The boat from Dili to Oecussi is is an overnight sailing scheduled from 5pm to 5am.
The vessel is modern and well presented. But not designed for comfort. The chairs do not recline, and people sleep simply anywhere and everywhere, both inside and outside. It is commonplace to step over other guests if you need to move around. It is 2am as I write now, and the TVs are still on. They’ve shown two old Rambo movies and a couple of other war movies. Who doesn’t want random explosions going off just as you’re about to drift off?! All the lights are still on brightly as they’ve been since sundown. People are laughing loudly on the other side of my aisle, apparently oblivious to any inconvenience that might cause others. Sleep? Maybe something approximating “rest” will have to do.
I was actually pre-warned to manage the sleeping situation, and can only say I wish I took that warning. Two options were suggested – bring my camping mattress up from the bike with me, or hire one of the staff lodgings. I had a heads-up that as a white “malae” foreigner, staff would likely offer to hire me their private room for the night. As they’re working while we’re sailing, the room is otherwise vacant. But I didn’t come at the US$50 additional fee after Timor Leste having already cost me so dearly. So I’m with the main passenger group.
I think I was just a bit too flustered to dig out my camping mattress when I parked the bike in the bowels of the boat. Mistake. The chairs have arm-rests that do not move, so limit the movement and night-time utility of the chairs. The only other option is on the hard floor. Which is where I’ve been camped much of the night so far.
Writing now at 1pm Friday…
I rode off the boat at about 5:30 this morning. Needing petrol before a long ride and cash for just anything at all, I hunted for and found an ATM and a petrol station. The petrol station was unsurprisingly shut. The former charged me AU$20 above the exchange rate for the privilege of withdrawing US$200. Note to self – find a better way to get cash next time.
I waited around an hour or so hoping petrol might be available at 7am, and found a beautiful spot on the beach to watch the sunrise. Spectacular!
One of my strong impressions of Oecussi is the army of cleaners that swarm and sweep the streets from 5am onwards at least until 2pm, dressed in a uniform of orange overalls and matching hats that actually look like they’re on the set of E.T., or like they’re checking for contagion in an outbreak of the next Bubonic Plague. This is a stark contrast to Dili, where no one thinks twice about throwing their litter wherever convenient and it sits there until rain washes it into the ocean. That is a real shame, as it turns a place smelly and grotty where it could otherwise be quite picturesque in its own Dili kind of way.
Moseying back to the servo at 7:30am it was still shut but someone there was able to tell me it didn’t open to 9am – the “telling” being more with hand gestures and finger-counting than with words. That would represent a 4-hour delay in getting the day under way, and I decided that was too much. Surely there’s petrol en route, even if Google Maps doesn’t show it?
So I set off with 40% of the last Darwin tank of fuel.
Destination “Oesilo” plugged into Maps, with a clear turn-by-turn route now shown on my handlebars (oh so good to have my bike back!) and spoken into my helmet coms (oh so good to have my helmet back!). Travel to Oesilo from the port starts with what you might describe as “model roads” which have a look of being designed to impress tourists. But I didn’t ride far before that “impressive” status petered out, back to every-variant-of-rough dirt tracks similar to the eastern Timor Leste trip last week. Then came another river crossing; not as far as last week’s but much deeper. Another failed attempt to film it by drone, but I think I GoPro-ed it. With a bit of hoo-ha I made it to the other side, packed up the drone, and was of course approached by locals for a chat.
“Where are you going?” was the first question. “Oesilo,” the answer; “and then on to Kupang in Indonesia”. “Oesilo bad” was the strange rejoinder. There was some English, but so marginal that we really couldn’t get very far at all. This time I rang my previous house-host Tracey to see if she could help translate.
It turns out that there are two towns in Oecussi called Oesilo, both near an Indonesian border. But only one of which is a border post. You guessed it… the other one. There was nothing more to it but to turn around and back track all the way to the start of the ride, to head south instead of east. That started with redoing the river crossing I’d just done! D’oh. Both crossings I had visions of what it would look like to lose my bike and all my gear washed down that river. But I’m delighted to report that the river was conquered twice with no incident.
At least this got me back to the original petrol station – now much nearer empty – at around 9:30, and I was refuelled and rolling without a hitch.
On, then, to the real Oesilo border post on the southern border. Similar rough territory to the eastern Oesilo, but with a mountain climb involved to boot. Familiar incredible scenery, too. Somehow I was seldom able to find a good photo angle that wasn’t blocked by ugly powerlines or other obstructions, but I loved soaking in the views perhaps even a little more without constantly stopping to grab the camera.
90 minutes after refuelling I arrived at the Oesilo border post. It was closed. Very closed. In fact I’ve since learned that it has been closed for a month or so and will be another three months until a refurbished and modernised border is ready for visas.
Sigh.
Down the mountain again. Thankfully the Telemore data SIM I purchased on my loop around was still performing pretty well even in remote places, and I was able to triangulate a new plan with the help of my previous host Tracey. Back down to Oecussi’s port for the third time, and head 15 mins east to the “standard” Indonesia border crossing.
That’s all fine, except of course I was very uncertain about how my unvaccinated status would go down in a well disciplined and polished border post. This being the whole reason for the ferry to Oecussi in the first place.
At this point I need to pause the story, and zoom out to an interaction from yesterday. If you’ve followed along you’ll know that three hairy bikers met at Tracey’s for lunch for what was accidentally my last meal in Dili. It happened that Anthropologist Mike dropped in after we’d eaten, and got talking about my Oecussi plans, building on his original brainchild.
He knew a hotelier, Vero, in Oecussi and suggested I stay there tonight to refresh. Initially I’d said yes, but later declined with a message that unfortunately didn’t make it back to Vero. Poor Vero had then turned up at the docks at 6am to find me. When that failed, she then hunted the town for me. It’s not a big place. And she correctly guessed that both my bike and me would rather stand out and be pretty easy to identify. Of course I knew none of this, instead blithely failing in my conquest of the two Oesilos.
So it was curious moment when I was zeroing in on the “standard” border crossing a little before midday, pulled up to take a photo, had an SUV sidle up to me, and a windows-down question shot across my bow “Are you Daniel?”
I realised in an instant that poor Vero hadn’t got my message. She – and her two children – were then rushing all over town for 5+ hours trying to find the missing tourist. Oh that doesn’t sit easily. Regardless, a short explanation and long apology later, we parted ways presuming never to see each other again. Hold that thought.
Back to the border post approach. I dropped the bike again (d’oh!) just as I went to turn back onto the road. I’ve realised that the (much) heavier pannier is on the left, and that works against me as the bike stand is on the left. Anyway, a kid happened past and helped me right the bike (but not my pride), and I ended up a few minutes later at the entrance to the border crossing.
The security guard waved me down and said one very depressing word.
“Closed”.
WHAT?!
I think that “closed” was in fact the only English word he knew.
Thankfully another guard wandered over and I eventually figured that it was closed “for lunch break” from midday to 2pm. I got there at 12:03pm. Oh well. I guess I was having a lunch break today as well.
So I turned around and rode a good 10-15 minutes back towards the port, hunting for the first available lunch stop. I pulled in to a likely-looking contender, and whaddayaknow but it was Vero standing there with a broad smile, a look of confusion and a warm and hospitable welcome. She made me a solid lunch (which one way and another has also today served for my breakfast and dinner), and she and her partner Mark and I had a brief but fun chat about life the universe and everything. That included my vaccination border crossing uncertainties, and so we parted with a “hope we don’t see you again but come drown your sorrows if you don’t get to the other side!” Conversation had also touched on Mark’s and Vero’s most recent trip back to Dili from Darwin, at which they’d not only been asked if they were Covid vaxxed but also asked to show proof when they said “yes”. All adding weight to my hunch that my Dili arrival was an anomaly, and adding to the uncertainty about my impending Indonesia border crossing.
But there was no point putting it off and in fact I wanted as much time as possible for any waiting and discussion. So it was back to the border straight after lunch, leaving it to about 2:30pm to make sure everyone was comfortably back at their post.
My first instruction was to deal with the Carnet – like a person’s passport but for the bike to avoid import duty. That was all fine even if it took a while for those on duty to phone a friend to work out how to handle it.
From there it was across to process the visa with stop number one a health screening, mostly relating to Covid vaccination. Somehow before we got to down to business there was some warm and friendly banter between us, although that gave way to something of a crestfallen confusion when I gave an “I haven’t” in response to the question “When were your first two Covid vaccinations?” But we were already friends by then. I’d better stay mum on further details except that I told no lies, broke no rules, and crossed no palms with silver. But. I got my Indonesian entry visa. Woohoo!
I believe this now means vaccine issues will no longer be a headline on this crazy road trip. There are a couple of other places where that’s theoretically a sticking point, but those are also places were politics will significantly overshadow health questions, so I think I’ve passed this particular hurdle. And confirmed in the process that the hurdle was very real and not at all imagined.
Next stop; get an Indonesian SIM card for data by which to navigate and with which to write this diary. Strangely my Telemore Timor SIM stopped working as I came back to Oecussi’s ports for the third time. I won’t bother trying to work out why, as it won’t work onwards into Indonesia anyway. But I then spent several hours trying to track down and get working an Indonesian SIM. One of my key concerns with that outcome was that there were a few people waiting with baited breath to know whether I made it to Indonesia.
The (very busy) lady at the shop – who finally sold me a SIM and spent ages without success trying to get it to work – finally had me sent across the road to her sister Erlyn. Erlyn both a. speaks English well and b. has an iPhone. Even that didn’t get us the desired outcome. By neatly 5pm, just as the weekday ticked over into weekend, Erlyn and I worked out that in fact Indonesia has a (relatively) new requirement that the IMEI from any foreigner’s phone or device must be registered with Immigration before using an Indonesian SIM. What?! Having just been through Immigration I have wondered why I wasn’t asked if I’d like IMEIs registered. But of course it is only possible at some border posts – and not the one through which I’ve just come.
It turns out the Erlyn’s family also run a small hotel or home stay. With no data and “Plan A, Plan B, and C and D” all evaporating, I have taken the soft option and turned in at this hotel for the night. I’ll regroup and possibly head to Kupang tomorrow morning, or maybe stay another day and share a (Protestant) church service with this family, who’s forebears founded the church that borders the hotel. Sometimes you can just tell when you meet someone that they have the grace of God about them, and that was enough here for me to leave a couple of breadcrumbs leading to an easy discovery of that shared faith family.
I’ve just sat down to finish these notes under the hotel’s beachside foyer, and it to started absolutely teaming with rain. I’m so glad that tonight’s is “cheats” accomodation! I’ll have to deal with a fair bit of this sort of weather through Asian wet season, but today I’m grateful to call tenting in that weather a problem “for another day”.
Today I have been on 5-6 hours of tough ride, wrestled for 4 hours with immigration (including the 2-hour lunch break re-plan), fought for at least 2 hours with SIM cards, and have parked for the night just about 30 minutes drive from where I started at 5am. Hmmm. But it has been a border-crossing success, and all else in today’s events pales into insignificance. And regardless, it has been a pleasant, even fun day’s ride through remote Oecussi, meaning at least I can now say I’ve seen a bit of the place before ducking off into Indonesia.
Then comes the Indonesian island hopping! I think this is where it’ll start to get more interesting.
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Join me as this bike and I attempt to ride from Melbourne Australia all the way through to London UK in search of hope.