--------11/10/11--------Time's up Mister--------

My eyes open with crusty frames and I think to myself, in exactly 5 years to the day my first/original passport will expire. To date (that is, since exactly 5 years ago) I have just 16 different stamps that represent 16 different countries and their soil that my feet, and sometimes much more, have fallen upon--I'm gr8ful this morning...and full of hope for all that aw8s me. Then my mind does its hooplas and initiates its introspection...you know like, "do rhetorical questions have question marks when in written form", "why do we wish upon a flashing arc in the dark sky that happened millions of years ago and feel it important--isn't hindsight 20/20?", and "what, in the simplest sense, is it that life--ie. pain, love, loss, desire, etc.--provokes in humanity?" The last one had me off into the unknown like Sputnik.

Day-2-Day wIndo Display:

Yesterday I saw a guy on a moped that got flipped into the middle of a chaotic Indonesian street (pardon the redundancy), popped up completely aware of the ominous automobiles that might run right over him, and he jumped back on...with a kick he slowly accelerated giving the other motor a look of "idiot". I looked down to my feet in disbelief at the avoidance of non-necessities, then I quickly looked up again to see if he was able to drive the mangled motor. Instead, I saw a policeman on a motorbike himself speeding from behind my bemo and actually run a red light to act on his own avoidance agenda...he had a smile.

Then I saw 2 boys standing on a piece of cement; they were jumping up and down with a contageous countenance of smiles. They were butt-naked, willies floppin', and full of free life--brothers in bums.

Every day I walk out of my "hostel" to a line of becak (bay-chak) with one in particular who always beckons me with a sharp stabbing motion of his hand. Every single day it's the same thing, "massajee, darling, make feel nice"...and every day I crack up at this dirty face with probably a dirtier imagination. Then I return in the nighttime and we repeat our interaction.

I had a girl walk by me last night and "pet" my arm like I was an animal, but she said, "ooooh" like it was soft and fluffy or something. She walked 5 steps then said, "Mister...photo?!?" Switch roles and whattaya have??? Soft porn.

Currently: I'm not sure if the 2 of you who read this, picture me going from city to river to mountain to random corner to beneath a bush where no one would venture every single day without rest...I don't know if you picture anything at all (except me naked on the banks, with a fishing rod and one HELL of a fish, of course), but I will disclose a very important detail that allows one to venture valiantly for long periods of time. As any traveler who likes to consume the clock with stations and docks, there comes a time for Rn'R (recluse and recharge). This is what I've demanded of myself; after all the biggest reason travelers get Malaria and other "illnesses" is because they run their bodies down to the point where the body says, "pull-up bitch...NOW" and thus you are holed up where you don't want to be...so I've decided to stop somewhere that's pleasant enough.

Makassar is Majority Muslim...why I chose here...dunno...cuz it's not the "back-to-western" comfort that would've been ideal. It is however, "on-the-way" and is the biggest city on the enormous island of Sulawesi. Check it out on a map...a bigger map...you'll see that Sulawesi looks like it was gripped by half a dozen muscle-men (or 2B fair--wrestling-women) who each pulled in his/her separate direction...it goes everywhere man! For this very reason, it's extremely difficult to reach certain areas unless by air or sea (latter taking way too long). Sulawesi Plan: Trek, Beach-Bum, Snorkel, Trek, Dive, Out. Actually, I'm not sure my boots can handle that much more hikin' about, but there's no place here that has any size above 43...uhh, like 9.5-10US...again...see the fishin' rod...yeah, 10 is too small...ahh, I'm all talk.

Back to Muslim Makassar...for those who DON'T know, ramadan is in full swing--that is the fasting period (one month) for all muslims which this year is 25 Oct--24 Nov. How does this affect me? For one, almost all restaurants are closed until the sun starts to set...all except those "western" establishments that I've stopped cursing and started loving again; however, even those refuse to set up their patio-dining. I heard of one incident (not sure if it was Java or Sulawesi) where a man was fined because he was eating on the street in mid-day. The street-stall was also fined for selling him the food. Neither of those charged was Muslim. Second, no--and I mean absolutely NO--alcohol will be sold during this month. Last night I wanted a beer so bad...yeah, poor me can't have a bloody beer, so what...and though I went into every "bar" that had a beer sign hanging above it's door, I was refused every time. Majority does in fact RULE!!! I mean I couldn't even count on the trusty, common chinese to conspire with me in their ever-present eagerness to assist in the absence of alcohol; that admirable, entrepreneurial outlook didn't aide me that night. In every instance I've witnessed, I felt the chinese couldn't give 2 chop-sticks less what religious "holiday" was going on; "if it brings me coin, you can have my loins". But, "no pain no gain" and with what could come to blows--or worse bombs--I wasn't about to make a stink about not getting a beer so I walked back to my room and read over a coffee I brewed myself.

It was interesting to see a section of the story on the shore of Sulawesi though; many people showed up to the restaurant I was eating at around 5:30pm and ordered their food/drink. The servers would bring them whatever they ordered and the entire table would wait. I looked around as I reached for my soup-spoon with a piece of fried squid hanging from my mouth and the "cocktail sauce" dribble on my chin--for I had a bit of a fasting myself that day and was famished--to see the whole terrace and the deck below with tables covered in plates of food, glasses of choco-shake/tea, bowls of soup...the whole lot...just waiting to be enjoyed. I won't say I felt guilty eating, but it wasn't the most comfortable feeling I've had. Then at exactly 6pm, as if a gun had been fired, people picked up their forks/spoons (yes, here they use utensils) and began their feast. So this is where I'll be for the second half of their religious period and I think it will be much more imposing than anything was on Flores, which is primarily Catholic. I went to Carrefour (holy Shiite Muslim they have one here) and saw that there was a curtain pulled over all the liquor. I thought it was for an age limit reason, but now things are falling into perspective...a very sobering perspective. But I was the one who CHOSE to get ANOTHER 2 month visa to CONTINUE traveling in the MOST POPULOUS MUSLIM nation in the world and I do have things that crack me a smile once in awhile.

Comforts I almost forgot: sit-down toilet, potatoes, this very internet, a shower head (even though it's still ice cold water), a thick mattress, a room without termites, ants, or many mosquitoes, decent food, beer (well...signs of beer). Oh there's more but no need 2 bore.

Things that still suck: Every Indo yelling the only phrase in English that they know, Nasi Goreeng, the new name, "Mister", having to tell everyone that I'm of "this" religion or "that" regardless of truth, no English Newspaper, magazine, and the only English books available are written by Agatha Christie (and I don't care if I mispelled that), and having every Indo feel they NEED 2 help you no matter if they stop you in the middle of the road and cause excessive impatience in the myriad drivers behind them.

Indonesian Idiosyncrasies:

ONE: Just as Koreans ask the strange question, "what's your blood type?", Indonesians will (before knowing your name) ask "what religion are you?". They do not except anything other than a definitive answer of a religion that is recognized by the Indo govt. There is no, "well, ya see it's difficult the answer to that question"...oh no...they're not having it. What could be difficult about that str8-4ward question...there are only a handful of answers. "HUH?"

The reason that people don't understand "free-religion" is because the govt. forces all Indonesians to mark one of 5 religions on their residence form: Muslim (obviously), Catholic, Buddhist, Hindu, Protestant. There is no in between and there certainly is no "other" box...you MUST choose one. So, they think EVERYONE "must" choose one...I switch it up for my own entertainment...the reaction is always the same though.

TWO: I could be (as I was yesterday) writing in my journal at a restaurant, and anyone (or everyone) would feel it NOT inappropriate to stop and stand over me while reading this journal...completely normal. Of course, they can't understand what I'm writing cuz I'm writing it in Spanish, but it's the point that first, my bubble's popped, second you're staring, third, your reading a personal account that's PRIVATE!!!

The swiss-german totally hit the nail on the head when she said to me just after being disappointed by our guide that should've taken us to the mountain but instead drank himself stupid--that's a completely different story that should be told...l8r and maybe with a beer of my own around a fire and some of you lovely lot--she said, "ya know the biggest reason I couldn't live here? There is no privacy." A village is built upon itself, house-atop-house, share water, share food, share children, share everything. I truly don't know when they actually have time to procreate. And while this is nice in the aspect that you always have someone to count on to help you out, you also always have someone to count your every move and mistake.

There are 3 and 4 and a thousand more, but again...don't want to let it all out in one posting.

Books: I'm devouring the reading material I have and even managed to read last week's TIME in less than a day...there's no way The Economist would've been so easily absorbed...can't get it. Just started "Kafka On The Shore" Haruki Murakami.

Music: Tragically Hip (various albums) and Notwist "Neon Golden". Bri...all those albums you made me are truly saving me from insanity. Mark...(sheeyut, I know you haven't got this far in reading) but this guy Mark in NYC...he should be king!

In The News: For those who actually read/watch the news; please don't trip about anything you might have read with regard to Philippines. Even though it's the easiest way to enter the country from where I will be, I have made a special effort to avoid the island of Mindanao. The comforting thing for those who care (and 4U mom/dad) is that I pay more attention than most travellers of intended trails. Those who have no idea..."ignorance is bliss".


The next and last month of Indo should be a fantastic final chapter in this maze of miraculous Murr-meanderings. I search for my wallet to pay for the bus ticket I just bought and look up realizing she's spelling my name in IROA (Intl. Radio Operator's Alphabet)..."romeo-romeo-alpha-YANKEE..." Of course, I can't help but smile as I slide the 50,000 note across the soiled countertop. I won't spoil the appeal of what's to come...but the exciting bit is that for ROMEO YANKEE, it IS to come. Here's to the next 5 years!

@28 ad-F8...

Movies Yeah...I actually got to a mall here in Makassar; though I watched some seriously trashy movies...worst of the popcorn pushers was "The Crow: Wicked Prayer"...I really thought (hoped) they stopped making such shite movies...seriously I couldn't believe this made it to the screen. "The Wedding Date", predictable, been done, and...not stimulating at all. Finally, another hollywood type of movie, though much funnier, was "The Break-up". Yeah, not my "usual" type of movie but I think V.Vaughn is a funny fkr...and it was refreshing after all the "hello mister...becak?" shouting on the streets; plus they all allowed me to throw more popcorn into my mouth then the past 6 months combined. And to top it all off...I was just in time for "discount day"...;)))))

Books: Just finished "The Shipping News" which was quite a nice read. Prouxl's ability to capture images and use metaphors and similies was something I haven't witnessed in awhile--I won't pretend that I have some brilliant critique of it...but it was much better than the movie. Memory: In Mendoza, with Mark and Joe at the University Cinema (which showed more independent films) we were...all baked outta our minds and I ended up falling asleep--yeah, the book was much better than that.

Music: Bright Eyes, "Wide Awake, It's Morning"

Pic Folders: Look to Lamalera's post for some and add to that, "Dili", "Kelimutu", "Reverent Rinjani", and "Komodo n' Kruz".

Traveller Profile: Meet Frank, from Holland...60+ years, works as a mentor to the prison in the Hague. He was a prison guard for over 25 years and now trains people to secure the International Tribunal Court's "detention" center. He had to go under the lie-detector regarding the murder/suicide of Slobodan Milosevic. His daughter is married to "The Chieftans" lead singer. He travelled to Lore Lindu National Park in Sulawesi--where I plan to go--and witnessed something a handful of people in the world might be able to claim. A 10m (34 ft) Python swallow a 34 year old male...whole. Though he is happily married, he travels alone, as eager a seeker as myself. He says his wife will never again visit Indonesia...not after "having to bathe and shit in the same cube"; thus, he goes at it alone. I'm sure some of you, or at least one, can understand. Frank's got a belly, a bald head, and a benign smile that says "life goes on"...recently spotted in Lamalera, Lembata.



So this is me marking my 28th--"Jesus, Murr...RU serious with that hair"...I know I know--I'm in a random town in Timor L'este...traditional house that survived all the torchings of '99 and 2002; actually, it did have a few charcoal stains and they "renovated" it.

On one of the truck rides along one of the many rocky, bone jiggling "roads", I felt my mind dislodged into that deeper mind-set that occupies my conscience and thought how lucky I've been. It's like I'm in a real-time game of mindsweep and although I didn't really flag any of the destinations, I did avoid all serious catastrophies (or rather, they avoided me).

In Maumere the (from my perspective) calm, friendly people thought it righteous to light some govt. buildings and police posts ablaze after the execution of 3 christians who were implicated in a riot (2000) that yielded some 70 deaths...all muslim; this just 10 days after I was right there in the center of Maumere watching a plane leave me to emotional extremes.

Then, Dili dealt a uncommon lucky gesture when the rebels decided NOT to hold demonstrations that would have surely cut off all buses to the borders and left me inside the torn country indefinately.

After Timor L'este, I crossed the bordertown of Atambua just ONE day before there were MAJOR riots that stormed the prison, releasing some 200 inmates and setting buildings alight as well...when I was there the first time, I saw a carnival, children playing, and I ate at a muslim food stall; not the same picture.

In Lamalera, I was fortunate twice in just one day. First, in choosing NOT to go on the boat that ended up losing its motor at noon and being rowed by old men for hours until it finally pulled in some 12 hours later (story in Lamalera account below); no food, little water, etc. Second, while instead climbing to the volcano, I was just wandering around after a lady gave me false directions halfway up "her" rice terrace when I found myself on a steep cliff that looked good enough to walk on--there was a "path" after all--and so I proceded. Looking at some flora cliff-side, I felt the dirt below my worn boots give way allowing me just enough time to grip the very "plant" I was observing...well-rooted!

Also in Lamalera (different day), after being bitten repeatedly by mozzies and sandflies, I decided to go visit the Anthropologist (U.S.) who's been studying there for over 6 months to grill him with questions that I would find interesting; unfortunately, he had left that very morning and was in another town being treated for Malaria...I itch the billion bumps on my biceps as the lady tells me this.

Finally, after moving to Lewoleba (another town on Lembata Island), I stay with a fellow Jim whose daughter ends up catching Malaria also. I did an especially lengthy killing session inside my mozzie net THAT NIGHT b4 I drifted away.

I should also mention--hope mom isn't reading this, but must give destiny her credit--that I was "lucky" to have been held up in original travel plans/desires so as to NOT reach Poso when I had planned because there were 2 bombs (one killing the other not) that were set off by the angry christians who felt their "people" (the 3 executed) were unjustly terminated...very shitty if in fact it's true (which it most probably is...their innocence that is) cuz there's no going back...is there? So also avoided what could have been that "painful" transit point.

It's crazy...like I was just walking the street and all these bombs were dropping right after my footstep or shortly before my presence; either way, I'll leave fate to do its wondrous thing.

This morning I read an article about a journalist who lost his forearm in Baghdad while doing a report on "Time's Man of the Year: American Soldier". He told how he realized how selfish it was of him to put himself into harm's way just to prove his self-worth; completely disregarded those that love him...hopefully I can learn vicariously thru this man...I promise I'll try to keep out of the trouble-ridden areas as best I can; PLEASE: DO NOT WORRY...God, that's as futile a request as saying, "BE CAREFUL".

Life in Lamalera...

Cinema: More boy band karaoke...urgh!!!
Books: Just finished one of the better WWII books I've ever read, "The Scarlatti Inheritance" (R. Dudlum); though don't dive into that topic much.
Music: Okerville: "Black Sheep Boy"
Folders: "Lamalera", "Diving Komodo", "Sumba Sacrifice"

Personal Accomplishment: Taking a shit in a squatter while in the choppiest of seas near Kupang while holding the door shut.

Adaptation: I realized that 25 hours of constant travel is really not that drastic of a change anymore...I don't even feel the lag.

Go up to your attic and pull the oldest book from under your parents pile-o-past; blow the dust from the cover and open it to the first page where you'll find the ancient yet familar old English script telling you of a people very similar to those of Lamalera. A whaling village nestled south behind a dormant volcano, Lamalera holds something of the past that captivated every part of my being upon seeing...like a child held spellbound at the sight of something unimaginable. Like the print that tells you this story, their culture and customs are fading quickly away as modern becomes something of a devil that burns a sought soul.

According to all accurate accounts, the people of Lamalera have been whaling for over 400 years now and before you staple your green pins and "save the whale" stickers to the monitor...open up a minute. You mustn't imagine the modern Japanese boats that have depth gauges, electronic fish counters, weaponry ranging from machine guns to bomb launchers, and a thousand other gadgets that allow them to unjustly and opportunistically empty our oceans; no no no. Throw those pictures from your mind and picture 12 old men holding positions on a boat made entirely of wood; dowels and tension ropes in place of nails and nuts/bolts. Another man holding watch in front of the 12 soldiers that will move the vessel, and finally the harpooner who courageously stands with meditative posture at the vast ocean in which he will plunge himself. This is one of the most dangerous things a people could do...they certainly didn't "choose" this over anything else.

The basics: They row gently for hours and hours until finally they spot this enormous beast that reigns over the sea. Then all at once they get down and begin to pray and enter a spiritual realm, they quickly raise to their positions and the 12 men thrust the frame forward with every fiber of every tense muscle as the man between tries to position the boat with commands. All this time the harpooner grabs his bamboo pole of 6meters (20ft), makes sure the harpoon is firmly attached to the end of the bamboo and holds the pole upright as if he's about to pole vault. The boat is furiously rowing towards this sultan of the sea and at the right moment the bravest man in the ship throws his body to the fate of life and upon the back of this heavenly creature and with all his weight and strength drives the harpoon into the blubber so that the barb catches. He quickly surfaces and another man throws him a rope while the others are still rowing and he is pulled aboard. The whale will then continue to dive and surface until he tires and is forced to become an unknown part of the food chain. The boat with its brave men return to the village and proceed to butcher and divide the mammal to appropriate families.

All this of course if things go as plan, which many times they do not. The most tragic of recent circumstances had a boat out circa 1994 when a whale, after being harpooned, drug the boat around with the men for a week. The whale journeied some 80km all the way to the island of Timor (15hours by ferry) when the men had to finally give up and cut her loose for the danger that may have lied ahead. Of course this entire week they went without food, with very little water, and with many hardships on the cold sea's night and scolding sun and its reflected heat off the salty sea, among a torturous mental sting in form of a question; "Is it worth it?"...and all to end up leaving it to nature.

Unfortunately, there are very few whales this year--1 in March--and so the Lamalerans don't hunt them; instead they hunt for dolphins, manta rays, sharks, and other large marine life. When I was there...yes, I was THERE, in this amazing place...they took out the boat called "johnson" (yep...they can say they get their johnson wet every day, puttin' her in) and we sought after this second less dangerous prey.

History: 1st of May they send out a "Tena" (Traditional larger boat) without any hunters. They never use a motor to hunt whales, primarily because the motor is too expensive and not worth the risk...plus it's the way it always has been. Whales have an average of 6000kg (13500lbs)--an american anthropologist actually performed this tedious stanky task one day--and usually require a ladder to get up to the top of it. The head is split (top/bottom jaw) and divided to two ancestral families that have land rights, while the rest is split up in a very methodical way that is of this 400 year tradition. The harpooner is a special post that is only given to posterity of harpooners or one may be apprenticed. It's a bloody business and the animal lover in each one of you would hate it; yet at the other side it's much better than going to the store and getting a nice, clean, packaged piece of meat that you can take home and cook...this is raw, real, and required for the survival of this people.

It was nothing short of spectacular the way in which the people do this; truly a team effort that unless in step and of communal spirit will be failure time and time again.

So I woke for sunrise at 5:30, had my "breakfast" which consisted of 2 cups of coffee and 4 pieces of fried banana...not much for an entire day, but that's how they do it here. I went down to the beach and sat about until I would see a group of men moving a boat towards the water upon logs that had been stripped and smoothed. I was quickly motioned to get into the boat and help out; without any hesitance I tossed my camera and water into the boat and put my weight behind the motion.

We didn't even get all the way out before we spotted the first group of dolphins; there must have been 20 of them doing their thing that humans find so gripping. Turns out they didn't like what they saw (I have no idea why there were so many and we were right on them) so we quickly moved back towards the original route and found loads and loads more. Actually, the day I went out was a stupendous day for viewing this friendly creature; I must have seen over 150 dolphins arching their fins just out of the water, jumping with all the twists and turns we emulate upon a diving board, and just splashing about...about a bunch of hunters. As soon as Bernardos (44years old; 20 years a harpooner) grabbed for his bamboo I was pulling out my camera as quick as any tourist in the trade...my gut dropped when I saw that there was an error with my camera and in fact prevented me from putting it away because the lense wouldn't shut. I didn't get any pictures of the action that glorious day and it is extremely unfortunate because to see something, to have documentation of such a heroic act of man vs. nature, would've been some of the best photos I could possibly have taken...it wasn't to be. None-the-less, I wanted to experience it more than anything so I fussed about with it and got it to close and put it away. I saw Bernardos steady himself carefully, carefully...and with more anxiety than I could've handled he launched his body to the sea and the harpoon submerged...it resurfaced...no hit. We did this several times before we--sheeyut, THEY--had succes. I put to helping them with things like baling water, steadying the boat (which I was probably rocking) and things that they probably didn't even notice.

I was in between 2 old men--one with a few strands of silver, steel wool-like whiskers coming from his chin and a few more from his cheeks; the other with a distinct hat and match dangling from his chin...they lookes so wise behind those staring eyes--as I baled out water and gave their older, rustier hinges a break. Then it happened, he pierced skin and the dolphin was wounded. He did what they all do in trying to avoid its inevitable ending while the other dolphins rush to its side in hopes to help/save it. Of course, Bernardos is climbing back to the boat while the others are trying to prepare another harpoon for one of these rescuers. He manages to position himself again and another squirt of blood begins to flower the ocean. Unfortunately, the barb didn't quite stick and the dolphin worked the harpoon loose and swam off.

Then something happened, which image I will never be able to erase from my mind; this wounded dolphin suddenly leaped up out of the water some 20 meters away, dived down, and jumped again out of the water. It was then that I saw the gaping hole in his side and the blood spurting out like a fountain lying sideways...he was coming to rescue his "friend"...but he just couldn't do it. We pulled the one dolphin to the boat and waited for 20 minutes for the other to surface, which he never did...not where we were anyway.

The put the dolphin under the ropes to protect it from the sun and keep it out of the way. All this at one time, seeing some 50 dolphins around, the killing of one, the wounding of another, and the same "team" spirit that weakened these dolphins to their death, they mirrored with grace and poise.

I set out to bale water again with my mind and heart in dislodged locations when the reality of it all hit me; the water I once baled was now a thick crimson red...and loads of it in the boat. I began my self-appointed task and with each dip and toss recalled with vividness the last leaping of the wounded dolphin...a battle of wills and no one would want to call the other a loser...just part of life. I don't know if I became numb or really appreciated the life of all things a bit more; I don't know if I'll truly know until a few years later...strange as it may sound.

We did this for many hours and then rested a bit while they spoke of many things...all of which I had no idea because they were speaking the village dialect of Lamaholot. Bernardos got a shark as well but somehow the harpoon came off the rope. Unlike the dolphin, the shark didn't need to surface for air and will die with this jagged metal piece in his body at the bottom of the sea most likely.

When we returned, everyone in the village came to help with the boat. They spent the better half of an hour cutting it up and finally they gave me a bit of the tail, some innards and sent me on my way to my homestay where I'd eat that for the next 2 days.

The next day I was going to go again to get some pics, but decided to climb a volcano instead. I journeied out and the locals said I was crazy for going alone and would probably get lost...I did. However, I wasn't as upset as I might have been earlier on in my life because it was nice to just be out and about muckin' up the trail and seeing the beauty of Lembata Island. I did manage to find myself upon a very steep precipice that gave in and almost showed me how unprejudiced gravity is, but my hands found appropriate flora that saved my arse...heartbeat accelerated and mission accomplished.

I returned and found a Frenchman there--unfortunately, stereotypically French which really put me off, but I found a way to appreciate his folly and company, though more the former--and he said he would be off the next day to see the hunt. He couldn't speak any Indo, complete crap at English, so I wasn't sure how his experience would be, but I never would've guessed it would come out as it did. The poor bugger put in and was out to sea for the entire day. I returned around noon to grub down and thank the Divine for my spared life from that chasm, and he still hadn't come back. I waited till 14:00 and still nothing so I took a normal siesta after the heat, meal, and mandi and at 16:30 I woke to find him still gone. The village was beginning to get worried. I had returned at 13:00 when I went and I was hungry enough returning...I couldn't imagine being out there that long. So Mama Utis cooked up some fried bananas and a bottle of coffee to send along with the boat that would go search for them. I went down with her to put it in the boat and just examine the sitch. Of course all the people asked if my friend was in the boat because ALL WHITE PEOPLE ARE EITHER FRIENDS OR RELATED, must be a motto they learn on the streets. I looked up at the inclination of the village and found many women running down the steep streets with packages, basins, plates, etc. on their heads and each of them placed their "care package" into the boat. I was warmed by the spirit of the village...and the warmth continued as I sat among them on the soft blackish sand in front of a fire that would be their welcoming. The boat came back some 3 hours later--though I couldn't see a thing all the boys could see the boat approaching like it was dead of day...they pointed "right there mister" but it was like looking into blackness. We waited until 8pm and then I decided to go up and eat...I waited above and eventually the people just said, "we must wait until tomorrow". I imagined the pangs of hunger this frenchie must've been going thru, never mind the heat and then surprisingly 180 to the cold of night and seabreeze. They made it back around 20:30 and he told me in an accent that made me cringe all the "horror" of it; I was quite happy that he made it back and felt he was lucky to have had such good people with him. I must say that it later occurred to me that had I not been so in love with the steep terrain and draw of volcano and the heart pumping that I thrive on...that would've been my story, not his.

I did go out again and I couldn't believe the difference in sightings; we didn't see one single dolphin the entire 6 hours we were out there...not a one!!! Of course I wouldn't be able to show you all and have for myself such amazing shots, but one thing that day was incredible for me. I spotted something...I only saw it role over like any normal wave just a lot bigger. I started to raise my hand and the men looked. Then I said with more certainty..."yeah...there" and just then I saw a burst of water rise up into the air like a cloud of smoke. They ascertained my thoughts...it was a whale. It was too far away to try to catch and like I said they wouldn't have gone after it in the boat we were in anyway; turns out it was a blue whale.

The Dili Crew

Arlindo, (brother--never really knew his name), mullet-murr, Jano, and Muji. Lopez was visiting a "sister".