Chapter 6 Dili to Los Palos ~ The Road Trip Part 1

Its December 27^th, we have drivers licence’stucked away in our wallets and purses. Bruce’s wife Sheryn has arrived in Dili from New Zealand for a holiday visit and Bruce wants to go for a “road trip” into the “districts”. The term seems to mean anywhere that is not Dili, the country is divided into Districts, sub districts, Sucos (towns) and Aldeias (villages), which from a Database perspective is a simple way of dividing the place up as the entities are all one to many. But I digress; you want to know about the road trip.

Microlet outside Lita Supermarket

Bruce had borrowed a Pick up from the Dili Institute of Technology (DIT, pronounced Deet). And Lisa had a Isuzu Mystery MU, having two vehicles was evidently important, in case we broke down, however, Eli, whom we had met at Christmas was hiring Toyota Land Cruiser, as he was going to Los Palos to play a “Free concert” with his band and it was agreed that we would travel in convoy from Dili to Los Palos, we would stay in Los Palos for the concert, and then along with Bruce and Sheryn we would travel to Valo Beach at the Eastern tip of the Island and cross over to Jaco Island by local boat. We hadn’t decided on the itinerary coming back, but we had a plan on how to get there, and on the bright Tuesday morning, that was enough for us. We emailed the VSA In Country Manager and told him that we were “out of here” as per VSA regulations. We packed bedding, water, food, toilet paper, put some music on an iPod, got some cash from the ATM (it actually worked for once) and hit the Frog and Toad (Road). We drove out of our place in Aimutin onto the Comoro road and got a puncture. It was just as well, that it happened there and not somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, as when we stopped at the puncture repair outfit, they couldn’t lift the car with the jack and we had to wait for the big jack. We sat in the sun and wondered if this was a prelude to the next four days?

Once the puncture was fixed we mee up with Bruce, Sheryn and a lady named Kirstin, for breakfast.  Kirstin told us that she was here with her husband who was an orthopaedic surgeon, who was over here to work with Dr. Dan for three months. She explained that they were pretty unhappy as having gained approval from his employer to take the time off and come here to help out, he had not been able to do anything as the Government had not allowed Dr. Dan’s organisation to use any of the Surgery’s within the Hospital complex. I did ascertain much later, that like all things, there were two sides to this story and whilst it was widely recognised that Dr. Dan did a marvellous job of providing free medical services to the Timorese, his qualifications had lapsed 8 years ago and as an  unregistered Doctor, the Ministry of Health had no choice to deny him access to the Hospital’s
facilities. Anyway after a quick cheese and something inedible toasted sandwich and a cup of local coffee, we were back in the Mystery MU we drive through Dili , stopping at the market opposite Lita Supermarket, we realise our convoy of vehicles are in sharp contrast to the transportation that the local Timorese  get to use. We also get a sharp reminder about the tensions that exist in the capital with the presence of two UN “peace keepers standing on the other side of the street.

We start to climb out of the Dili flood plain and head towards Dari, the roads start to disintegrate and we cross a washed out area that was only 15 kilometres outside of Dili, where the road had basically disappeared for about 200 meters and we rolled around while Lisa attempted to navigate the vast mud hole that had been left behind. Once we climbed to the top of the hills we looked back on Dili and the haze that comes from the dust that sits over the town.  We looked out over the Banda Sea towards Atauro Island and there was a sense of relief at having escaped the madness of Dili.

We climbed further up the mountain and then suddenly sailed back down the mountains towards a coastal road, where it was obvious that things were a little harder out here than life in the big city. Timor, has a rugged sort of beauty, it’s all that rock that seems to be moving around. There are some green patches, but not like the green in a New Zealand pasture, small tribes of goats graze on what grass there is, and the villages are Spartan. Small gardens are in evidence but the rice paddies are all vacant. The growing season was destroyed by early rains. As you get closer to sea level the road approaches a river, where the Water Buffalo in the muddy ground, some of which are obviously old rice paddies. Traditional shacks are made of timber with bamboo shutters, however, the concrete block construction of small houses is obviously a more popular option, and I have to presume that this is more to do with security than comfort.  The road winds on, up the mountain, through winding passes, down back to the coast, through a river plain and back up the mountains. I’m sure this sound like an enjoyable way to spend the time in the tropics driving through this countryside, but I doubt if I have conveyed the absolutely abysmal state of the road.  It took us over 8 hours to drive to Los Palos, which is only 210 Kilometres from Dili!

We arrive at Los Palos and decide that we will stay at a guest house run by the Amalkasih Darah Mulia (ADM) sisters. Alofa and I get the President’s Suite where Ramos Horta is reported to stay whenever he is in Los Palos, I have no way to authenticate this story, but it was a nice story. The sisters use the Guest House to train the girls and boys at the hostel how to work in the hospitality industry. They supply a cooked breakfast (Scrambled Eggs, Fried Rice, Poun (a local bread), and Coffee and a cooked meal in the evening (Fish, Tofu, vegetables, rice) plus a bed for US27.50 a night for the two of us. All of which was amazing especially when you take into account the mountain air and the absolute peace and quiet that surrounds you. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place that was so quiet. We think that caves and libraries are quiet, but this was just amazing. I had managed to buy some coke cola in Los Palos and had a bottle of Captain Morgan spiced rum. We sat on the balcony sipping rum and coke talking about the day and then we just naturally descending in absolute silence.

The next day, Eli said that they were going to play the concert that night, but Bruce, who was tasked with picking up the sound equipment back in Dili, hadn’t picked up all of the things that they needed.
The fact that Bruce hadn’t got a list of what he was supposed to pick up and was just asked to stop at a place where they would give him the equipment that the Band needed didn’t seem to worry anyone, so we decided to go for a picnic at the nearby lake and they would have the concert tomorrow instead.

There are two important lessons to learn from this, Timorese are not really into detail and timeliness isn’t something that is worth stressing over, but more importantly, referring to that “nearby” lake. Timorese have no concept of explaining distance.

We all met at Eli’s house and are surprised to be introduced to his mother and father, especially after his story at Christmas, and after a little confusion we set off planning on stopping at the local market first and then heading for the lake.

 


 
  The road is shocking and we literally just crawl our way along the road, until we come to massive plain of grasslands, where we leave the road completely and literally weave our way across the plain through a series of tracks and mud pools, it’s definitely 4 wheel drive territory and after about half an hour of sliding around the grassland, we get back on the road and head into a small village called Muapatine that sits on the edge of the lake, Lagos Ira Lalaro. We have travelled about 25 kilometres and it’s taken us about two and a half hours. We stop at a traditional Timorese house.

Eli tells us the story behind the Lake, he tells that a long long time ago there was no water here at all and the people were in desperate need of water, they went to the Village Chief, who in turn called on the Gods to help. The Gods told the Chief that they would show him how to bring the water to the villagers, but there was a cost involved and the price that he would need to pay was the greatest price. The Chief accepted the Gods deal and was directed to a place where a piece of wood was lodged in-between some rocks. He pushed on the wood and the water that now makes this huge lake gushed out of the ground fully submerging the village. Many of the Villagers and the Chief himself lost their lives and the village was totally lost. The present residents say that as the level of the lake falls you can often see the tops of the old village buildings. The lake whilst a massive expanse of water is actually very shallow and it often dries up completely.

We head back along the road; the area is very lush with all of the water; however the living conditions are still very basic. There is no electricity out here and the water is from the lake, it’s one of those places that you need to be going there if you are ever to see it, but you would need a good reason to go there. Personally, it’s not something that I would normally recommend for the casual visitor. Driving on these roads is strenuous and the possibility of being stranded by either car failure or just getting stuck in the mud would not be the easiest thing to deal with. Eventually the road runs to the lake – it’s the “end of the road” in the most literal of senses.

We park the cars on the road and the look at the lake. Eli says that he saw some bamboo back on the road, so he drives back and cuts some long lengths for fishing poles. Someone else quickly digs up some worms and the guys start fishing for small Tilapia fish.

A young Indonesian man named Djuwadi, (pronounced Chewadi and shortened to Chew) says that we’ll light a fire to cook the fish on so, fire wood is gathered and making a hearth with a few large rocks, the cooking fire is quickly set up. The fish seem to be jumping on the hooks and Bruce gets the job of cleaning and gutting them. (That’ll teach him for having a Swiss army knife) Jane makes a marinade for the fish by pounding Turmeric, Garlic, Ginger, Kaffir Leaves (or lemon leaves), Chilli, pinch of salt, in a Mortar and Pestle and the cleaned fish are then left to soak in all this wonderful stuff before being placed in a wok with oil and sort of sautéed until crispy. You eat the whole fish bones and all as the bones are very fine, and just crunch up after they’ve been fried. Three Portuguese Doctors turned up with some Chorizo and local bread and beans, cabbage, capsicums and local rice were bought from the Los Palos market, which Djuwadi and associates had cooked up in a pot.  Desert was fresh fruit also purchased from the market. The feast was set out on the ground and as everyone congregated around this banquet, the heavens opened up with an offering of fresh water. A mad scramble saw food and people quickly retreat back into cars or under the tarpaulin that was originally used to spread the food out on. After half an hour of fairly solid downpour we decided it was time to head back to Los Palos.

Bruce said he saw a snake go across the track on the way home, but I didn’t see it. I talked about the trail through the grass plain before, well, with a half hours rain on top of it we literally sliped amd snaked our way back to the guest house.

That night Eli and his friends put on the free concert in Los Palos. Having never been to a Timorese Rock Concert, especially a free on, I’m kind of excited, but I’ve learnt not to get the expectation up too high. We arrive at about 7:30, when the concert is scheduled to start and all of my expectations are met, as things are still being set up. I’m warmly greeted by Eli, who insists hat I need a chair around the back of the stage where the other band members and assorted friends associates, technicians and general groupies have congregated. The stage has been constructed with local rough sawn timber and a tarpaulin. To tie the tarp down, they use a simple mechanism of a piece of rope is tied to the tarp, and a rock tied to the other end of the rope. The tarp is put up over the wooden frame and the rocks ensure that it stays there. The front of the stage comes out to the edge of the pavement and the audience area is the street, which the police have blocked the traffic from coming through, whist there is a side road that will get you to Los Palos, nobody seems to mind that the main road into the town has been officially closed due to the concert.

Behind the stage are two burnt out houses that look as though they were trashed in 2006 troubles, which the band members keep disappearing into.  I wonder what these guys have got going on in there, especially as they are all very “Rasta” in their appearance. Unfortunately it only turns out to be Tua manus, which is distilled palm wine. It’s evidently very potent, as the palm wine before distillation has the kick of a mule, so after distillation, it gets to be over 40%. I’m told it goes well with coke! I get to meet up with a number of the guys in the band, but most of these artists are pretty shy, but then what would you say to an old white guy that just appears on the scene?

The crowd gathers and the mood changes to an electric sense of excitement, and as the usual series of checks and tests are completed, the air becomes charged, the crowd moves closer to the stage and starts to really pack in, but it’s all done with a carnival air about it. There is no pushing, no shoving, no malice, no drunken louts in the mosh pit, but it is very electric.

Anyway, eventually, the concert starts with the guys in the band singing a haunting vocal which I suspect is the national anthem, and then Eli asks the crowd to move back a bit so that the children can come to the front, once that’s organised, it’s into a couple of reggae numbers, that are sung to a good beat, but they are singing in Fataluku,  which is one of the fifteen indigenous languages that are spoken in Timor-Leste not including Tetun (which comes in two flavours Tetun-Dili and Tetun-Terik) So, not understanding the words is no big thing,  and I find that it’s just good to be outside in the night air, with the music waiving through me. The rain starts, but it doesn’t dampen anyone’s spirits. Then the damndest thing happens, one of the guys that I was introduced to before and probably the shyest of them all, gets up on stage and starts doing a stand-up comedy routine, once again, I can’t understand a word, but judging from the hoots of laughter from the crowd, he’s telling some pretty blue jokes and the crowd are lapping it up. He is so good that when the band comes back on to play the audience and the band demand that he comes back on stage and do another fifteen minute segment.

The band starts up again, and as each song is worked through, the members of the band change, whilst appearing to be an informal arrangement, I suspect that it’s all very cleverly thought out and well-rehearsed, the guys in the band are relaxed and pretty laid-back in their approach. I watch the crowd, there is some attempt to start some dancing by Bruce and his wife, but it’s not going anywhere, the predominately male audience is hapy to stand and watch. I think they are all waiting for the comedian again. The Band plays on, the comedian gets back up on stage and the evening starts to roll into one highly pleasurable event. We head back to the Guest house at about 11:00pm, looking at the road for potholes, and missing bits, as there are no street lamps, and watching the sky at the same time, as with no street lighting the stars are brilliant against the electric cobalt sky.

That night we reflected once again on the day’s events with a large rum and coke (or two) before calling it a day. Lying in the bed in the Presidents suite, I can’t help thinking that whilst the simple basic living skills are a pre-requisite to existance here, and that within the Timorese, the slow easy approach to things in general is a charming attribute, are these the basics needed for Nation building? I suspect that the message in the music may be the answer, if only I understood the words.