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October 31, 2003 - Jaco Island or Bust
Anticipating not being able to anticipate anything, as I had not anticipated having to do on our last fun weekend outing, I was far more laid back in planning for a weekend on Jaco Island. So laid back in fact, that the night before, I said to Hana "As long as we the car booked, that's all we need!" She told me I was becoming very Timorese.
We had about a dozen people planning to join us on the trip, but by Saturday morning at 8am, most had, not completely unexpectedly, come up with reasons not to come and 6 of us set off. After picking up a case of 12 620mL bottles of Indonesian Bintang beer, a carton of 48 Tango chocolate wafers, half a dozen Cokes and two 1.5L bottles of water, we headed east out of Dili. Hana, Jill (visiting from Ottawa to help out at CARE for a couple of months) and I were the melay faction and Timor was represented by the fun loving threesome of Angelina, Aris and Jose, all squeezed into the Pajero. Jose brought his cassette with the chicken, horse, car and train noises throughout the upbeat songs - fond memories of our last trip… I decided that the cassette, entitled "Car Stereo", was meant to be played when you are at home and want to pretend that you are driving through the countryside with the windows rolled down. But we were driving through the countryside for real. And we drove and drove and drove. We drove over the winding mountain roads on the north coast, overlooking great ocean views. We drove through the town of Manatuto. We drove right up to the roadside shack for grilled fish and yummy katupas (small bundles of savoury rice cooked in palm leaves). We drove through Baucau town and then south - into new territory for me. Just out of Baucau, we drove along a ridge top road and oohed and aahed at the views towards the ocean, with a foreground of what seemed like a carpet of palm trees tinged yellow by the dry season. We drove past dry, dry rice paddies where there grazed plump water buffalo, caked in mud head to hoof from their morning baths. We drove through the ocean side resort of Com - made as such by one small hut claiming to be tourist accommodation. We drove past a tree from which 4 monkeys appeared - my first glimpse of rare Timorese wlldlife! We drove up into the mountains and over what I would nearly call plains. Tobacco grew by the roadside and children waved. One little boy of about 12 years even blew us kisses. Then, magnificently, we crested a small hill, passing through a ceremonial bamboo archway over the road decorated with palm leaves curled and tied into bows, and beheld a magnificent sight of a traditional Timorese house perched on the edge of mountains that dropped into the ocean below. Typical only to this eastern tip of the island of Timor, the traditional house sits high up on stilts and are constructed of ornately carved wood. Perfect, and perfectly large, seashells hang from the steep thatched roof top and from the eaves. Some of these houses are constructed as high as 12 feet off the ground, and some without ladders! I have no idea how the inhabitants come and go… This was the town of Tutuala, almost the end of the road in Timor. We drove up to a spectacular look out point high on the cliff side, situated next to a Portuguese pousada that looked recently and neatly upkept, but oddly abandoned and reminiscent of a ghost-town. The views were amazing though, and we had them all to ourselves. From Tutuala, we turned down a steep, rocky track and followed it for several kilometers through the forest, leaving any semblance of civilization far behind us. After a long and bouncy ride that we all quietly enjoyed, we finally began to catch glimpses through the trees of a picture perfect island just off the coast. That was Jaco Island, our ultimate destination. We arrived at the beach to sadly find an infestation of Speedo-clad, music blaring, generator running Portuguese soldiers. Oh well. We picked a spot down the beach as far away from them as possible, and set up our two tents (staying overnight on Jaco itself isn't allowed for spiritual reasons). After a swim and a Frisbee throwing session, it began to get dark. I pulled out my flashlight. When the Bintangs came out, I pulled out my pocket knife with bottle opener attached to save Aris's poor teeth (a replacement tooth in Timor costs about $25). I suddenly came under fun attack for being so well prepared. Said I in my defense, "'Who goes camping without a flashlight and pocket knife?" Apparently anyone who isn't Canadian. The search for food then began. I guess we had assumed that food would be available here on the beach, but there was only little local tropical fish that looked like they had been sitting on the grill for most of the afternoon. We hadn't realized that our beach destination was so far from the town over such a tortuous road, so we hadn't seriously thought to bring provisions. We had, in fact, tried in several towns on the way from Com to buy a chicken, but no one had one to sell to us. We had also thought to buy up the remaining katupas from the stall before Baucau, but 15 katupas wouldn't make dinner for 6. In the end though, it did - along with a couple of small fish, some Tango wafers (they were MY idea) and the Bintang. But dinner, as small and meager as it was, did have a crowning glory. Imported from Canada in Jill's suitcase the week before, we had a full 1lb bag of (semi-squished) marshmallows. Now marshmallows are something very strange in this part of the world and us melay took great delight in introducing them to our local friends. We took pride in giving a thorough lesson on how to roast the common marshmallow to perfection. Our friends loved the result and embraced the process - Aris preferring the charred effect, Angelina the multiple layer removal method and Jose the perfect toasty brown treat. These marshmallows were a Godsend and kept us from having to accept the invitation of the Portuguese soldiers to join them at their party (which we had considered if only to get our hands on some food). By the way, they were still in nothing but their Speedos at daybreak the next morning. And barely daybreak it was when we awoke to the noisy and excited discussions of the Timorese fishermen preparing to head out to work for the morning in their brightly painted dugout canoes steadied by strips of wood extended on either side. If you know me at all, you know I am not a morning person, so imagine my distress at this unexpected and unnecessary 6am wakeup call. But I could hardly complain - it is not very often that you can roll over, open your eyes and watch the sun rise over a pristine tropical isle. We spent a mere 2 hours on Jaco Island, but they were heavenly. The beach was white and riddled with industrious hermit crabs and the holes they dug to burrow in. The water was brilliant colours of turquoise as you looked out over the ocean, but crystal clear while you were in it. And we spent most of our two hours in it, tossing the bright pink Frisbee back and forth. The only others on the island were a handful of fisherman who sat in the shade under a roof of palm leaves. We were sad to leave, but getting pretty hungry. Angelina had thought to bring some white bread and Kraft cheese slices for breakfast, and while it was the best cheese slice on bread I have ever had in my life, it wasn't much to fuel us through the morning. We could only eat so many chocolate wafers without going batty, so we headed to Los Palos for lunch before heading home on the long road to Dili. 14 hours of driving is a lot for 2 hours on Jaco Island, but worth it I would say. > See photos from East Timor. > See photos from Bali. > See other East Timor journal entries. Back to top |
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