Tales from Timor

I landed in a small airport in a quaint city. I passed through the entrance that read ‘Welcome to Timor Leste’ and was greeted by smiling faces. Immigration was fast, and I was out of the airport in 30 minutes. But a mix up had me stranded for an hour and I did what I do best at airports - people watching! The hotel car showed no sign of arriving, so I eventually hired a local taxi. It was a short uneventful drive on practically empty roads, with the sea following on the side relentlessly. The water sparkled under the bright midday sun, and the tall coconut trees swayed majestically against the clear blue sky. All along, I strained to follow what the taxi driver was saying in broken English. 

I arrived in front of a nondescript hotel - Discovery Inn. It was nonetheless charming. A few men sat on the street pavement smoking and chatting and a lone car at the end of the street waited for the signal to turn green. I walked into the hotel and a pleasant young Timorese woman checked me in. I smiled looking at the stuff she handed to me, it was not often that I have received breakfast vouchers! As I passed the upper deck on my way to the room, my eyes caught a quick glimpse of the restaurant below - Diya (that was a Hindi term, meaning lamp!). There was no one besides me, and the silence was broken only by the rustling of leaves from the many plants on the deck. The furniture was simple and functional, but the green added a touch of beauty to the place. It was siesta time for everything and everyone perhaps, thanks to the gentle breeze from the sea not far away. 

This was the closest I got to any of the island nations in the Pacific (although the country is not exactly in the Pacific) – in a way I had it visualized in my mind and been fascinated with - the remote islands with its serene beaches. I have watched movies that romanticized these waters, the tiny lands and their people with a laid-back lifestyle. A land where the sunrise and sunset are more beautiful than anywhere else, and the sound of the waves is in perfect harmony with the winds. Where one’s footsteps mark a lone path on the beach and time stood still. An ideal place to lose oneself. I was already falling in love. Day 1, Sunday. 

A 1.5$ taxi ride brought me to the office. It took 8 minutes for the taxi to get to where I could have got on foot in 5 minutes - blame it on one-way roads. The office was housed in a rambling ministry building (from Indonesian rule). A look at the two huge tree trunks in the garden dispensed any doubt about how old the place was. I started the day with a staff meeting, with the focus entirely on the upcoming elections, planned campaigns, potential situations and emergency procedures! At a point, the security person told me not to be alarmed and that it was all precautionary. Before I could respond, a colleague who knew me from my Afghanistan days remarked “Oh! She has lived in Kabul, this is no big deal”. I smiled sheepishly; it was true. We got down to work right after the meeting. But during the short breaks in between, I was getting to learn about the country and the people, one little detail at a time. I had read up a bit before getting to Dili, but it never compensated for the local stories. Getting a government job was a challenge apparently as Portuguese was a requirement, and majority of the population of employable age spoke only Indonesian in addition to the native language Tetum. I was told that the government had spent big bucks on roads, but not much had been done for health and education. I sensed frustration. On the lighter side, the affordable lot made shopping trips to Bali!

Soon it was time for lunch and Moby’s was a good choice as it was close by. The weather was scorching hot, reminding me of Chennai. Moby’s was a home-run restaurant with minimalist decor, ceiling & standing fans, and a guitar. It was advertised as the sports bar. The menu was not elaborate, but a simple dish of rice with vegetables was not a big ask. My colleagues and I were the only ones at the restaurant. A heavily pregnant lady was varnishing the furniture in that heat, while 3 cats circled my feet for some food. As we walked back to the office, it was hard not to miss the sign ‘Largo De Lecidere’ in big letters in the distance. I made a mental note to visit during the week. The afternoon passed quickly and without a break, and it was soon 5 pm. There was a refreshing afternoon ritual that I followed the entire week thanks to my colleague Tita, it helped me skip coffee and stretch my limbs. Across the road from the office, just before the beach, were many coconut vendors. For $1 apiece, I got a heavy coconut brimming with sweet water and lot of tender coconut; it was a healthy option. Simple pleasures of life. Day 2, Monday.

We spent the substantial part of the day in meetings in Ministry of Agriculture. On our way back to office, we stopped at Tais market for a souvenir. The market had pretty rugs and wooden figurines. Tais itself refers to woven textile in bright colors, which is the country’s famous handicraft. I would have loved something in wood, but what I liked was too big to carry back. After an hour of shop-hopping, I settled on a Timorese headgear made of silver. It was unique and had an ornate representation of the traditional totem house on it – the Uma Lulik (sacred house). It now sits prettily in my office. Task accomplished.

Back in office, I spent time dealing with an overload of emails. Internet connectivity was a problem in Dili. When I was out of office, I had to forget about checking emails and using WhatsApp. Discovery Inn’s internet service was great by any standard - if I sent a message it would get delivered within the next 10 minutes! We operate in a 24/7 time zone, connecting with people in different places at different times, and Dili is 13 hours ahead of DC. So, the first 2 days, I napped late evening and woke up at midnight hoping to catch up on stuff. How wrong I was! Like everyone else, I took connectivity for granted. A local number did not help as the network was also weak. Yet, I had one for emergency. I made a note to myself – do all I have to in office, and otherwise cancel the webex meetings I had accepted for the week. Reality check. Day 3, Tuesday.

We decided to hike to Cristo Rei in the evening after work. It was a slow 30-minute drive on a narrow winding road along the coastline. We passed gentle curves and sharp bends, and bikers and runners. But as we left the city behind, the view got better and the beach, cleaner. There was no time to stop at the beach, but we did stop briefly to answer a curiosity call. In an isolated spot, rocks were stacked, sorted by size and color. An elderly woman sat under a makeshift plastic tent. She spoke only Tetum and said she spent hours by the beach selling rocks. The rocks were used as decorative materials in house construction. I nicknamed her the ‘Rockseller’. I asked her for a photograph, and she gleefully agreed saying that she was photographed all the time by tourists from Australia. As we were leaving, she put her hands together in an Indian namaste and gave a wide smile.

We continued our drive. We had to make it to the peak for the sunset. But sunset was going to be a challenge; it had been raining and the sky was overcast. We parked the car at a point and started the hike up 590 steps. The path was neatly laid out, and it was a comfortable hike except for the stifling humidity. Halfway up, a waft of cool breeze stroked my cheeks, and I was presented with a spectacular view of the waters on either side of the mountain. By the time we got to Cristo Rei, the sky cleared a little, but the evening sun had already begun its journey beyond the horizon. I sat on a boulder watching the sun go down all too quickly, but in the process covering the vast sky and expanse of water in stunning shades of orange and red. Cristo Rei, the 89-foot copper statue of Christ on a globe, stood gleaming and imposing. I was in awe. Day 4, Wednesday.

As I walked to the office in the morning, I saw small waves of people in red T-shirts. The election fever was palpable. I walked through a thick crowd that had gathered in front of a park for a peace march. Some supporters obliged me with a picture. Later that afternoon, Tita and I stood by the ‘0’ km point, as vans and bikes whizzed past with people waving flags and screaming. It was still orderly, and I did not witness any violence. By the harbor, people were queueing up in large numbers to take the ferry to Pante Macassar in Oecusse municipality to vote. Oecusse is in West Timor that is part of the Nusa Tenggara province of Indonesia. I was told people prefer the 12-hr ferry ride to the 6-hr road trip due to visa requirement. This was the only time in the week I saw so much activity in Dili, the city was quiet otherwise. This campaign prevented us from making a field trip to a project site outside Dili. But I hoped for better luck next time.

Dinner was at Diya, again. I was fortunate to get good Indian vegetarian food (the chef was a Pakistani from Australia) and had no reason to grumble. Still, few evenings during the week, I walked to El Legendario for some fresh air and relaxed in the open setting of the restaurant. After dinner, I habitually sat at the deck with my laptop until late to avoid remaining cooped up in the small hotel room. I was getting claustrophobic. Day 5, Thursday.

There were no scheduled meetings for the day as the government offices were closed. Our office too was closing half day, so we wrapped up things quickly. During a conversation with a colleague, I mentioned I was charmed by the sight of the many eating joints dotting the stretch of the beach. Many were family run, I was told. Soon, we were at NHA Casa for lunch. The restaurant opened to the beach and had a little garden, with a Ganesha statue in a corner. They had a long-handwritten menu, in neat handwriting, and the food was great. Once again, we were the only ones at the restaurant.

We had missed the Areia Branca beach the other day going to Cristo Rei. It was called the white beach for a good reason. So early evening, we spent some good time at the beach, playing in the water, picking shells and chatting. This time, the sun took its own sweet time to set. As Tita dropped me back at the hotel, I said goodbye to my indulging partner in crime. Sometimes, associations made at work go way beyond work. I knew this was going to be one such association.

I was amazed at how small the world was - how else do I explain meeting in Dili an Afghan counterpart that I had worked with for many years in Kabul! When we connected, he insisted I visit his home over dinner. I would not say no to Afghan hospitality in 100 years. So, I spent a lively long drawn evening with his family catching up on memorable Kabul stories as delicious food appeared continuously on the dinner table. It was the Afghan connection. Day 6, Friday.

It was a long trip back to DC – an hour’s flight to Bali with a 10-hour layover, 10 hours of flying to Doha and then 14 hours onto DC. During this time, I was recalling my experiences over the past week. I had always lived in crowded cities, so this little jewel of a country was alluring. I traveled again to Timor Leste after a year, and made time to visit Liquica and explore colonial ruins. It was a different world out there. But that makes for another story.