We’ve been in the mountains for 2 days.  No electricity so, needless to say, no internet.  Well, the hotel we stayed at had electricity, so I could do some late night footage dumping but there was no electricity in the morning.  No hot water.  It was an old Portuguese fort turned into a hotel staffed by local kids who were smoking “L.A.s” (a popular brand of clove cigarettes) drinking Tigers (brand of beer) and dancing to Indonesian pop music.  But they had like 12 songs on cassette that they played over and over.  Anyone who knows me wouldn’t be surprised to know that I starting dancing silly when I heard the music and they called me over to join them.   The raw-foodist on vacation; smoke in one hand a brew in the other while dancing with the locals.

Earlier in the day we visited Senor Joao Batista’s “Grupo Horaiqiq” an area of farms and farmland owned by him and his extended family.  Senor Batista’s was halfway up and the other we visited was way up in the clouds.  It was chilly up there; hoodie weather (the sweatshirt not the banana).
and the footage I got was stunning.
They had incredible lettuce plants from seed donated from America (specifically Madison) but apparently Timorese don’t eat lettuce -which could really take care of some of their malnutrition problem.  I offered to buy some and they immediately got together a huge bag.  That gave Hector the idea to sell some to the restaurants in Dili, so we got 2 more big bags.  It was probably $80 worth of lettuce back home.  I gave them $15 and $5 for doing an interview enough to get them a huge bag of rice.  This is the dry season and they’re hurting for food.  Every dry season a number of people die of starvation.  I think about how it’s so tough with the economy in America right now and people are selling things on ebay to make end meet.  We have no fricken idea.

We got to pick coffee cherries, use the depulping machine, see how they dry and roast it and crunch it up with a big mortor and pestil.  Then we had coffee and “chips” as the Australians call it, we call it potato wedges.  Angie would love these.

The ride up there was about 4 hours long and hellacios.  I’m too tall to sit up straight so I was slouched and bouncing around violently, pretty tiring and stressful.  I had a huge headache by the time we got there.  The next day I hadn’t recovered quite yet when we had to take the trip back.
So that trip was the lowest regions of hell, smacking my head, shoulder, hip hands going numb from just holding on.  T’was a drag.  And the Aussies raged on in the front seat slinging information out non-stop.  Although it was always very interesting I had to try to tune them out for fear of my head popping.
This morning I went out to get some audio of morning sounds and a little boy came up to me with his little home made toy; a straight tree branch shoved into the end of a set of stroller wheels.  This is a rendition of a very popular toy; basically something that rolls (usually a bike tire) and a stick to push it.  He sat next to me and tried to push his little “hub cap” on better.  So I decided to pimp out his wheels.  I found some water bottle lids and got a candle and plastic-welded the lids onto his wheels.  Then I dripped wax onto the hub caps and put a flower into the wax.  By the time I got half-way through I had a big audience.  The little boy was a celebrity when he tried it out.  He was a little embarrassed.

Later we met with the director of PARCIC, an NGO that helps local coffee farmers.  Colleen and Hector talked about colaborating on some things.  And they have a mini-roaster and do cuppings (taste testing) on Mondays and she invited Hector to bring his coffee along.  He bought two tons from Senor Batiste and plans to buy more to have roasted and sell locally.  Just Coffee donated an espresso machine for them to make tasty beverages at the restaurant they manage.

We ate lunch at a Indonesian deli -like Kesslers but with different food and not in a grocery store.
Now we’re all here at the internet place.  You get free bottled water here.  I’ve seen two brands of bottled water here; Aqua and Cheers.  My first thought was that “Cheers” wouldn’t go well back home because people would think laundry soap.  The bottles are reused so if you come here be aware.  My favorite is the salsa packed in reused water bottles, very hot with chunks of lemon.  I dump it on and when I’m done I have to sneak into mom’s suitacase for some tissue to mop my forehead and blow my nose.  (Remember there’s no TP in the John.)  Also readily available in reused bottles is a white liquid that is a fermented palm drink called Tua Mutin and then there is a clear one (looks like water) called Tua Sabu that’s the distlilled stronger version.  But there is also a yellowish liquid sold in water bottles called Petrol, yep gas.  There are little “gas stations” up and down the road.

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.