Hello, one dollah!

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Finally, a decent chance to sleep in peace. I spend most of the morning in bed, much to the dismay of the cleaning lady wandering about in the corridor outside. I'm up and about around noon and after picking up my laundry I decide to take a closer look on Dili. Of course as soon as I step into the sweltering mid day heat I am reminded that my lazyness will force me to endure the hottest segment of the day.

I walk the two blocks north to reach the seaside and the Farol lighthouse and enjoy the view. Atauro Island beckons in the distance, and a small container vessel is holding outside the Dili port. It may be a hot day, but the salty sea breeze is refreshing, and it is a day suited for photography indeed. Trouble is I am down to ten pics on my last roll which only last a few minutes before I need to go downtown Colmera to stock up on more. Imports are rather expensive here in Dili, film being one of them, but it is still nothing compared to the prices we have back in Europe. After grabbing a handful of film I quickly flip through my city maps and decide to do the western part of town, starting with the nearby Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. Apparently the late Pope was present at the inauguration. It may be the largest house of God in this part of the world, but what it gains in reputation it definitely lacks in charm. And the fact that the neighbouring block consists of ruins from the 1999 unrest doesn't exactly add to the atmosphere.

Continuing west on Rua Colmera I start making random junction crossings and turns heading northwest. It isn't exactly easy trying to get lost here. I soon happen upon the empty heliport, a small control tower, empty hangars and a big grassy field. Walking north along a dry canal I'm starting to beg for some shadow. Back at the busy west-to-east Avenida des Martires de Patria I take a left turn to check out the political rally grounds and Australian fortre... embassy. There seems to be another rally taking place today again, but as I start to draw some attention I decide to move on west. There are some small eateries and repair shops in the area, the occasional store and loads of mikrolets dropping and picking up passengers. Once I reach the imposing Australian embassy and its courtyard littered with dozens of U.N. 4WDs I take a quick breather in the shadow and go back east. This is the one of the few places in town where it can be a problem trying to cross the street due to the traffic.

Returning to Motael and the area near my hotel I walk north towards the seaside again. This area is full of taxis, and they continue to reflexively sound their horns and flash their headlights as they pass by, hoping to get lucky. Knowing that virtually anyplace in the city will fetch a dollar or two I can't help but wonder how much is lost on this restless driving round and round. Suddenly I am approached by a middle aged man who grabs a gentle hold of my arm and starts ranting in pseudo-English leaving me completely puzzled, except that I can guess what it is all about. Apparently he claims that he is trying to go back to his family in Ermera town and guess what, he has no money to catch the bus, in fact he hasn't even got money to eat, he explains. The eight dollars he asks for seems rather steep, knowing that most buses should cost a few dollars tops. However, there is something desperate about his looks, and the fact that he is on the verge of crying makes it tricky to dismiss him that easily. At first I think it would be an excellent opportunity to tag along to Ermera, but I'm not really in the mood to be stranded for the night there. In the end I decide that in the unlikely event that his story is actually true I refuse to have his starvation on my consciousness, and give him a puny dollar so at least he will not be starving on my account. Seems there is never a good ending to this kind of events. Either you feel like a cruel bastard or a ripped off dumbass. Take your pick and move on...

Back at the seafront I walk westward along Avenida de Portugal, or "Embassy row" which would be a more fitting name. The nations that have chosen to uphold embassies in Dili have also taken the best spots in the city in an outrageous landgrab. Some of the compounds are ridiculously oversized, big enough to deploy an impressive airlift fleet should they so choose. Squeezed in beside the embassies you can find the occasional hotel or restaurant, and even a handful of tourists milling about, mainly Americans from what I can tell. On the flight from Bali I thought I was going to bump into a lot more foreigners in town but they seem to have spread out thinly. Thankfully the embassies are on the inland side of the road, the stretch of beach on the seaside devoid of any structures. There are some small boats lying about, but that is pretty much it. The wind is sending waves crashing into the many small piers and children carrying freshwater bottles with them are jumping into the surf.

I keep an eye at the container vessel at all times, ready to hurry downtown to get her picture if she comes closer, but for now she's still holding out at sea. As I sit on a pier waiting for a nice splash from the waves two men have walked up behind me. When I'm done and pass them by I greet them casually. Hello, one man says, boatardi, I return. Friend! Yes, friend! We shake hands like ghetto homeboys, which seems quite popular here. One dollah? he says. Great... after extensive practice in Maliana I thought I had finally got all the various greetings down. Bondia in the morning, boatardi after lunch, and boanoiti once the sun is down, and here is a new one not even included in the phrase books. Good riddens! Fortunately I know the proper reply. I act stupid and leave them to their money fishing with a Lae comprende. One dollah! would continue to surprise me a few times, but only in Dili, and not really enough to be that much of a hassle. However, none of the kids I met were ever begging for money, they were just curious and eager to try speaking some English.

Avenida de Portugal ends where a long jetty extends into the ocean. Unfortunately its views are off limits, sealed off behind a fence inside the compound belonging to the U.S. Embassy. Walking back towards Motael I can feel my vision is getting a bit blurry. A closer inspection of my glasses show they're prickly of salt. This of course has happened to my camera as well. As I stop to correct this I am also slowly getting aware of an itch in my neck. That's when I realize that I have forgotten to put on my sunblock. Great... And while I was busy the container vessel has started its docking maneouvres and I am falling behind unable to catch up with her. Go figure. Walking back to the hotel to hide from the sun I get a message from Manuella, wondering if I would like to visit her office after work. Sounds cool. Back in my room I inspect the damage and yes, I am red like a lobster. I managed to survive 20 days but now I've done it.

As the time nears five pm I head out again. Manuella works at the UNHCR office over at Estrada de Balide, which is in the southern end of town. Shouldn't take more than some 20 minutes to reach on foot so I decide to walk there. The city is full of evening commuters and although the sun is low now it burns at the back of my neck. Reaching the office on time (I love the distances here) Manuella lets me inside past the guards to have a brief look around and say hello to some of her colleagues. She's in the middle of her preparations for a "voluntary" assignment in Afghanistan, and is taking care of the last issues before leaving the office. We will be flying out of Dili on the same day, but while I return to Denpasar she will connect through Darwin in Australia.

We hop in a taxi to drop off her gear at her house which is just a few blocks away from my hotel and then head to the beach. She is going to show me a good spot for watching the sun come down, but we are starting to run a bit late. Jumping into another taxi we drive west again past the now familiar embassies and round the sealed compounds past some oil tanks and to where the beach continues on the other side. Here is another large sandy stretch which seems good to explore, but now the sun is so low that we will not have time to reach the best viewpoint before it gets dark. As daylight disappears we return towards town and walk past a beach club were a couple seem to be involved in some kind of heated argument. Manuella tells me a bit about the work to curb domestic violence in the country, a problem that needs a lot of attention. While we continue downtown it not only gets pitch black, but I can smell something in the air. Rain. Within minutes we have a big downpour upon us and all those pesky taxis that keep bothering you have now magically disappeared. Just like in all the major cities in Asia, getting a taxi is rarely a problem, unless it happens to be raining.

Finally we stumble upon a car and go for dinner at the Thai Kitchen restaurant in Motael and I can have a hot bowl of my favourite Tom Yam soup. Even though it is only a couple of blocks from my hotel I didn't manage to find it when walking around on my first day so I try to memorize the way as we walk back and I see her off at her place before returning to the hotel.

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Photos

One of the small piers at the waterfront
Well, where else would it be...?

The Australian embassy
The closed yard stores some fifty or so 4WDs.

The great seaview of Motael
Farol lighthouse in the distance