Shifted

I’ve shifted accomodation.

I was glad of the Backpacker’s for a cheap first landing place while getting oriented in Timor Leste.  But I’ve moved to a place I can feel more at home for a month. I’d describe this as a garden with a cottage in it, rather than a home with a garden.  I’m staying upstairs where the main living area has no walls; the garden’s tall, green, leafy trees blend into the lounge room with the only separation a thin iron frame once adorned by fly wire.  The kitchen and dining room sit back just a touch from the greenery, but nonetheless are awash with the same fresh, almost rainforest feel.

The place was built by my new hostess, Tracey, who came from the UK 21 years ago for “a few weeks”.  She’s confirmed over lunch just now that she has no plans to leave.  In the decades since arriving, Tracey has become something of a hub for the westerner ex-pat spokes.  A fountain of local knowledge, and a charming conversationalist with a gentle hint of British, Tracey is the epitome of a welcoming hostess.  Hundreds have lived in her home, benefited from her connections, joined her conversations, and lent on her shoulder to find their balance in a new country.  Thank you Tracey!

Last night, before I’d even moved in, we were playing board games with a neighbour.  Saturday we’re all heading on a morning “bush walk”.  There’s even a choir that I’ll allow myself to get roped into.  I’ve landed in a place that treasures community and fun.  If first hints are a guide, I’ll be sorry to move on when that ship unloads my Beemer.

If you’re coming to Dili and want to get oriented, Tracey should most definitely be your first port of call.

This accomodation shift came about while out walking yesterday, with an email commendation from another well-traveled backpacker – thanks Gerdette.  I had arranged to meet with Tracey not 20 minutes later, and the shift unfolded this morning with a quick bite of breakkie, a slow re-pack of my travel equipment, and a final 2-hours of Babbleadeshi.

Also out walking…

I’ve also shifted thinking.

My plan from last June was to attempt to ride from Melbourne to London in something like six months.  Hold that thought.  Although it took only 4 days to get 4,500km from Melbourne to Darwin, it will have taken at least 3 and a half months to earn the next map pin – a mere 400 nautical miles northwest – by the time my bike arrives!  Hmm.  I’m also getting more and more feedback that the ongoing timing of ferries, visas, etc will continue to require significantly longer non-riding (waiting) time than I’d budgeted. I’ve seriously looked at giving it all the flick; just not achievable on budget.  Anyone who knows me at all well will know that while I might court the thought, I wouldn’t have it in me to pull that chute cord.

But if I’m not going to make it in six months, and I can’t quit, then what gives?  I think I’m settling, quite begrudgingly, into just letting the road set the agenda and schedule.  I can’t promise not to grumble, as it is like fingernails on a blackboard for me to sit passively, not pushing for progress.  But progress is beyond my control.  So I’m going to have to learn to unwind further, to go with the flow (eek – that’s trite), and see what unfolds.  I’ll ride when I can.  Wait when I must.  Engage with local people and place while necessity invites.  And get as far as I get.  Before constraints or opportunity call me home.  Wherever home even is.

Meanwhile, I’m going to take the two minute walk in the rain from my new accomodation to the beach.  Where better to ponder in the waiting?