The Path Less Ridden

A 4AM wakeup was not the most pleasant way to start the day, however I was eager to get moving as this marked the start of the trip proper – leaving Australia.  Check-in, customs, waiting, onto the plane, waiting in the air, then finally, landing in Dili. Stepping off the plane, the weather was similar to Darwin – hot, bright and humid. With customs and passport formalities completed quickly, I had been transported into another world. Warding off a dozen touts for taxis, I pushed out onto the main road, but carrying a 20+ kg backpack and in the biting sun, I soon succumbed and got a taxi.  It’s impossible not to notice them, as every single taxi going past will beep their horn on seeing a tourist – multiple times. In fact the most common noise in the city is the horn, which can mean anything from “I’m overtaking you” to “hi, look at my car with spoilers and stickers all over it” to “do you need a taxi” to “I’m pulling onto the road, you’d better dodge me”.

 

With bags dropped off at the hostel, I set about walking around the city.  Down to the beach, where I was immediately set on by two young boys calling “Mister, mister!” They weren’t after money, they had just seen that I had a camera and wanted their photo taken – and ran away laughing and smiling once I’d showed it to them.

 

 

Further along the beach, Timor Leste presents itself as an island paradise, despite the poverty and social unrest at times.  Thickly vegetated mountains drop precipitously into the crystal clear water, and all the locals have the biggest, friendliest smiles no matter what their personal situation is.

 

More photos from the beachfront.

 

 

Then I turned back towards the hostel along the main road.

 

 

Although it seems half of Dili would list “taxi driver” as their occupation, most of the local transport is actually done in small minivans called ‘mikrolets’. They’re private vehicles (and usually decorated outrageously), but they are at least vaguely regulated and follow set routes – often carrying a dozen people including several hanging out the door. There are no set stops – just hail one down, climb over people to get in, and tap your coin on the handrail when you want to stop.

 

 

The taxis compete on the automotive decoration too:

 

 

I love street art, whether it’s at home or abroad.

 

 

More local kids, with massive smiles.

 

 

There’s plenty of reminders of the Indonesian occupation, and the resistance against it.

 

 

I stuck my head into the grounds of the local art gallery as well.

 

 

As I mentioned before, despite looking like an island paradise, there’s rampant poverty throughout the country. Most of Dili looks like this:

 

 

The main river running through the middle of Dili is obviously quite a lot fuller during the wet season.

 

 

Everyone over here is soccer mad. Every second shirt or cap on the street, and every third car has a logo or massive sign for one of the big teams – usually Real Madrid or Barcelona.

 

 

I decided to head home when the afternoon storm threatened, and promptly got my eardrums blown out by the taxi driver who played techno music at absolute maximum volume – and with such a smile I couldn’t ask him to turn it down.

 

 

The next morning, being Saturday (and thus nothing could be done about my Indonesian visa or getting my bike back), I decided to take the local ferry out to Atauro Island for a day trip.

 

 

A pod of dolphins escorted the ship briefly.

 

 

With the local ferry only running once a week, and charter boats expensive, Atauro Island has retained much more of the original Timorese culture and feel.

 

 

The local markets were exactly that – mostly local produce and fresh fish, seaweed and squid.

 

 

So lunch was easy to decide on.

 

 

With the clarity of the water so obvious on first stepping of the ferry, and very limited time before we had to return, I teamed up with a few other tourists and paid a local boat to take us out a few hundred metres to the local coral reef for snorkeling.

 

 

 

Starting to feel extremely sunburnt, we trekked a few hundred metres to a nearby hill to get the whole vista.

 

On the return ferry, I managed to spot that the container ship with my bike had arrived – now I just have to wait for it to be unloaded, and clear customs.