But, Colleen and Hector were tied up all night having to deal with a lot of that stuff.  Hector wants to put a couple of older Timorese women at the door to turn away some of the trouble makers, “You’re drunk, go home to your wife and children now.”  As is they hire security and the neighborhoods on both sides of the club offer a security guy each who know the young men from their neighborhood who might cause trouble.  I missed out on the scuffles in the other room, where the Latin dance music was happening but I caught the remnants of it at the end.  Reminded me of some of the stuff back home like the time I pulled a guy off of this kid who was getting his face dragged against the curb outside The Oats.  Ah, drunkenness and testosterone; a fine mix all over the globe.

We had to swerve around a grouping of candles in the road on the way home.  Someone had died in a motorbike accident.  The candles are what they do to release the person’s soul form this place.  They also go to where the person hung out a lot and burn candles.  There’s a two year mourning period for anyone who dies ending in a Kori Mitan (sp), a celebration bringing all of that persons friends together for remembrance and closure.

Hector’s friend Maria’s Kori Mitan is starting this week, the two year period ends August 31 the same day as the Red Rooster’s 12^th Birthday (Hector thought that coincidence was kind of cool).  We went to Marita’s home to do an interview with the lady who was the instigator of the Gardener’s of Eden seed project and they were in full preparation for the celebration.  The people were dressed in black (we even saw many people dressed in black in the market) and they were putting up lots of bamboo poles and tarp for sunshade and fencing off areas they didn’t want people in.  It was like getting ready for a big music festival.  Over 1000 people will show up in this little area to party all night.

Apparently the interview went well according to Hector.  I don’t know because he didn’t interpret.  He thought it flowed better without it and we could do the interpreting later.  We stayed for coffee and what Marita called Timorese Wine; it was Tua Sabu (that distilled fermented Palm stuff) with a few raisins in it that gave it sweetness and color.  Tasted great.

Next we went back up the bumpy, windy road to a Spice Farm that is a good example of Permaculture.  Many types of plants grow in the same area working together allowing the farmers multiple sources of food and items to sell.  They also use several sustainable farming techniques.  We saw cinnamon trees, pineapples, pepper trees (as in “salt and”), coriander, coffee, my new favorite: selak and many other things.

When we dropped off Marita we said our official goodbyes (She’ll see us off at the airport).  She told us how thankful she was that we came and saw what they were doing and hoped we would tell people back home the real story, how hard it really is in Timor Leste.  She said they get a lot of tourists here but most don’t care about the “little people.”  She reminded us that many people only get one meal a day and less when things get hard.  There is no hope for getting out of poverty for many and the concept of education isn’t reachable by most.  She hopes we will remember them and return someday.  This passionate sendoff from a beautiful woman of such humility, dignity and strength funneled many memories and feelings of my time here into one moment.  I was emotionally overwhelmed for awhile.

There’s no way we can forget them and I hope to God we can return.

Speaking of motion… before I finish writing this we’ll be going to the club that Hector and Colleen manage called “Motion.”  Tonight is a big night, Thursday, with a live band, about 200 people will show up.

Remember a few days ago when I wrote that I love the sound of this neighborhood?  I’m sitting on the porch now and I still hear the sound of community; babies crying, kids playing, people visiting and dogs barking but joined into the symphony now is a group of men singing.  It sounds like an anthem, or a folk song.  Beautiful.

After Permatil we went to the Office of the Secretary of Agriculture for another meeting.  They were called to another meeting and apologized saying they would call later if they could meet with us.  Colleen thought they were blowing us off Hector thought not.

But it was ok because it gave us time for to a great experience.  We visited the tai weavers who made the gifts for us that we received at the airport.  Remember, “Dan Clebers?”  Hector said it was his fault.  His lower case “g” looked like an “s.”  As we pulled into the neighborhood it made Hector and Coleen’s hood look like the upscale section of town.  This was a city neighborhood but reminded me of areas of my uncle’s farm but with little structures that people lived in.  We pulled up by one of the structures and were warmly welcomed by tai weaving women.  They showed us the girls working on several projects as well as many completed tais.  The charming woman described her life; her mother died, her step mom wouldn’t teach her tai weaving which meant she wouldn’t have a chance to get married (part of the process) so she taught herself.  Picked her own cotton like material, and  learned to spin and weave by watching and practicing on her own.  We bought a bunch of great stuff at “wholesale” prices and they gave each of us a gift.  The woman said, “Remember us when you go to sleep and God will bring us back together someday to work together hand in hand.”

I heard some music and noticed some young guys with a guitar.  I brought my camera over in hopes to get some music for the films soundtrack.  It’s been tricky finding soundtrack music.  All of the CDs in the stores are basically pop music.  I was hoping for something more traditional or folk, kind of more tied to the land.  I asked (in gesture) if I could film them. They were stoked. 

After the songs they struggled to speak a little bit of English.  We talked about our families, our music and we wrote each other’s birth dates in the dirt.  When it was time to leave I gave the each a dollar as a token  for the use of their music on the film. One of them said, “I will never forget you.”  Out of a habit formed with guys their age back home I reached out with knuckles.  Apparently that’s a thing here to because they came back with knuckles without a flinch.  I’ve fallen in love with these people.

Hector says there are two dangers in Timor Leste.  The first is falling in love with the people and the land and wanting to stay forever.  The second is getting hit by a UN Police truck.

The land of dust, hoodie mayan and squatty potties

Landing in Timor Leste makes you feel like the Beatles or Nixon.  Stepping from the plane onto the wide platform before we went down the steps to walk from the runway to the terminal I thought of those iconic black and white photos.  I wanted to throw up my hands in peace signs and say, “I am not a crook.”  For you youngsters that’s a Richard Nixon reference.  He was one of our presidents… of the United States.

Dili is a city of 150,000 and their airport isn’t much bigger than Aberdeen’s (seemed smaller) although I’ve never seen a large group of military personnel gathered on the runway back home.

Hector and Colleen greeted us with gifts of tais, beautiful handmade cloth that is a signature Timorese craft, that were woven with our names in them.  “DANIEL CLEBERS”… close enough, it’s the thought that counts and they are beautiful.

Hector is a non-stop encyclopedia of all things Timor-Leste.  The lesson started as soon as we got into the van that they rented for the delegation.  Otherwise they don’t own a vehicle except for a “crappy” motorbike that’s in the shop.  “We walk a lot.” says Colleen.

…More driving on the “wrong” side of the road.  …More babies on Motorbikes.  As we pull up to the house it seemed we were in the alley but it was the front.  Hector gestured, “This is our neighborhood.”  “I love it!” I said as I heard the strong sound of community:  People chatting, children crying and playing, dogs barking.

There was another group to meet at the house:  Remixio, “kind of like our brother” explains Coleen.   His dad died in the war, his mom lives in the mountains.  Hector has become a father figure to him.  Alda cleans and helps with product packaging and working at expos.  She is with child.  Marita started and works the NGO (with Hector) that launched the seed project.  Kevin arrived a day before us from Australia to be on the delegation.  He is an economist who sells Timorese coffee Down Under at churches, rotary clubs and such for these groups to raise money for social projects they have here.  “I’m Sort of a Timor Leste aficionado” he says.

Between the two Aussies I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the words “Sort of” so far.

Two other Timorese we were introduced to were Hoodie Mayan (short red bananas, I love ‘em but we’ve met before at Natural Abundance, our health food co-op) and what Ki calls “The Squatty Potty.”  The toilets here are a hole in the ground.  The “toilet paper” is a tub of water and a big scoop.  Use your imagination on how it works.  For me the “toilet paper” took some practice but I’ve been an advocate for several years in the U.S.A. for squatting as a healthier method of going.

After a quick tour of dusty Dili (it’s dry season but Hector calls it “Dust City” so it must be a year round condition) and a jaunt to a high spot for a great view we go to the beach for drinks and a swim in the sea (actually the strait) followed by a “meet and greet” dinner at a fresh fish restaurant.  And the Timor Leste lessons rages on the whole time with the encyclopedia and the aficionado pulling information out of each other.

I sat blogging in the little Bali hotel room until the rooster crowed. He was loud. I hadn’t noticed how late it was so I fell back onto the bed, slept a little until Norman, our tour guide, arrived. We hopped into the micro-tour-van and headed straight to a crash course in Bali mythology; a dramatic reproduction of the Buddhist story about the struggle between good and evil complete with beautiful Indonesian dancing and costumes and a way cool house band. It’s a very important story that’s woven into the culture of Bali even though their population is mostly Hindi.

Next we drove to see demonstrations of local export crafts; batik and hand woven clothing and accessories, silver jewelry, paintings, carvings and such. For miles and miles these products are displayed in front of shops/homes. The sales pitches were a bit pressured but polite. Before we went to some Hindu temples with resident monkeys Norman found a grocery store for me so I could have some breakfast. I got some little bananas that weren’t ripe and an orange. As I choked down one of the tough bananas I told Norman that I was tired because I was awoken and drawn by the “thump thump” music and described my run in with the “pretty ladies.” “Did you stay up all night talking with the lady?” asked Norman. “No, no, no… I was blogging.” He somehow got the impression I ended up with the female “pretty lady.” Nope.

MONKEYS AND BAMBOO POLES

Not even the monkeys would eat my unripe bananas so I bought some juicy ones at the gate of the Temples. One monkey was so interested in my treat that he jumped onto my leg. I reacted by lifting my arm and consequently the banana which he quickly followed. In an instant there was a monkey crawling up my arm. My reflex was to swing my arm and so the monkey went flying over my head and through the air, landing softly like a cat. I rewarded him with the banana. Ki thought he scratched me. I said, “No, he’s got soft fingers. It’s just like swinging around my little monkey at home.” …My Zion monkey.

And by the way monkeys DO open the banana from the side that doesn’t have the stem.

As we left I saw a motorbike with a passenger holding a bamboo pole at least 30 foot long over his head. Norman explained that they were going to prepare for a Hindu ceremony in recognition of Bali’s independence in a couple of days. Like July 4th I guess. Throughout the day I stretched Norman’s English skills as I tapped his knowledge of Bali-style Hinduism.

A long pole isn’t the only strange motorbike related phenomenon. First was the sheer number of bikes swerving all around the cars, “beep beep.” maybe a 30 motorcycle to car ratio. And apparently there’s no helmet law and no passenger law. I saw children as passengers four years old or less probably fifty times. Fifty times I gasped.

We checked out an eco-tour; a garden area that demonstrates the plants grown in Bali. Cinnamon, Ginger, Tobacco, Coffee, and some new stuff like Selak (aka snakeskin fruit). After lots of samples we purchased spices, tea, tobacco and stuff and that special Luwak coffee. A Luwak is the animal that eats coffee beans from the tree and it’s poop is collected, cleaned, roasted and made into a coffee that’s supposed to be a delicacy. We’ll have a sampling at the coffee house.

The tour finale had us sitting cross-legged at an outdoor Indonesian restaurant with a stunning view of a volcano. When we got our table Norman wasn’t with us. I found him hanging out at his van. “C’mon in we’re buying you supper.” He said no one had ever invited him to eat with them. He was our buddy now we couldn’t have him eating a snack from a street vendor in his van.

If you ever go to Bali talk to me I’ll give you Norman’s number. He’s a good tour guide and a very nice man.

Over the meal we planned for another tour when we get back from Timor to see the dolphins at sunrise on the other side of the island. Since he didn’t have any tours lined up for the next day I asked him to taxi us to the airport for our flight (finally) to Dili, Timor Leste.

ANOTHER SECURITY ISSUE
We flew into Bali very tired. That’s a lot of flying (I’m on my third book). We got our visas and while going through security I got my bags spot checked. I told the guard about the East Timor documentary
when he asked about my film equipment. He said if I was going to film in Bali I would have to get permission from the government. That made me think that I may have some trouble in Timor
since I haven’t gotten any government clearance. Then I realized that Colleen has connections with many government people, that we will probably be meeting with members of the U.N. and other government officials during our delegation. So it should work out. We’ll see.
BALI
So we walked out of the airport and were whisked toward the crooked cabbies who tried to charge us double (we knew, thanks to Coleen, how much it should cost) we found blue bird cabs and got a proper ride to Galaxy Hotel. When Ki told someone who knew the island that we were staying at the Galaxy they said “Oh right in the middle of everything.” Yep. lots of great shops and resaurants and clubs. A mix of gorgeous Asian architecture and dilapidated streets and buildings, of stinky smells of rotting and exhaust
and wonderful aromas of restaurants. Crazy traffic with lots of mopeds and motorcycles. You can rent a moped for $2 a day.
Ki and I looked around while mom slept. We lined up a tour for tomorow and got some fresh juice
(mine was avocado, Zion’s and my favorite). We then got mom and went for a massage but the place was booked up. Really good one hour massages with singing bowls and stuff are like 190 thousand rupeahs. That’s like 20 bucks. But it didn’t work out today maybe tomorrow.
So we went to a very cool restaurant on the beach of the Indian Ocean. People were playing soccer and volleyball, surfing and boarding. We kicked back for a while, bought some fresh picked peanuts still on the vine (juicy like peas) from a walking vendor before we sat down at the restaurant for a very great meal (mine: Balineese Curry, was over the top spicy giving competition to Da Bomb our hottest sauce at the Red Rooster)
in front of a beautiful sunset.
“WHY AREN’T YOU WEARING SHOES?”
We got back to our hotel and we all crashed until about 1:30am when I woke up to the throbbing of dance music. I’m known to enjoy a good discoteque so I slipped out, again without shoes because I thought it was just in the lobby which by the way has a swimming pool with barstools in it lined up to a sunken bar and a pole (for dancing not fishing). When I got to the lobby the music was loud but there were only four or five people.
The sound of other music and people drew me down the street. More DJ music in one club, a live band in another, a string of places packed with people. As I was thinking, “I should go grab my shoes and come back and watch the band” I suddenly had a “beautiful lady” on my arm. “Where are your shoes?” ’she’ said. Before I could answer, “Why do you have long hair?”, “Where are you going?,” “Come to my room,” “I’ll come to your room and give you a massage.” Before I could say anything another “pretty lady” came up and asked me to come with ‘her’. Then several others around started shouting for me to be with them. I thought if I just say “no” I can keep walking and see what’s happening in some of these other clubs. Nope, they were all over the place tugging at me, fighting over me. I thought about ducking into a club to lose them but I didnt want to without shoes. So to avoid going through them again I decided to cross the street and head back. Before I did an actual girl grabbed my arm and said “I’LL go with you.” she crossed the street with me and asked to come to my room. I was now heading back and another “pretty lady” grabbed my other arm”

I saw a cop and gave him a look like “what do I do?” He communicated with his gestures to start hitting them. I kid you not… a cop. All the while the “pretty lady” was saying “one hundred dollars, one hundred dollars…” yes, in front of the cop. I don’t remember what I said but they finally let me go. I came back to the room and decided not to go back out.
I told mom and Ki what happened. “prostitutes.” Mom said. “You thinK?,” I replied, “and only one of them was a girl.”

Tomorrow we go on a tour and the next day we go to East Timor
Right now I’m really looking forward to getting to work on what we came here for.

p.s. East Timor trivia

Timor literally means “east”

so it can be traslated “East East”

it is also called “Timor Timor” by some on the island but they abreviate it “TimTim”

and “Tim tim” Just happens to be the nickname i gave my friend Tamera Davis.

ps ps

Ki just picked up a to go coffee for Mom and it came in a plastic bag.

pspsps

I’ve been taking pictures I’ll put some on soon. Now I sleep, or maybe eat.

“It’s a tiny Island just north of Australia” is a phrase I’ve said many times in the last couple of months when I told people that I’m going to East Timor. My Sister, my mom, Arlene, and I are joining a delegation to investigate the fair trade coffee industry there and to make a documentary film about the work of the Gardeners of Eden Seed Project.

Civil war and hostile occupation has contributed greatly to East Timor’s state of being one of the world’s poorest nations. In late 1999 the economic infrastructure was mostly destroyed and with the UN’s assistance only recently has been substantially reconstructed. But still today much of the island’s people are looking to international aid for needed food supply, many are not getting it.

So I’ve packed up my camera, we’re going to film the beauty and the poverty, we’ll hopefully document the lack and the hope being sown by the Gardener’s of Eden Seed Project. I’ll bring the footage back in hopes to produce an informative film that will motivate people in the U.S. and elsewhere to send seeds and financial support to these people so they can restore their food supply.

When my daughter, Zion and I say grace before our meal we ask God to help get food to all of the kids in the world who don’t have any. Maybe we can be an a little part of the answer to that prayer.