Dili – Finally. A small town sandwiched between mountains and the sea. Small and dignified. Not exactly charming, but with character. The beachfront looks like any colonial town. There is no beach really till you leave the town. And then it is white sand, a little coarse. The mountains (hills, really!) curve and touch the sea beyond the beaches and there is a statue of Jesus Christ a la Rio. Facing the sea and beckoning to the world. There are two shops close to shore – now converted into hotels. I am yet to explore their history. The Government offices are the centre of town, facing the sea. Right now they are a gleaming white with huge colonnades and tiled roofs – typically Timorese shaped. Something like the roof of a Chinese temple but less curved and higher. Made from thatch or tile. Some old buildings continue to function, but most are getting a new look. The militia damaged 70% of the buildings in 1999 as they left. Didn’t raze them, but removed the roofs and the windows, the plumbing and the wiring and rendering them useless. Slowly they are being built back. What were two-storied buildings have the ground floor operational – and that looks a bit bizarre. The ground floor fully lived in, well furnished while the broken remains are on top.
The people are forever grim – breaking out into a smile to say bon dia or bon tarde depending on the time of day. They are very shy but stare openly at you. The greeting is followed by “India?” and more smiles and snatches of songs from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. Those who don’t sing say kuch kuch and burst out laughing. Hindi films are a big hit here – they are subtitled in Bahasa Indonesia and followed avidly. One young lady asked me who the stars of ‘Yeh Mohabbat Hai’ are. I misheard it as Mohabattein and she was quick to correct me – no, that had Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai – this one they are new actors!!! But if their opinion of me is based on these hindi movies, then they must really think that I am one dumb chick.
What do the people look like? Honestly, this tiny strip of land seems to be the melting pot of the world. They look like Americans & Africans & Europeans & South Asians & East Asians & West Asians &, whom have I left out? Each person looks very distinct from the next and they must be an anthropologist’s delight.
As you leave Dili and on to the road to Lospalos, you have to cross the surrounding hills. A very steep climb and then a rapid descent – the view is of two small churches, a narrow strip of valley and the blue blue sky. Through that journey I am struck by the shades of blue. When I first travelled in Kerala, I understood the meaning of the colour green. Here in Timor, in addition to green, I have understood the colour blue. The sea has so many shades of it. And almost all the way upto Lospalos, you drive by the sea. And I have understood another colour, turquoise. If you are like mon pere, I suggest that you come here and find out what this new colour is. It is usually found near the shore and is a brilliant colour. Further out the sea is of a darker tone, like an unending sapphire. Especially when there is no breeze, the surface is like glass and you are quite convinced that you can walk across. Adding to the romance, is the outline of an island in the distance, a three-hour boat ride away. Part of Timor, its name is Atauro.
The journey continues through a number of landscapes. Sometimes serpentine hills, where you are not sure what is around the corner, with a drop to the sea on one side. Sometimes serene paddy fields with buffaloes wallowing in the mud, with the sea bordering this picture. Sometimes houses on either side of the road with their stalls of excess to sell, with the sea just beyond. But always there is something to look out of the window for. You go through the towns of Metinaro and Manatuto before reaching Baucau. This is the most beautiful place en route. Perched high on a hill with all the landscapes at one place. Paddy fields, terraced fields, the sea, the works.
Beyond this you are in Rural Timor. Laivai, Laga and then Lautem – where you finally turn in from the coast. Just before Lautem, there is a river with at least two crocodiles in it – I have seen both of them. They look like a log at first (you have heard that before) and then they start to move, it is like magic. And a wee bit scary. I have always thought of crocs as riverine reptiles, but apparently here they are found in the sea as well. And they are sacred animals here. Timor is supposed to be a crocodile that became an island of plenty in return for the kindness of a young boy. Yes, this land is also full of myths and tales.
And you pass through many more hills and curving roads. Quite good roads really. There are many familiar trees – coconut, mango, tapioca, palm, bamboo, jack fruit, bread fruit, oil palm, teak, papaya, tamarind – sounds familiar? A lot like Kerala? (I will reserve all other comments for now.) Varieties of acacia, prosopis juliflora has started showing up, calatropis, gooseberry, bougainvillea – many shades of it, frangipani, hibiscus. Those are all the names that I know. But there are many more that I have seen in my wanderings in India that are here as well.
And all along the people stare at you and then break out into a wide smile if you wave to them.
At last you reach Lospalos. But of that, next month. Okay?
2/August/2002
Los Palos
I must start by saying that I am the only Indian in Lospalos. This is not even possible on the moon. So there.
The name Lospalos, is a Portuguese corruption of the Fataluku “La Pala” meaning “flat farms”. As you enter Lospalos after the curving roads from the coast, the flatness is what strikes you. Optimistically there is a sign that an airfield is going to be built as you enter La Pala. You drive in through its majestic meadows. There are cows and horses and you could be on farmland anywhere – the Downs of Sussex maybe! All the animals are frightened by the sound of a vehicle. While the horses try to run away, the cows stand and watch you with fear in their huge eyes. You really wish you could turn down the volume on the engine. And then you enter the town. On either side are the ruins of the Indonesian offices. A sombre welcome that belies the true spirit of the town. And the school, still being rebuilt. The market that comes alive on Saturdays. Finally the centre of the town. A traditional house has been built in what was to have been a cultural centre. It now remains for the malays – foreigners – to exclaim about. Further down to the right, the hospital, which has the only doctor in the district. A little beyond and to the left is the main church, a traditional structure again. On Sundays the open space is packed with believers.
The roads are not in good condition, but the streets are wide. Now we take a left turn to downtown Lospalos. At the roundabout is a smaller model of the traditional house. This street even has a cemented medium. On the left, all the houses have a verandah facing the street making for a continuous corridor to walk through. This corridor is usually occupied by betel leaf chewing women selling vegetables. They smile red smiles at you. There are no weighing scales. The veggies are piled in little heaps and all cost the same – tomatoes, onions, potatoes, ginger, turmeric, chillies. You can’t take less than a heap – not even if you offer to pay for the whole heap. Further down the corridor are the three shops that sell EVERYTHING. You wont get the variety in brands of a supermarket, but all the stuff is there – paint, whether for your nails or for the walls, bread, flour, an oven, soap, utensils, notebooks, toys, EVERYTHING – from the oft quoted “diamond to the pin”. The last stop on this street is a hotel with a restaurant. They sell the most delicious cakes in this part of the world. Here the street breaks off into five smaller ones. And there is a statue of a boy with a torch standing in the centre of the roundabout. Take a right there and you reach the police station – an impressive structure set far back, with both the East Timor and the UN flags flying in front. Right opposite is the house that I live in. Couldn’t get safer than that.
The town is well spread out and is much larger than one thinks initially. Houses are not large and magnificent, neither are they small and crumbly – no slums or cramped quarters here. And they are surrounded by trees both flowering and fruit bearing. The concept of a fence or a wall does not exist. So people walk through your land to the house behind. Open and friendly. Every house seems to have a couple of dogs attached to it. They wont allow you to pet them, but they will eat any scraps that you feed them. (Yes, even my cooking.) What they don’t like and will not eat is papaya. My neighbour’s dogs keep watch on me and if I come home after ten at night, set up a cacophony that is picked up be all the dogs of Lospalos. Or so it sounds.
Lospalos is the capital of Lautem district and occupies the snout of the crocodile shaped island. There is even a big lake approximately where the eye should be. The population of the district is around 60,000 people and that of the capital around 5000 people. Baytu, tehsil headquarters in the desert district of Barmer probably has more people. And all 5000 of them seem to have seen Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. At least the songs are part of any festivities in town.
There are many routes to my office. All a five-minute walk – through the police station and the district office, the route on the left that goes past the old bungalows, through downtown or through a small lane in between. I usually take the last. It is the most scenic five-minute route ever. As you enter the lane, on the left there is a Hindu temple! With high walls and the statues of two little demons at the entrance. I haven’t yet had the courage to go in – it looks like it says, “keep off”. It is full of bougainvillea of a most brilliant pink peach colour. Opposite that is a childcare centre and all the children shout to greet you as you walk past. Further ahead a horse is grazing in the backyard of one of the large bungalows. More bougainvillea, hens, a magnificent rooster, dogs, some more children and you reach a main street again. Take the left and there is the office – on the right is a small, small park with the sculpture of a crocodile sunning on a rock with its snout open and facing upwards.
Another working day starts at 8 in the morning. What is that work you may ask? Well, it involves travelling in paradise, meeting people, mostly women, a lot of sign language, much more laughter and home by five in the evening. Five days a week. Days six and seven are given over to sleep and the seaside.
More next month. Tata. Ok, they are the other Indians in this place. Tata Sumos. But they are not human, are they? And I am supposedly!
15/Sep/2002
