Written on Sunday
A majestic sunrise was rich reward for dragging my stiff and sore body out of bed at a reasonable hour. Today’s plans were simple – sunrise photography, church en route, returning to Dili some stage in the afternoon. While the internal and southern roads are really rough, the northern roads have good stretches in reasonable condition (with exceptions, of course) so travel times are relatively predictable.
Keen to explore the drone’s capabilities, I had a few aerial runs at the beach-front sunrise. I’ll probably find out tomorrow if there’s any video worth sharing.
Finding a church is a “simple” task on a list, but turns out to be challenging. I’d found precisely nothing of help on the web or on Apple or Google Maps, until Rob pointed out I should search in the local language for “Igreja” (thanks Rob!). A plethora of options unfolded. But challenge remained. Picking Protestant from Catholic based just on a name is sometimes going to be relatively easy, but far from perfect. We agreed that “Igreja Cristo Liurai” was as plausible as any, and it had the advantage of being right on route a neat 30 minutes out from last night’s lodgings. Next challenge was starting time. Rob said my guess of 10am was too late so I made a stab in the dark for 9am, very pleased with myself for then arriving just on 3 or so minutes early.
Several things were immediately obvious. i. It was a very large church by Timor standards, full with what I’d estimate to be nearly 1,000 people. ii. It might have been very high-church Protestant, but felt much more likely to be Catholic. iii. It was most definitely not “about to start”. But I’d put a bit of work into making it happen, and thought I’d persist just a moment longer. I sidled in at the back past a few people milling at the doors, and found about the only seat left. My arrival wasn’t without a ripple in the congregation. It turned out I’d launched myself right into a designated children’s seating area. People were of course gracious, but it must have seemed very very odd. A strange, grey, bearded, “malae” (white man) launching with a backpack (that I couldn’t leave with the bike – too many valuables) right into the kids seating just as the one hour service was winding up!!!
The church building was in a commanding location up a hill just outside the seaside village. So after crashing the party I had just long enough to sit, before standing up again to obligatory “bondia” (“good morning”) with lots of warm and friendly strangers. Wandering out to appreciate the view, I was accosted by a throng of people – mostly young women and children. Some wanted to try a few English words, and all wanted the prize of photo on their own camera with a malae. The “throng” turned into a “river”, and I’d eat my hat if there weren’t at least 50 and possibly even 100 immortalised in their Google Images together with some random, scruffy bloke from Melbourne. I really don’t understand the attraction. But it costs nothing to comply, and it is lovely to spark a little joy – perhaps I’d even have to admit that simply being cause of that joy gave me a little of the same myself. In contrast, I have learned to decline the ongoing requests for my phone number, as that just becomes unmanageable. If I were to “practice English” with everyone who wanted my details, I’d need at least 24 additional hours squeezed into each and every day. Just for starters.
It was an hour or so from there to Baucau, where I stayed the first night. The ride back to Dili from Baucau felt very familiar. Other than a lunch stop on the roadside for a bit of fish and rice, I was by then keen to get off the road. While I’ve loved the trip, the bike and heavy backpack have been hard work, requiring a stooped posture for days on end over very rough terrain. And then there’s the headache-inducing helmet. I thought of finding a massage this afternoon in Dili to work some of those aches and pains out of the system, but found myself snoozing instead.
In other news. My bike is now in Dili. Woohooo! I believe the boat arrived Saturday. I’m still wrestling with the unloaders. Estimates of when I can collect have been varying more wildly than the price of Bitcoin, with some contenders suggesting three or even more weeks from unloading. But I’ve latched onto one, which suggests that I might be reunited with my bike and gear this Tuesday. That’ll be five weeks. For four hundred miles. Eighty miles a week. Anyway. There’s still uncertainty about paperwork, but I think – and hope – there’s an arrangement brewing to push through some of that tomorrow morning.
That will introduce a quirky, frustrating little irony. Because of the delays in bike delivery, I’ve had to apply for an extension of the standard 30-day tourist visa. I applied last week, and was told it will take two weeks (at least) to process. On paper that leaves the very real possibility that I might have my bike and all my gear, and still be unable to go because the government is busy working out if they’d let me stay. Sigh.
That’s it for now. I’ll see if I can load some photos now to compliment these notes, and have a go at some video editing perhaps tomorrow. [Editors note: due to ongoing WordPress challenges, it wasn’t until 23/3 these photos were properly added! Sigh.]