it was not possible to get a shot of Vancouver Island.

The view from the top is spectacular.

To get there, I took a Microlet downtown, then flagged down a taxi. The driver wasn't thrilled with the amount I wanted to pay him ($3.50), but he agreed. Then he picked up a woman along the way he seemed to know. After five minutes of animated talk, she gave him some money and got out.


He thought I wanted to go to the beach. No no, keep going I gestured. Then he drove past the staircase, and had to turn around to get to the right spot.

On the way back, I flagged down a Microlet. I think the driver went out to the point for a break. I got out at Legendario, the la-de-da restaurant that I went to with Bob at the end of his stay, and enjoyed tropical juice under the fans.  It was lovely.

As I walked towards home, where I thought the Number 9 Microlet would be, I stumbled once on cracked cement. Oh well. Just need to pay more attention. Then it happened. A spectacular sprawling fall.  If there was an award for long distance falling, I would have won. I tried to recover, extending my distance by at least four feet. My water bottle lid is grazed, my glasses case no longer closes, my right hand and left knee are scraped.

Some kind people riding by stopped (two sets of people on motorcycles). I picked myself up, dusted myself off and smiled as pleasantly as I could. They waited til I caught up to them, since they were about 10 feet away, to make sure I was fine.  Bruised and shaken. But capable.

I took a taxi home because one came before the Microlet, but I only had $1.75 in change. It was $3.50 to Cristo Rei, and this was half the distance, so I thought it would be fine. The cab driver didn't agree. I had a $1 bill that I had been saving for emergencies, and figured this qualified. Cabbie still wasn't satisfied. So I gave him a Singapore $2 bill. Way more than he deserved, but I needed to wash my wounds.

And as I was doing that I nearly fainted. Of poor me. Take a tumble and react like a sissy. I had some water and sat down and let the dizziness pass. Then I watched the Spring episode of Gilmore Girls on Netflix. Life is fine and dandy.

Odds and (sad) sods

Yesterday was American Thanksgiving, and Sierra went home at noon to bake a pie.  She was very excited about having pie.

So today I asked her how it turned out. Well. It turned out well, but her evening had hiccups. She had invited a friend over, and friend didn't want to go out. Yesterday morning, a man in her neighbourhood was murdered, and retaliation measures had begun.  

I skirt that neighbourhood every day on the way to and from Ba Futuru.

I didn't notice anything amiss this morning, and on the way home I started getting creeped out because there were no women walking on the street. It's VERY unusual not to see a mix of men and women. When I passed by a weird intersection, a cab had stopped and several men got out with their roosters in carriers. Okay, that explains the gender disparity. The men are migrating to the Friday Night Cock Fight. Which just happens to be in the area of yesterday's violence.

I saw more young men who were probably on their way to the cock fight. A few had roosters of their own. One teenager was fidgeting with coins in a plastic bag.

Yesterday at noon, I saw something that I hadn't seen before -- motorcycle police were congregating at the police booth by Nico Lobato’s statue. A few minutes later, I saw a motorcycle parade go down the street. There was one SUV in the mix, so I just assumed that someone important had come in at the airport. Now I think they were putting on a show of force for the troubles.


It's easy to get complacent with my little routine. I walk to work in the morning, work among hardworking creative people. Walk two kilometres for lunch, seeing school kids on the way. Walk two kilometres back, occasionally saying Bon Tarde to someone as we pass each other. Do some work among same hard working creative crowd. Walk home, stopping for an air conditioned break at Timor Plaza. Play computer games. Watch Netflix. Eat wash sleep. Pretty simple life.


And then I hear about what's gone on nearby.  Every place has violence. Every place has a mixture of good and bad, with good outweighing the bad. Dili is no different, until something happens. Even then, I don't think that the reaction is that widespread. Otherwise the cock fight wouldn't have gone on as usual. Right?


Right.


To finish up with the tale of the pie, Sierra invited a different friend to join her and the kids for pie and dinner food as well.  Different friend lives in a non-impacted neighbourhood and was delighted by the invitation. Good times were had.

On the walk in to work today, there were several hawkers selling Timorese flags. Monday is Independence Day and these young salespeople were taking advantage of the celebratory spirit.

As I've said before Independence Day marks the break from Portuguese colonial rule. Restoration Day marks the break from Indonesian rule.

Colleagues helping me out

Bob Crane may (or may not) remember the time I complained that it was too quiet in the Housing Policy shop.  It was not long after I had switched from Communications, and I generally found the lack of workplace buzz disconcerting.  So Bob, being the good guy that he is, looked at his watch and said "I'll drop a book at 2:05."  It was ten in the morning.

Two days ago, I made the same complaint here.  Usually there's quiet chatter, the sounds of people collaborating.  But that day, there were five people in the workroom all quietly tapping away at their keyboards.  A few people are in Bali, training.  Others are working from home. Many of the drama group were just somewhere else. Filming ended last week, and only Manuel is here editing the latest video.

An hour after I complained, I started to hear a cat meowing.  I looked around, not sure if I heard properly.  No cat.  More meowing. Then the animal sounds changed to a goat.  I laughed, quite loudly, and thanked my colleague. 

Yesterday, Manuel brought in a dart board. It's a great success since most people are equally bad at darts.

Today, almost everyone in my office and the other one dropped what they were doing to find pictures for me to put on the global giving website.  I thought I'd share some of them with you.

 This is the one I wanted to use as my main picture.  The woman looks strong, generous and wise.  However, the role that I'm highlighting doesn't allow women.  Women can take the training alongside men; they just can't be traditional leaders who solve disputes in their villages (they can fill other roles, and apply their training).

This young man could fit the bill, but I didn't want him as my main picture because his hat says Bali, and when I first saw his shirt, I thought the shirt had blood dripping.  When I looked closer, I saw it's a guitar player.  At a glance, it doesn't convey a violence-free image. 

This could have been the main image, but the contrast isn't right with his headdress.  It blends into the trees behind.  It also needs to be a horizontal shot with a 3:2 ratio (width to height).

This has promise, but the light is not right. 

What a great shot of an old man. Unfortunately, he looks like life's troubles have been plentiful and not many have been overcome.

The money shot! He's approachable, confident, modern and ready to apply his new-found knowledge in conflict resolution.

A conflict-resolution class.

 Classwork in action.  There's a yellow ball midair, mid-screen.  As a thumbnail photo, it's too hard to see the action, and the participants are too far across.

Fundraiser

Last week, Sierra came to me asking for help with Giving Day. It's the Tuesday after American Thanksgiving and was started as a counterpoint to Black Friday and Cyber Monday. Presumably after the excesses of those days, people need to earn karma points by donating or volunteering.


There are a couple of websites dedicated to Giving Day that help charities plan campaigns and make the most of social media.


On Giving Day, the Gates Foundation matches grants of approved projects, so there is incentive for charities to take part.


There are also websites that help charities develop successful materials. Before my break, I read about the importance of saying “will” rather than “could”, and of telling compelling stories. In 50 words or less.  Don't tell potential donors that their altruism contributes to a better world. Tell donors that the project will make a difference to individuals. Specify how many people will benefit. Talk about the long term.


Most of Ba Futuru’s funding comes from governments -- current projects are funded by Australia, Germany, USA, and Canada. Recent projects have been funded by Japan and South Korea (I think). The Timor-Leste government buys training through a fee for service model.


Most governments look for a portion of funding from private sources. Just before I arrived, Ba Futuru raised $17,000 through a Bollywood themed gala and silent auction. It is looking for contributions on Giving Day.


The projects now up on globalgiving.org are for the skate park and the preschool. They haven't touched many chords nor pulled many heartstrings.


So I was assigned the task of striking those chords and pulling those heartstrings.  After looking at the various lessons and toolkits, I drafted a Dear Friends email. It was pretty good, but can't go out until we have a complementary project on the global giving site.


My draft is not as strong as the email, and Internet challenges prevented me from sending it to Sierra.


With luck, the cranky Internet will have a good nights sleep, and we’ll be able to finish up tomorrow.


So, what else happened today? I was invited to the Preschool Staff Christmas Party and Potluck next Tuesday (international giving day, in case you forgot). After struggling to think of a decent contribution for the potluck, I decided I could order a mango pumpkin salad from Agora, that excellent restaurant where I went to lunch with Janu.


Sure enough, they are able to do something for me (if mangoes are no longer available, they will make something equally delicious) and they will lend me a corningwear bowl with lid for the event. I'll taxi over to pick it up after reading to the kids on Tuesday.


I'm thrilled, both by the invitation and the contribution.


As I was walking down the narrow road that the restaurant is on, a group of 12 year old boys tried to get my attention. Bon Tarde was all I was willing to say. Just after I passed them, two rode by on a bicycle uncomfortably close and shouted in my ear. I stopped, furious and frightened. While I was regaining composure, another lad about the same age came running out of his yard saying he would call the police on my behalf. He was indignant. I thanked him (obrigata) and shook my head.


By the time I got to the corner, the two lads on the bike apologized.  Being less than gracious, I said “you better be sorry.”  But you'll be happy to know that in my mind, I was saying thank you and hoping that they will think twice before contemplating a similar move on another older foreigner.


On the landlady front, I don't think she has any guests to replace me come December 2nd. She asked yesterday where I'm going next, and I took it to mean after I'm finished at Ba Futuru. I'm thinking of going to Darwin for a few days, I said before she clarified.


I haven't been the most social of home stayers, and continue to be frustrated by small things.  For example, the only sinks are in the main part of the house. One night last week, when it was time to brush my teeth and wash my face, I couldn't get in the house. Landlady did not respond to loud knocking or texts. There was aTetun response when I dialled the phone that sounded a lot like this number is not in service.


Since the house has been locked before, and we’ve talked about my interest in washing my hands after toileting, I thought we had come to a mutual agreement that I would have access to the house. That night last week, I kept up my door pounding until she responded.


I think I might just return to the hotel where I spent my first week. I don't feel like asking around and I like my independence. I might move my flight to Bali up a few days, and use some of that time to go to Darwin. It's nice having options.

Surprise -- a few Singapore photos after all

Technology partly fixed.  Here are a few photos (captions are on top)

View from hotel balcony looking left (St Andrew's Anglican Cathedral in the foreground)

View from hotel balcony looking right

A cool new almost=constructed hotel building.  There are gardens in the open levels.

  An attempt at detail of this new hotel.

Ground level of said new hotel, with the Singapore Fling (ferris wheel) in the background.

Financial district, at an angle.

Another shot of the street with the Singaplore Fling in the background. Building on the left is a shopping mall.

Sidewalk planting: Bird of Paradise plants and other lushness.

The Memorial to Civilians During the Japanese Occupation 1941-45, also known as the four chopsticks. Each chopstick represents a different ethnic group: Malay, Chinese, Indian, British. The round building immediately behind is the south tower of my hotel.  I was on the 17th floor of the north tower.

The Marina Bay Sands Building, with the 'boat' on top.

A Theatre Centre, also known as the Durian (for its distinctive shape and finish)

You Like to Walk

Today, at the Dili airport, a cab driver came up to me and said “You want a taxi; no you want to walk.”  He has seen me on the street, shaking my head at the friendly toot known as “Taxi Manna?”


I smiled and said, “That’s right.  I walk everywhere.”


Only today I had accepted a ride.  Janu was on the same plane as me, and his brother was there picking him up, along with nephew Navaro.  I was seated 12 rows in front of Janu, and had no checked baggage, so I got out much earlier than him. I watched Navaro wriggle his way to every possible vantage point without actually entering the restricted area. For an almost five year old, he was quite skilled.


By the way, manna is the universal title for a woman in Tetun. It roughly translates as sister, and it's what Timorese say instead of Ma’am. Kids on the street practicing their English call every foreigner “mister”. I definitely prefer to be called Manna to Mister.  In fact, I find it endearing, since Timorese women are also addressed as Manna.


On the technology front, I had one success and one failure today. I dumped the annual report text into the publishing program (Adobe InDesign). I finally watched a YouTube video, and found it was easy peasy.


On the other hand, I just spent the past hour trying to get the travel laptop to recognize my phone’s hotspot, something it did happily last week.  No joy. No pictures of Singapore or East Timor til I solve this one. Be glad you're not able to mind read right now. My inner voice is swearing a blue streak.


I'm still leery of power since last week’s frazzle -- I plugged in my brand new adapter and watched flames come out. I'm pretty sure I told you about that traumatic event. I got a new adapter at the Bali airport on the way to Singapore, and so far, so good. If I'd been thinking ahead, I would have got a card reader for the iPad. Instead, I basked in the glory of the many many gardens.


Onward and onward. Tomorrow, I need to write an email for this year's Giving Day campaign. Next Tuesday is International Giving Day, and donations to Ba Futuru are matched (by whom, I don't know). Before I left for my long weekend, I read some stuff on word choice and effective storytelling in fundraising campaigns. Time to put those lessons into practice.

Singapore Day 3: Wacky Duck

I wasn't sure what to do for my final (partial) day in Singapore, so I decided to take a Duck Tour. In Victoria, I would have been on the hippo bus. In Singapore, the hippo bus is the hop on-hop off bus, and the ticket seller recommended against it. Ya gotta wonder when the person who makes his living from something ditzes it.


So I took the noon duck tour (the wifi password for the waiting area is wackyduck), and set sail.  We went by areas that were already familiar to me -- the gardens by the bay, the Marina Bay Sands, the lotus blossom-shaped Museum of Arts and Science, the Merlion -- and one that was not -- the Formula One Building. For the past nine years, there has been a Formula One  race in Singapore. However it's losing money and popularity. Next year will be its last. The tour guide told us this no less than four times.


Another new to me factoid is the source of Singapore’s water. It comes from Malaysia, and that country has announced that it will not renew its agreement. Singapore will continue to collect rainwater, and will be big into desalination plants.


Several years ago, the Singapore government decided to promote gardens and greenery. Studies have shown that rooftop gardens help keep the temperature lower at street level, and Singapore is full of tall buildings. The greenery everywhere is certainly something that attracted me to Singapore, and made me love it so much.


And greenery takes water. So do the 5.7 million people who live there. Water is definitely going to be an issue.


Anita, my travel guide from Langley, recommended that I go to the Park Royal Pickering Hotel for my final outing (www.parkroyalhotels.com). We'd seen it in documentaries -- it has gardens at many levels, so most rooms look out on greenery. The finishing on the building looks like a topographic map, adding even more interest.


To get there, I had to go through the financial district and Chinatown. Singapore is the third largest financial centre in the world, behind London and New York, and ahead of Hong Kong and Tokyo. The tall buildings of the financial district are juxtaposed with colonial-era wooden three storey buildings in Chinatown.


On the way back, less than a kilometre the short way, I passed Parliament and the Supreme Court Building. The courthouse stood out because it is topped with a round disc, much like a rotating restaurant, but the building is less than 10 storeys high. It links squat from a distance.


One thing I've liked about Singapore is the street art. There are a lot of vignette style statues made of brass. For example, today I passed a young woman on a rickshaw, in brass. There was a Salvador Dali statue in the financial district. I didn't take a picture because I couldn't figure out which way front. It was certainly easier to tell with his fox statue in Chicago. The Singapore one had Newton in the title.


Alas, I had to bid farewell to that garden city. I highly recommend it, and had a wonderful break. Tonight I'm in Bali; tomorrow morning, I fly back to Dili. Unfortunately I won't get there early enough to read to the five year olds. Wednesday, we’ll be back to our routine.

Singapore Day 2: food and gardens

Hello my friends,


Did I mention that I love Singapore. It's clean and quiet, and has amazing gardens


I started my day with my hotel breakfast. I knew what to expect, and what had too much dairy for my delicate body (no waffles for me, which meant no waffles for the starlings that hang out by the poolside restaurant). Instead of waffles, I made do with smoked salmon, sourdough bread and plenty of fresh fruit. This morning, they had watermelon juice with a hint of ginger. Wonderful. And the hostess remembered that I like mint tea. I used my manners and thanked her for her attentiveness.


I then finally turned on the tv and watched “The Age of Adeline” starring Blake Lively. It was a nice hotel movie (did I tell you that I watched Bad Moms on the plane on the way here. Laughed out loud a few times).


I started to get hungry, so I forced myself out, hopped on the metro, and went to the Old Airport Road Hawking Centre. It's a food court out where the real people live, with about 60 stalls, each selling their own specialties. Tables are on the outside and the middle.


I walked around once completely before getting a mango and soursop juice, then another rotation before choosing something to eat. I honestly have no idea of whether I got what I ordered, but I ended up with bbq pork, deep fried wontons and baby bok choy on noodles. It was delicious.


I was a little disturbed when I saw cages of turtles at two different stalls. I'm always uncomfortable when I see food that is still in the form of a live animal from whence it came. The turtles had some sort of weird rope bondage thing going on. I wasn't entirely sure whether they were still alive, but if they were, the ropes would prevent them from going anywhere.


Then it was back on the metro to visit an ice cream parlour that had sorbets. Fortunately, this ice cream parlour (Island Creamery) was very close to the Botanical garden, my other tourist attraction of the day. The Old Airport Road Hawking Centre was my first attraction, although most people there seemed to be locals.


Turns out the sorbet flavours of the day were soursop and mango. They were as good in sorbet form as in juice form.


Now, on to the gardens. They have been designated as a Unesco world heritage site, and like all heritage sites, they were impressive. Equally impressive to the horticultural splendour was the local use. There were many multigenerational families picnicking; some people were practising dance. Joggers were abundant and unobtrusive. It was full but not crowded.


The orchid centre was at the far end of the park, which made for pleasant discoveries on the 1.3 kilometre walk there. There was a bamboo grove, with couples tucked in off the pathway. A palm forest bordered Symphony Lake, with its floating bandshell. There is also an evolution garden, a children's garden and a few other specialty gardens.


But the orchid centre was by far the most impressive part. It was bigger than the Sunken Garden at Butcharts, and had oh so many orchids. My favourite area featured orchids named after visiting dignitaries. The first was in honour of Margaret Thatcher, although the William and Kate one was prettier.


There were arbours and gazebos and many winding paths. And oh so many orchids blooming in great profusion.  Overall, the orchid garden was very green, with splashes of cover, but my pictures don't show that. They show colours galore.


And speaking of pictures, I didn't bring everything I needed to to upload pictures. You'll have to wait til I get back.


The clock just outside the orchid garden had four faces with the time in different places. Vancouver was right up there with London and Singapore. I don't remember looking at the fourth side.


I opted for dinner in the food court in the mall attached to the hotel. Same sorts of foods as at the Hawkers Centre I went to for lunch. Same sort of prices too. Just a newer, fancier environment.


And no turtles.


I have a half day here tomorrow, so I'll have another delicious hotel breakfast and go to Sephora to be a girly girl for a few minutes.


I'm happy to report that my shoes are finally dry (it took four days) and I found some spray to counter the inevitable smell.


I'm so very glad that I came to Singapore. It's amazing.

Singapore Day 1

Wow. Singapore is amazing. In the past year, I've watched a few documentaries on Singapore, and I'm still amazed.  The architecture is amazing and there are gardens everywhere. Roof gardens, street level gardens and plenty in between.


One of the more famous new buildings is the Marina Bay Sands. There are three tall towers topped by a single connector. The topper looks a bit like a longboat -- it's long and thin like a canoe, but not as deep. There's an infinity pool up there, as well as a lot of trees. I'm going to see if there’s a bar.  If so, I'll have a drink.


This evening, I went across the street to the Raffles Hotel (built in the British Colonial period) to the bar where the Singapore Sling was invented. It was everything I imagined and more. Anita told me she had seen on a video that the fans were synchronized. The fans are ovoid flat affairs  (imagine Chinatown fans that don't collapse like a flamenco dancers fan) that are linked together with rods. At one end, there's a simple electric motor that powers a rotator arm. The rotator arm makes the row of fans pendulum back and forth, moving the air. Simple, effective and charming.


Today, I spent the afternoon at the Gardens By The Bay (gardensbythebay.com.sg). There are so many amazing things there. The super trees are metal sculptures, each about 14 storeys high. The trunks are about 12feet in diameter and the tops open into a flat bowl. Greenery is working its way up the trunks, making them even more fascinating.


Fortunately, there's a canopy walk 128 steps up. There's an elevator, but it was full, and the stairs were there, calling my name quietly and insistently.


From there, I went to the Cloud Garden House, another architectural marvel.  It's kind of a squished dome, with white metal pipes providing the superstructure and glass providing protection.


There’s a six storey waterfall by the entrance, providing a huge wow factor. Visitors spiral up along a series of ramps and escalators, always seeing lush plants on both sides (okay, maybe there are lush planting season on one side in the escalator corridors). Because it's a cloud forest, it's misty. I put on my raincoat as soon as I got in because the air conditioning felt a little too cold. I had some waffles made with butter this morning, and I'm feeling a bit off. I don't want it to get worse.


Okay. The trip down is along a series of suspended walkways, ramps and escalators. You see much of the same things, but from a different perspective. At the bottom, there's a video about how the things you've just seen will all be gone by the end of the century if we don't collectively do something to slow climate change.


The Flower House didn't have the same impact as the cloud forest.  It was nice enough -- a half dome with gardens from Australia, South Africa, California and the Mediterranean. In the meadow area in the centre, there were Christmas displays. It reminded me of the Bloedel Conservatory in Vancouver’s Queen Elizabeth Park.


I'm sure that if I had gone to the plant house first, I would have been more impressed.


The other touristy thing I saw today was the Merlion statue. It's a large fountain on the waterfront and although it's touristy, it's nice.


It's getting late, so I'm going to post this without pictures. I'll try to add some in the morning.

How to harvest urban mangoes

In the past week, I’ve seen three people trying to harvest mangoes in an urban setting.  As in many tropical places, mango trees grow along many Dili streets.  They provide welcome shade and – bonus – free food.

The trees here have not been pruned, as they would be in an orchard.  So many are 50 or 60 feet tall, and their canopies are about 30 or 40 feet wide.  The fruit grows on the periphery. It might grow in the interior; I haven’t looked that closely.

So, the most crude way of harvesting is with a long bamboo stick.  Just poke the branch, and encourage the fruit to fall.  This was the first way I saw some kids try to get some mangoes.  They had a 25 foot bamboo pole, and awkwardly prodded the tree. Fruit fell. Delight all round.

Then, a few days later at Ba Futuru, some guys decided to get some fruit from the tree that sits between three buildings.  They too had a long bamboo pole. They also had the luxury of a sunshade between two of the buildings, which served as a wonderful capture net.  No bruised fruit here.

The fancy tool, however, was used by someone close to my homestay.  He stood on top of a  carport with his 30 foot bamboo pole.  At the tree end of his pole, he had attached an empty one litre water bottle that had a hole cut out of one side (see the photo of the innovative planter outside the room where I watched American election results.  A post soon after “all hail the Donald”.  

This guy prodded the fruit more gently, trying to get it to fall into his container.  I found the exercise to be rather impressive.

Rainy season here

The other day, when I walked home in the rain, I saw people using the skate park outside of Ba Futuru for the first time. The skate park was built in 2008, when youth gangs were a problem. Teenaged boys had nothing to do, and martial arts clubs sprung up. They practiced their moves in class, then took their skills to the streets.  Soon martial arts clubs were banned, and Ba Futuru built a skate park to provide an alternative activity.

It’s rather far away from the bulk of the population, so it doesn’t get a lot of use.

Until it rained.  Then a bunch of tweens had fun sliding down the ramps and across the cement bed.  Their pants would come down in the slide, but who cared. It looked like great fun.

Today, it started to rain around 4 pm (it’s been getting earlier each time). In the 400 meters from Ba Futuru to Nicolau Lobato’s roundabout & statue, I managed to get soaked through. I’d pretty much decided to take a microlet home anyway.

At the roundabout happy tweens splashed in the water. It was about six inches deep on the sides of the road, and often six feet across. My gortex shoes were soaked through in no time.  My shorts were dripping; so was my hair around my face.  Kids -- tweens and teens -- were running to the roundabout. Clearly it’s the place to be in a deluge.

I got off the microlet at the corner of main road and my spur -- roads don’t have names here -- and couldn’t figure out how I was going to cross without further damage to my shoes.  Bite the bullet Juliette, and go.

I managed one road fine.  Getting onto the spur required fortitude.  Getting on to my lane required acceptance. The water was ankle deep, no matter which way I went.

Much of the water will have evaporated by the morning.  

Now, for my tale of owe. Yesterday, I couldn’t get my devices to recharge. Today, I bought a new adapter and a new cord.  And got the phone up to 78% and the ipad up to 40.

Then I came home, plugged in the adapter, and watched flames shoot out of the power bar.  I moved to a different outlet, and got a bad shock.

Argh.

I’ve been grumpy the past few days -- I’ve hit the three and a half week mark and am out of sorts.  I remember hitting this point in Kenya, and I although I was only in Cambodia and Laos for 3.5 weeks, I felt it there.  

So I’m going to Singapore for the weekend. I leave tomorrow afternoon and come back Tuesday morning. I kinda feel like the cast of MASH, when they’d go to Tokyo.  If I find power and wifi in the Bali airport, I’ll write something there.  Otherwise, I’ll post something again on Saturday.

Three times today

Three times today, I saw young women wearing Toms shoes. I hadn't noticed any such footwear in the past, then all of a sudden, on three different occasions, I see Toms.


For those of you less fashion forward than me, Toms are casual canvas slip on shoes.  The company promises to give a pair for every pair purchased. When Anita went to Kenya, she sent an email to the company about volunteering with them. Their plans and hers didn't match, so nothing came of it.


Until today, the footwear that I've noticed has been runners, slip on flats, men's loafers and flip flops.


On the way home, in the rainstorm, I saw a lot of bare feet. One young lad was carrying his high top canvas sneakers. Bare feet made a lot of sense in the puddles. It was 33 degrees at 10 am, and only got warmer throughout the day. It was better to have no shoes than ruined shoes.


I, with great foresight, was wearing my gortex runner-style shoes. My feet were dry(ish), just like my body was dry(ish) after 45 minutes in tropical downpour. It was a refreshing walk home.


At Ba Futuru today, I had two interesting conversations. The first was with a Cultural Liaison in Darwin. She had recently been here visiting their sister city. Darwin and Dili signed their sister city agreement in 2003, a year after nationhood, and when many Timorese were still in Darwin as refugees. Darwin has contributed to humanitarian, administrative and cultural projects over the past 15 years. For example, Darwin has helped Dili establish a solid waste collection system (aka garbage pickup).


Fast forward 15 years. What stands out in your most recent visit?  The fact that we, in a richer, more developed country can learn from our sister city. Ba Futuru is tremendously successful in its capacity building programs. It uses live theatre and video to reach people on important issues of conflict resolution, and it succeeds because it involves people in the community. Each script is developed after a group of people on the community talk about experiences, events and themes in their lives. Ba Futuru facilitators take notes and incorporate everyday experiences into the scripts. Each performance is accompanied by a discussion. Ba Futuru staff talk with people, not at them.


Conversation number two. Staff, at a meeting yesterday were asked to send me project reports, so that I can glean facts and pull quotes for the annual report. Vidal said, when I asked if anyone said anything on a feedback sheet that he’d like to share, that one guy said it was really important that the training on alternative conflict resolution techniques was delivered by Timorese staff. The person said that most of the time, such training is delivered by foreigners, and it doesn't have the same impact. The commenter wanted to praise and thank Ba Futuru for this local approach.


It's nice to be welcomed into their fold.


One last anecdote: another fellow asked for help with the English version of a report he was making to the International Labor Organization. Joan, back in Victoria, will express no surprise when I say my first comment to him was “one sentence; one idea.”  It doesn't matter what language you're writing in, the rule applies. Helio and I joked about his discomfort with punctuation. I told him about a woman that I used to work with who learned to like commas. He said that he would learn to like periods.

Just in the nick of time

It was starting to look gloomy by the time I got home tonight. It was certainly hot and humid. I carry my rain jacket with me at all times, although I haven't put it on since my second day here. That day, I saw how quickly the weather can turn.

As I was saying, I got home just in the nick of time today. Five minutes later, it started to pour. The sort of rain that would test the limits of my gortex runners. It rained like it was vying for a story in the Bible -- the kind of rain that would make Noah want to build a boat. 

And 45 minutes later, it was all over.

Candles by the roadside

Today as I was walking to the grocery store, I noticed candles on the sidewalk. A lot of candles, mostly burned totally down. I checked with Janu, who confirmed they were part of the Santa Cruz Massacre Commemoration.

I wondered a lot, because yesterday evening we had a torrential downpour complete with rolling thunder. Most candles must have been lit afterwards, to burn their entire length.

By the way, I'm unhappy with Apple right now. Way too many things require wifi to work. I just downloaded a reading app. Sorry, you need wifi to explore. I want to list to music on iTunes. All is on the cloud. Can't hear anything without wifi. I spent $30 on 7.2 Gb of wifi this week. I have 2.1 left, having used 300 mb to watch a tv show this evening. I listen to a lot of CBC podcasts too.

November 12

November 12 is an important day in East Timor’s recent history. Twenty- five years ago, the Indonesian army was fed up with students calling for restoration of independence.


The funeral procession for Sebastao Gomes was too long, and growing. Students from schools en route from Motael Church to the Santa Cruz Cemetery joined in.

The army funnelled students through the narrow gates, and opened fire. As Bob Crane’s translator Mickey told us on my first Friday here, bodies piled up.

This morning, I walked over to the monument across from Motael Church, to see what this year’s commemoration would be like. The street was closed off; clearly there had been a ceremony at the church, and young people, many wearing their school uniforms were getting ready to march.

I stayed on the periphery, a little uncomfortable and a lot curious. The students had home made banners -- sharpies on sheets. One would lead a cheer; others would shout “Viva! Viva! Viva!” In return. The kids were excited; the adults respectful. It was predominantly a young crowd.

A 40-something man in a brown shirt encouraged me to follow. Timor television cameramen standing in the back of a black pickup truck got crowd shots.

I hung back, then followed. Another much smaller group soon came in the opposite direction. They were led by a member of the clergy, carrying a heavy wooden cross. The followers were mostly women, voices raised in a melodic hymn. The contrast was startling

Rather than follow the parade three kilometres to the cemetery, I first tried to visit the museum to brush up on my facts, then had lunch. The museum was closed, and it was a wee bit early for lunch, so I went to the Jardin de Cinqo de Mayo, and read for a bit.

When I eventually made it to the cemetery, the road was blocked off and sun shelters has been erected in the street. But the biggest surprise was the man in brown who encouraged me to follow was speaking.

This language barrier is a nuisance. All I can tell you was that he was passionate and the crowd was responsive.


I didn't stay; it was hot and I didn't understand.


I thought I'd spend the 25 cents and take a microlet home. Trouble was, because the road on the route I wanted to take was closed, I didn't actually see one til I was about 300 meters from my corner. Hardly worth it at that point. Google maps tells me the return journey was about 5.25 kilometres. I had a nap when I got back. After drinking two glasses of water.


The trials of being a Westerner.

Mostly pictures

Today, some pictures to show you what I've been talking about.

First, one that I haven't talked about.  I sometimes see men taking their chickens for a walk. I have a feeling that the chickens are cocks, to be taken to a fighting ring.  I don't really want to know ... but today, I happened to follow two men who each had two chickens.

Notice the fancy plastic carrier; notice the man is talking on his cell phone.

Second, a rather fancy planter outside the classroom where I watched the American election results.

Someone carefully cut, painted and strung together one litre plastic water bottles. Each has a bit of soil and some portulaca plants.  They don't get much water, so they aren't thriving.  But I thought it was a good idea. 

Here's a view of the waterfront, near the American embassy.

I'd like to thank Bill Gates and friends for the handy utility that fixes wonky horizons.

Here's a view of the gate of the American embassy in Dili:

At first, I thought the abundance of motorbikes was because of an election related event. Then I realized that I had never seen the front of the embassy on a work day, and the bike belong to workers.

A wedding in a church last weekend:

A house in Tutuala. Pretty ordinary contemporary house in a small community.

Countryside on the east side of Timor-Leste:

oops.  didn't correct the horizon on that one.

Word of the day: gulag

The word of the day is Gulag.  In the Tetun sense, not the Russian one. In Tetun, gulag means crazy. Some think the American election results were gulag. Others think you're gulag to think the results would have been anything other than what they were.  

And speaking of the American election results, I particularly liked the first paragraph of the Craftist Collective newsletter:

I'm writing this on the day that Donald Trump has won the US Presidential Elections. I feels surreal to say that. 2016 has been full of shocking moments: Bowie passing, Brexit happening, out with one UK Prime Minister and swiftly in with another we didn't vote for and now today 's results. I've seen the outpouring of anger, fear and blame online as I'm sure you have. Yes we need to grieve but we can't spend the rest of 2016 (6 weeks) waiting for the year to be over even though that feels so tempting to me at the moment. If we fall into fear and hopelessness, things will only get worse. Casting a vote is one thing, acting every day as though we believe our efforts count is another. I beg that all of you who reading this to dust off your despair, grab some craftivism tools and MAKE our actions count. We need to be our own role models now and the world (and our own lives) will be a more wonderful place for it

My best moment of the day today:  after story time with the five year olds, Adrien came up to tell me that he saw me in the market. Adrien does not speak English. He doesn't speak Tetun (the local language). He speaks an Indonesian language. I asked one of the staff to tell me what he said, then to translate my reply.

This was my best moment because Adrien doesn't appear to listen during story time. He sits in the back and sometimes tries to wander off. Minuk, a Korean boy, on the other hand, pushes his way forward and is often a better door than a window (others can't see through him). I was thrilled that Adrien wanted to tell me that he saw me.

The afternoon was more humbling. I supervised the day care during an all-staff meeting. Not a single one of the afternoon children spoke English.  They were an orderly bunch, generally younger than the morning group, and some wanted stories.  I started with ones that I could sing, thinking that’s a little more universal. However, when I ran out of those (only two books), the kids started bringing me books in Portuguese.  Sorry, you’ll have to find me another book. I don’t read that language.  Which I said in English. Which they didn’t understand. Sigh.

Next snippet: the giant billboard by Nico’s statue has changed three times this week. It started off welcoming World Trade Organization delegates. Then it warned of the dangers of texting while driving. Now it's encouraging people to vote in the municipal run-off elections Sunday.

Remember those crowds we saw on our way to Tutuala, first casting ballots, then watching the count?  Now they’ll be coming back for a second ballot. This time, there are only two names to choose from. The victor must have at least 50% plus one of the votes cast.

I need to report out that I've found the nun’s bakery. It two buildings down from Ba Futuru. I had been looking for it at the corner, 400 metres away. I’m glad I found it. The chocolate doughnuts are amazing.

Continuing with my theme of updates, some words on the Homestay. Things have been quiet, or mostly I have been quiet. I close my room door and turn on the air conditioning. I watch Netflix or listen to a podcast. My internet bill is getting out of hand, but I'm happy.

Three nights ago, when I got up to use the toilet at 5 am, I found the house doors all locked. I haven't been using the toilet accessible from the outside mostly because there is no sink to wash my hands. The first time I tried, the toilet didn't flush. When I asked Meg about it, she said that I needed to turn on the water shut off valve, fill the tank, flush and turn off the valve. A bit too much activity when I didn't want to fully wake, but whatever.

Next thing I know, Meg has started locking the doors to the main house at night. I can take the hint. I use the toilet that's accessible from outside and keep hand sanitizer on my night table.

Then comes last night. The house doors are locked, and she's taken the toilet paper. Grumble grumble grunt groan. I saw Meg this morning, and said something.  Oh, I took it out since you said you weren't using that toilet.  Yet the doors were locked and I couldn't get inside, I said. oh, she said, it's habit to lock the doors.  About the toilet paper, we share that responsibility. You can buy toilet paper at the supermarket.  

Insert picture (mental image) of me fuming and wondering what my US$650/month of rent is for.

It's another hot day. Currently 33. Currently 1:30 pm. I'm dripping. Anita said it went up to 17 in Langley yesterday. That sound really nice right now.