February 17th, 2004
"A March Towards
I believe I left off on/around Christmas Day, in Ubud,
I think I was the first person awake on the island and immediately I began to
make my way across Nusa Tenggara, the (little-visited) Indonesian province
consisting of all the islands east of
My aim at visiting this region of
I managed to hit one of these villages, Wogo, on the day coinciding with Reba,
their 3-day yearly new-year festival. There's nowhere to stay there, but on the
bus ride there (thanks to my improving Indonesian language skills) I already had
more than one invitation to stay with families there. I ended up in the chief's
house and was kind of adopted into the village.
It was fun watching (ethnic Ngada) people come down from the hills with baskets
of rice and chickens and tuak (rice wine) and vegetables to contribute to the
celebration. Kitchens were alive with giant cauldrons of rice burning over fires
on the dirt floors. Some of the old people danced. Voices carried and children
played. Magic! By the time I left at 3pm the next day, I had eaten 6 meals just
that day, as it's a bit rude to refuse when you're invited into a house to eat.
It's almost embarrassing when people with so little are so hospitable and kind!
From Flores, I ferried to the
In this bumpy region of the island, every little ridge seems to have
steep-roofed huts built on it, protruding from the surrounding trees. And I mean
steep-roofed, pointed like witch's hats! The houses are decorated with buffalo
horns, and huge stone graves with carvings of buffalo litter the villages.
Houses are still built like they always have been...many brand-new ones look
exactly as rickety and old as all the others!
In this region, I learned to chew "siring pinang" with villagers, which is the
Nusa Tenggaran version of
I moved on to the island's west coast and stayed with the village chief in
Ratenggaro. Here, instead of on hills, the villages were scattered near the
coast. And since every sunset in this part of the country is absolutely clear
and brilliant, it was a picture-perfect place (albeit quite hot and my meals
consisted of plain rice and plain noodles and dirty water).
Final stop on the island was Pero, a small Muslim fishing village. It is a
beautiful little place with a small turquoise natural harbour and an
end-of-the-world feel. Postcard material. And completely devoid of people. Angel
caught up to me here (by surprise!) and we had three nice days of markets
(including someone hauling a huge live sea turtle on top of our bemo [public
transport van]) and sunsets and mediocre food before parting ways again.
Definitely a unique culture here, people wearing long woven sarongs (most men as
well) and headbands and teeth stained red by betel-chewing.
Another long two days brought me to the
We marched off to Soe, up in the hills of rugged Timor, and did a long hot hilly
hike to the isolated
The buildings in this area, and throughout much of
The ride to the capital of Dili was a stunning drive along a breathtaking coast.
On the edge of Dili, we met the world's dumbest taxi drivers. They want us to
taxi into town, and tell us it's 1km. Well, obviously if it's only a kilometer
we'll walk. But it wasn't such a good idea maybe cause it turned out to be 10km.
A hot 10km. But we randomly stopped by a makeshift coffee-grinding "factory" en
route, and talked to some nice people, and ultimately got picked up by an
Australian expat who showed us to a nice cheap place to stay, so like always,
things work out.
Dili. The UN presence, though apparently only a shadow of what it used to be,
was still very evident. Western money and restaurants and services mix with a
quite poor Indonesian-style city. Weird. The official currency of
I had a thorough gorging at an Italian buffet that left me reeling for a day. We
bought granola and sugar and bananas and real milk and ate it and the girls at
our hotel thought it was weird and disgusting and didn't see how Westerners
could have this for breakfast every day!!! This from people who eat rice and
vegetables thrice daily their whole lives. I can only shake my head.
People think
First stop was Maubisse, a sickening ride (especially when still recovering from
aforementioned Italian buffet) up to the cool hills. One hotel. $65. Ha. Visit
the church. Better. Night. Cold. Wild barking dogs. A crazy woman. People
talking Portuguese (former colony before
Anyway, cool market there on Sundays. Hill people everywhere in the world are
unique. These were no exception. Don't know how to describe 'em, so I won't.
Moved across to east end of the country, getting stuck halfway, in Baucau, when
there was no more public transport running. 11pm. A nice guy let us sleep on a
sheet of cardboard on the floor of his 2m x 3m (6' x 10') little kiosk selling
soap and snacks and smokes. Nice guy.
Ended up in Tutuola, east tip of the island, and walked 8km down to Valo beach,
where we set up camp on an isolated stretch for three days. What a setup we had!
We hailed down fisherman every afternoon and bought fresh fish from them and
cooked them over fire and stones. Ideal. Read, nap, write, study hermit crabs
and pull them out of shells and see if they'll accept other shells, learn that
if you stare at a bit of blue sky long enough you start to see swirls and shapes
of little bacteria on the surface of your eyes, read, nap, write, walk, snorkel
at high tide, watch sunset. Life is good. Only downer to report was that I think
a dog stole our ketchup one night.
Last new stop in East Timor was the town of
Then back to Dili for one more day of living it up. Splurged on a huge
Portuguese meal at a restaurant where the Cesar, the manager, took pity on our
poor souls and gave us lots of free stuff (we didn't ask, but he could tell this
was a big splurge for us anyway!). What a guy.
Notes on
Good bread. They bake it right, without sugar. Indonesians haven't figured that
one out yet.
Abstract thought. An abstract concept. If you're in Dili, don't ask about a bus
from Baucau to Los Palos for tomorrow morning. There isn't one. Why? Cause we're
in Dili, of course there's not a bus from Baucau from Dili. And it's today, not
tomorrow morning. This probably makes no sense. It had to be experienced.
Dimness at its brightest.
Notes on
Worst food ever, if you take into consideration the resources at hand. These are
the fabled "spice islands". Use them. Boring food is excuseable in
Travel in Indonesian is hard. Life is dictated by ferry schedules. There is no
quick way from A to B. It's never "how many hours?" It's "how many days?"
Whatever the mode of transport, a saying goes, "If you're deaf, don't worry,
you'll hear it. If you're not, don't worry, you soon will be." This of course in
regards to the volume of music. Everyone smokes (but me). A man who doesn't
smoke is obviously a social outcast. My back and lungs and hearing are probably
a nightmare.
A constant theme for me in
So many of the places covered in this update didn't have electricity. Stepping
back in time. Unique. So many different cultures and ways of dress and languages
(often Indonesian not even spoken).
My Indonesian was quite good at the end. I'd probably count it as my third
language now. Nice to experience an Asian country in its own language. Opens
lots of doors.
I don't even like
And finally:
This update covers about five weeks. Besides Angel and Chris, my travel
partners, I met three tourists on Flores, none on Sumbawa, none on Sumba, none
in West Timor, and none in
That's all. I left
"Life appeared to me too common-place an affair as regarded myself. I could not
figure to myself that romantic woes or wonderful events would ever be my lot..."
(-Mary Shelley)
Away Awhile is hosted by Josh Trutwin.