Books: Just finished "Narcissus and Goldmund" Hesse; great read but I think I'm still favoring "Demian" which holds the quote at the top of this blog.
Music: Sufjan Stevens of late...and Mark, you RULE man; I got the new SHTYM you put on your server...someone should perform fellatio for you this very instant!
Movies: Yeah right...these islands don't have internet...you think they have cinemas? Karaoke videos on boats that are prone to sinking...that's all I've been watching.
Folders: Sorry, but the internet here is giving me no luck...there are LOADS of photos, but I'll get them up as soon as possible.
In the projects of Dili I was--of course, one could say that the entire city of Dili is "the project"--tucked away in a half-concrete half-aluminum stall I was mandying/bathing myself with a bucket when I peaked over the rusted tin door at the noise. A kid I'd seen before (only peeing against his "house" in the morning and wanting 2 say something 2 me but couldn't get it out) was running full steam with a machete held above his head in striking pose. He stopped and looked back at his pursuers who stopped right in front of my "door". He picked up a large stone with his other hand and threatened to throw it at them. I was standing right behind them...naked...behind a door in full lather with my jaw dropped. I realized as I dropped the bucket that this was how one could get caught in the "line of fire".
Later, I heard that the "argument" was over a girl...bloody women! And stupid men 4 fighting over them!
I had an ambitious start to get to Timor L'este (East Timor: ET) by hoping that if I arrived at the border at 7am, the guard might let me pass early. I don't know what the hell I was thinking cuz the guard casually showed up an hour later and completely negated the 6am moped driver I hired to get there early. Futhermore, crossing the border to ET I lost an hour which would put me way behind "schedule" to reach the Indonesian Consulate in time to apply for my visa...the whole reason I "decided" to go to ET in the first place. After a whopping $30US just to enter the strife-ridden country, a long wait, and thoughts of uncertainty, I walked to where the bus "should've been waiting".
I walked for some 3 kilometers with my 2 backpacks, sweat dripping from every pore in the mid-morning arid heat of Timor Island. I passed several people at first who offered the "Pagi" (morning) that is common in Indonesia and thought...ahh, maybe the language thing won't be that difficult. Next person I cross was an old woman picking something outta the bush and as I said "pagi" she said with a heightened voice for her elderly age, "Buon Dia!" Sweet...I might be able to speak some Spanish and be understood...I was wrong.
A typical bus passed me with 3 people hanging out it's first door and people sitting on top, but I let it pass as it was going towards the border...I didn't want to go back...not yet. When it returned it stopped and I threw my weighty pack up on top and stepped into the coach, over several sacks of rice where a man was forced to stand up for "mister"..."mister sit dare." I felt bad, but it was natural...and I'd pay more 4 it without any real choice.
The long 5 hours to get to Dili (capital of ET) was similar to Indo's timor in the houses, the climate, etc, but it was when I got to Dili itself that my mind would completely change about this place. There was a guy, 24 sitting right behind me who looked a bit interested to chat, but couldn't manage over the blaring country music (yeah...dad would've luved that; Patsy Cline, Conway Twitty, John Ritter...where the hell do you get this s*^t?).
Life has always seemed to soften the steps that I tread; and this ET experience would follow suit with her kindness being relayed thru the guy seated behind me, Lopez. Coming into Dili he said how everything was too expensive (I must even LOOK cheap...or maybe it was my reaction to his answer of my questions "how much" this and that...4U, not me?). He told me I should stay with him and his family; eat for free, drink for free, sleep for free. I was so lucky that I could speak Indo cuz that's the only reason this surfaced for me...and it would save me so much money and provide an experience so unique and memorable.
We took a cab to his "hood" and walked thru several alleyways--the locals gaped in thoughts that must have echoed, "what the hell are YOU doing HERE?"--as he decided it was the appropriate moment to tell me that his house was dirty, bad, not nice; fortunately, I could care less cuz it was cheap and it was a chance to see how locals live which is like #1 to me. I step into an open room and meet one of his brothers and a very peculiar lad, Jano. Jano has a story that you only read about in books...very cool cat. I tried to chat with them and told them how urgent it was that I get to the consulate so I could apply and try to get my visa the following day, Friday, and get my arse back to a whaling village in time for my birthday.
I felt so lucky to be going to the consulate with information that I received in Kupang, W. Timor from a guy at a hostel there. He knew the lady that was at the counter and told me all this personal info that would help me expedite my visa which normally takes 7 days. Add to that my incredible ability to fabricate an extreme situation where I'm in a desperate hurry to meet my fiance for my birthday, etc. I went the next day and got a big whiff of crap luck for me cuz the "boss" who actually signs the visa took a trip to Jakarta and wouldn't be back until Monday...but, "he will be tired from the journey so he won't be in until Tuesday." Sweet!!! 5 days in a city where I am told to NOT be.
I finished the informative book, "Deliverance" about ET's independence from Indonesia and recall with vivid images the horror that took place in this country during 1999 and thru to 2002. I thought that things were better with a minor scuffle that had just occured several months before my fate-testing entrance.
After the consulate, Jano and I had a trip about the city...holy wow! The city was infested with buildings that had been torched, homes and businesses alike; the UN presence was imposing for I've never seen so many white landcruisers with 2 initials on them; and the refugee camps are everywhere--red and yellow tents that locals have mustered together along with the white ones the UNCHR have provided--which I would hear and see more of later. On the back of his bike I was held without words. We stopped and I decided to register at the American Embassy "just in case" and after that Jano and I rested by the sea. I saw 2 tanks roll by me with 4 soldiers leaning out of the gunner pit. I didn't know how to react when one of them smiled and gave a quick western wave...I waved back at the "man with the gun". Without sounding too dramatic, I felt like I was in Baghdad; two choppers with military leaning from the inside hovered above me before ascending to the mountains where loads of people are hiding for security, for to strike, for to live in peace...for many reasons.
I head back to their house and weigh my options; I decide to take a trip with Lopez to the eastern part of ET where it's suppose to be more peaceful. More for me though was the fact that I would be in the "country" for 5 days and I wanted to see more of it than the city that has hit the headlines for all the wrong reasons. My mind was made up...I would leave Saturday morning and be gone for the weekend.
When I returned, I met Lopez's other brothers--he would eventually tell me of some 10 brothers, but only 3 of them have the same mo/fa-ther--one of which, Mouzie (Muji) was a journalist for Timor Post who would be the link to all my knowledge of current events, history of the problem, and personal stories that I can't put a price on. Arlindo was the oldest who came into the "yard" and heard the situation. It was his house where we ate dinner and came and went. I can't express this man's face but everything it held, envelopes the Timor people. Looking at him while Muji told the story, I see his dark skinned face, charred from the sun, wrinkles that could unwrap into volumes of pain and pleasure, his moustache for modesty...but when he smiled it warmed me to the core, and like a marrionette, pulled my mouth open in a spirit of human happiness. He had said to Muji that he "of course, would love to have me, but just worries that you won't like our food and the way we live". After all was said and done...I couldn't disagree with you more Arlindo; the experience will stay with me 4ever.
Here's a quick insert about this family (and I feel Timorese people as a whole): I've seen several types of poverty in my short lifespan. These people are poor, no doubt, but they aren't ashamed. They are fully aware of it and aren't proud of it, but as I see them walk across the grassy area that hugs the several accomodations around Lopez's house...they walk with towel in hand, draw water from the well (as I did), strip and bathe...it's gotta be done, right? One kid came up to me and tried his 3 questions in English and at the end asked me, "why you come to ET Mister? Timor L'este very bad. I live in paper barn over there." I chuckled not at his poverty, but at his willingness to tell me. Yet with all destitution, I found that these people were soooo happy to give me anything I needed. There was always enough food on the table to feed their many mouths and mine. They never asked anything from me...not once. They washed my clothes, they housed me, the let me sleep when I wanted, they educated me, and they made sure I didn't go without no matter what the sacrifice they should pay. They are a people who understand the meaning of brotherhood and I really admire them for all the kindness and care they showed me...I learned so much from them in so many ways...I think we'd all be a bit better off experiencing this first-hand; however, I will never recommend doing what I did.
The thing that I would find in all the places I explored throughout ET was that no matter how dirty, how unclothed, how destitute, how unfavoured the people may have been; the smile that came from behind those dirty, pain stricken faces radiated my soul, it resonated to every corner that might be untouched in the western wo/man and with the most genuine non-entity said, "we ARE brothers and I am happy to have you right here right now." It was moving, poorly said.
So...the countdown to my birthday wasn't looking to great for mr. murr; I failed to woo the woman at the consulate, I was sharing a bed with another guy (fully clothed mind you), I bucketed in the presence of most passersby, and during Friday's evening meal I sat with a bowl full of soup n' "wild chicken"--someone actually caught this chicken somewhere...much tougher than the "cared for" chickens we usually eat--and examined the piece I was eating (which piece...uhh, dunno) and saw several hairs still attached...at that very moment I pulled one out of my teeth--go ahead and say "GROSS"... I did. Not the birthday preface I was hoping for, none-the-less, I set out on Saturday morning for the eastern end of ET. Lopez and Muji had organized a tentative itinerary for me to stay with their "brother" in Tutuala then uncle in Los Palos; to my surprise neither uncle nor brother had any knowledge of this, but they were confident that they wouldn't object, "my brother's a good man, he'll be happy to have you stay with him", Muji managed.
The 8 hour journey was very rough; many people complain of Indo's tramatic travel, but I find it very endurable...I won't say the same about ET. After 8 hours in a very cramped bus, I jumped right into a truck that should've been on Guiness's Book. This was a truck that had a bed similar to the size of a typical small pick-up...at the very biggest an F150 (American mis-Made :))) ). The "pit" into which I took my first glance was the bed that had a tarp over it. After Muji and I climbed in I rode for half an hour in agonizing pain for the road was so terrible and the driver less than careful with the pot holes. I looked up and asked myself, "bloody hell...how many people are in this thing?" I counted and found that 27 people were in the bed alone...never mind the 4 chairs, the baskets of vegetables, the egg cartons, the chickens, the bags of rice, MY big backpack and small with Lopez's as well, and all the other things. There weren't even any children which would exaggerate the capacity...adults and kids of 12 at least. On top of the cab were 3 boys of 16+ and in the cab itself were at least 5 people...I couldn't see if the little boy with his face pressed against the windshield had a sister on the floor...maybe. All told, 35 people in a truck..
Mexico step aside, you have no idea how 2 ride! Try to fit that into your tailgate party peeps. Ahh, it was miserable the whole ride; for the first time I was looking at my watch knowing that the "journey" lasted more than an hour...just how much more I wasn't prepared to guess. My back is still aligning itself from the crush it encountered.
I did finally reach though...Tutuala is a VERY peaceful village nestled along the hilltops that drop down to the coast. Lito (their brother) was a mechanic at the power station; he told me that he had sent Dili a request for help to come and fix the station (ie parts, and technicians...but at least the parts). They had been without power for months, and worse, also without water. They had to journey 2km away with buckets and lug them back to the house to mandi/bathe, drink, etc. Whenever the served me water, I kindly refused and offered it to the children or another diner...I just couldn't do it.
That night I met a guy who was quite radical with regard to the political situation and without getting into the politics cuz this will be long enough, will only say that peering thru the candle light at his taut face wasn't comforting...damn scary actually.
Lopez decided to stay the night with me and his brother (I must be a good bed partner--actually he just didn't want to say goodbye, really a sweet guy and I ended up giving him my beloved bandana). He wrote a note to his "uncle" who lived in the next town I would be traveling to, asking him to give me room/board for as long as I wanted, no questions. He hadn't seen his "uncle" in quite some time actually. How lucky am I?!!!?
The next morning, I set off with an Irish lad and his father who rented a jeep to get down to the beach (life leads me again) an hour away where there are local fisherman who will journey across to Jaco Island. We set off after arranging a fresh fish lunch they would seek while we whiled away on the beach for an hour.
This was the day of my birth 28 years prior...I only realized as I stepped onto the soft white sand. I told the Irish folk, I'd experienced a lot in the last few days and needed to get my head str8...so I wondered around the island by myself finding my own mile of beach and turquoise water. And naked as I came, I derobed to birthday gear and plunged into the brilliant blues. That hour on Jaco was the best part of my birthday...but it was peaceful and I had everything I needed.
Went back, grubbed down a massive tuna they caught, 4-wheeled it up the rough road (ouch) and were off to see the doctor/uncle. On the bus I met Jano's brother who was working for the special police.
--quick note on Jano: His father was the head of the village that was the main rebellion for independence. Xanana Gusmao(now president, then leader of the movement) hid under his father's bed while the bishop visited and secretly was passed a letter to the vatican from Gusmao. His father was forced to the jungle as was Lopez's for 16 years. The Indo militia at the time asked the wives to search for their hubbies and as a result Lopez/Muji's mother was executed...accidentally they say. Jano has family all throughout the refugee camps that he showed me upon our bike journeies. The stories went on and on, but it was amazing to hear all of this that happened to the very family that I was staying with--
I walked into the house that the bus driver told me was Senor Julio's and told the children there in Indonesian that I was a friend of Lopez and Muji...I didn't even get another word out and they were moving things out of a room for me to stay; the letter never entered the picture...never had to, but I left it on the table when I departed at 5am the next morning. I had a quick walk about Los Palos and found a couple guys pulling something out of a chicken; when I inquired they said it was a cock-fight...there's another at 4pm tonight if you want...30 minutes away. Uhhh, enough travel for now, thanks mate. The only traditional houses in ET that weren't burned in the rebellion by the Indo Militia were set alight sometime thereafter...there is one in Los Palos that has actually been rebuilt that I managed a picture of...with me at 28...yikes! 4 my bday dinner, I was lead into a room and asked to sit at a table, alone and eat rice and vegetables. It was very awkard because up to that point, my welcome was very familiar. We always sat together and talked over the prepared food...it was nice though to not have to go over the same old things. Later, Doctor Julio arrived and I drilled him with questions that were interesting to me and he headed off to bed shortly after.
Coming back into Dili, I met a guy on the bus who after approaching me said, "this day is very history day for me...you are the 2nd foreigner I talk to and I always remember them. Thank you very much. I am so happy you talk with me." The sincerity is inexplicable man...ya just wanna squeeze 'em. He told me he left Dili in April when the second "problem" started and people started to burn houses.
Sorry, but I just can't let you all hang there without a brief cap of the sitch: Independence formally 2002 after much blood. April 2006 the people were fighting over who fought--silly n' stupid I know--and it got quite bad. The PM sacked 591 officers for having not fought and of course, there's gonna be hell to pay. People fled to West Timor (Indo) and to Los Palos to get out of the city. Australia and Portugal reentered with their police forces and the UN also came back. The former PM was sacked, but still holds the most powerful post in the political party that runs the country; FRETILIN...there is a VERY rough outline.
This guy was going back to Dili just to see if the situation was better. Turns out, when I got back I found out there were demands being made to the govt. that if not met would result in demonstrations on the 20th...the day I would be leaving; hopefully. We arrived, though the bus stopped several kms outside the entrance to the city because buses have been stoned quite regularly--one reason prices went up.
Oh yeah...ET is fkn expensive man! It was so strange to see so many poor people, dirty with worn down clothes, and a fistfull of greenbacks collecting from bus passengers. The price you pay and the service/product you get in ET is a disgrace.
I would spend another day and a half in Dili, but would be lucky with the personal information I was armed in getting my Visa by Tuesday. The roads wouldn't be blocked, the border wouldn't be closed, the murr wouldn't be delayed any longer...yip-flippin-ee!!! 4 me it was yippee; during the last times there, I went to refugee camps with Jano and learned that: the airport is still the largest refugee camp with 7000 people there (imagine flying into that...no, you can't); there are 56 camps in total, airport, hospital, across from biggest hotel in Dili, outside UN building are among the biggest; there are over 100,000 in refugee camps of ET's 1M population (10% for failed math students); these refugee camps are sometimes attacked by people who come down from the mountains to "demonstrate". Muji said it best when he told me of the story of his first time in a hotel; "I'd never been given the opportunity to stay in a hotel and now I was given one by Sydney Post's director who was happy with my work. I sat down with a cigar and was drinking beer when I got a phone call." In April, locals and his family were asking where he was because the fighting started again. They were told to go to the Australian embassy, but people were being shot, hacked, stoned. I'll never forget when he said, "that's life...I'm sitting here drinking a beer with a cigar while they're fleeing to the moutains to survive...that's life man."
The sun would peak from behind the mountain just before I would catch a bus 6:30am on Wednesday. A pig tied to a bamboo stick lay with my backpack--though his mouth was tied so I didn't worry--and chickens were at my feet...again. 4 hours l8r, I hit the border and managed just a quick glance back at a country that will have to endure at least 10 years of major reformation and healing, but a people who treated me with a kindness I had never known...not like that. I wasn't teary when I fell into skip-mode to the border...I never imagined Indo would be a place of luxury, a place I'd DESIRE to enter because of the comforts...everything is relative, I suppose. Even in the 3 days of having eaten at a restaurant that had a calendar of March 2004 up like it was now, children in the streets that say "Hello Mister" and react to my "hello" with screams and clapping like I just did a backflip for them, and the echoing horns of bemos scaring the Dili outta me...it's still nice to be a bit more comfortable.
After my 4 hours from Dili, another hour from the border to Atambua, then 8 hours to Kupang...I arrived at my hotel for a quick shower and a fast fall-asleep. I'd travelled tip to tip of Timor Island...some 24 hours in total, which although says so much...doesn't say "it" at all...but that's life.
