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.