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November 11, 2003 - Atauro Island AND Bust
A new adventure began on October 16th when Oliver arrived for a much awaited visit. I had been saving a couple of 'sightseeing' highlights for his time here, the first of which was an overnight on Atauro Island, 25 km off the coast of Dili. Formerly a prison island (aren't they all), mountainous, pie-slice shaped Atauro was home to a sparse 5000 Timorese and one guest accommodation in the form of a fabled 'ecovillage'. I had set foot on Atauro's beaches on dive trips but had never been further inland across its 15km reach. I was about to discover much more of Atauro than I had anticipated.
Things started off on the right foot when I learned that the dive boat was making the trip to the island on the Saturday we wanted to go, and that we would be able to catch a free ride. This meant a safe, fast and guaranteed passage to the island, avoiding the slow, seasickness-inducing 'Ferry Uma Kalada' with its twice weekly departure time that varied with the tides. Things got even better when we were invited to dive and snorkel with gang on the boat for the day, and I saw a school of hammerhead sharks on the morning dive. Lunch and snorkeling was nice, but when we set off for the afternoon dive, things began to go pear-shaped. The steering on the boat failed. The engineers on the boat (us two) sat back as the wannabe-engineers eagerly took control of rigging up a pseudo rope and pulley method of manually controlling the two big outboards. Unfortunately, due to the limited strength of the human body, this meant we could only travel at half speed. The afternoon dive was called off and the captain was eager to head back for Dili. The island pier was too far up the coast to drop us for our overnight stay. We were out of luck. I immediately began to look for alternatives - I really wanted us to get to the island and I really didn't want to go back to Dili. I called the ecovillage to see if they could pick us up, but mobile phone reception was patchy and I couldn't get an answer. I suggested we swim ashore to the little beach 50 metres away, isolated by sheer cliffs on each of three sides. We had three options - walk from there, flag down the next boat, or camp there for the night. Oliver sensibly vetoed me on all. Surely if we tried to walk and were actually able to make it off the beach, we would fall to our deaths from the treacherous cliffs (you should see this volcanic island which has risen straight up from the sea floor), or die from dehydration and starvation as we mountain climbed over 10km with only 1.5L of water and emergency rations of one tube of Cheesums Pringles and a small package of Oreos. It was commonly agreed that the chances of another boat passing by that day were slim, and even if one did, the chances they would see us and collect us were slimmer still. And finally, it was decided that camping on the beach would be little fun with no provisions, and more importantly we were likely to be swept away when the tide came in in the middle of the night. The captain must have seen the disappointment on my face as he directed the rope and pulley crew to aim us north to the pier. Yay! We made it about half way to the pier when we decided that the coast looked navigable on foot and we were dropped off. Literally. We swam to shore, floating our tent and 2 little bags with us. Luckily I had along my waterproof bag for the important stuff - cameras, flashlights, money and Oreos. We were met by some children from the small cluster of houses on the island even before we reached the rocks of the shore. They asked for money. I suppose a fee to come ashore? We just laughed. Once ashore, we waved goodbye to our crippled boat as she headed back to Dili, and were watched by curious onlookers as we dried off and applied sunscreen before heading down the beach. 'Crazy melay', they surely thought, 'swimming ashore and walking off into the wilderness'. Unsure of whether the coast WAS in fact navigable on foot, we set off. A few paths here and there headed inland and we wondered if we should take those, but we decided to stick to the water. At least there we would not get lost, and we could swim or hail a little fishing canoe if we needed to get around otherwise unpassable cliffs. But we were encouraged by the meeting of pedestrians heading the other way. Each one we stopped and asked if the way was passable and how far it was. The common consensus was that we would be able to walk all the way to the pier, but distance estimates varied from 2km to "6km but the road is good". Whatever, we were confident we would make it before nightfall and it wasn't like we had any other plans for the day. The road wasn't exactly what we would have called 'good', but we certainly made it easily enough with a little bit of scrambling over volcanic rock sharp enough to cut flesh, and a couple of stops to take in water and Oreos. In the end it was only a two hour hike, but the circumstances and uncertainty of it all really made it quite the adventure. The ecovillage was great. The place earns its name with its high-efficiency, low energy lighting, its woodash-using communal latrine, its dip-and-pour style 'shower' and its four-bin garbage and recycling scheme. More importantly, it was a true 'ecofriendly tourism' tout in that it employed and benefited members of the local community in many ways - not only working there managing, cooking and cleaning, but community members had hand-sewed the linens and mosquito nets used in the simple rooms which themselves were made from local bamboo by local workers. As well, there were many efforts to involve the community in decisions made around the village, and efforts were made to have the villagers regularly meet the guests and talk to them about their traditions and culture. The ecovillage is also an integral part of the islands own local NGO. Good stuff! Our time spent at the ecovillage consisted of some heavy-duty relaxation. But for a game of Frisbee with about two dozen children on the beach, we did little but swim in the ocean, sleep, read, eat and lie around in our beach side hut for the 24 hours we were there. The evening view was surreal with a haze that made the horizon indistinguishable as the sky and ocean melted together. The night was cool enough with a breeze moving the air through our open windows (no glass or netting to close if we had wanted). In the morning I was left with only one question: what creature large enough to leave discernible teeth marks in my bar of soap had also been able to get inside my zippered-shut bag to eat through the plastic wrapper and snack on our last two Oreos? To complete the adventure, we somehow ended up on a fishing rig back to Dili with the 11 others who had stayed at the ecovillage that night. It was silly to get aboard knowing that this same rig had broken down both on Friday and on Saturday, but we trusted our luck, reasoning that it would be too much of a coincidence to have two different boats break down on us two days running. But fate was tempted on the four and a half hours that were our journey back to the mainland (incidentally by the exact same route that takes the (healthy) dive boat one hour). Only moments after we watched the burning orangey-pink sun drop into the ocean, the boat engine coughed and sputtered to a stop. The momentary silence would have been delicious if only it didn't mean we were stranded exactly half way between Dili and Atauro over a 3000m trough in the ocean floor where I had personally seen hammerhead sharks earlier that weekend. It was also slightly ominous knowing for a fact that there were no coastguard or UN facilities willing or able to search and rescue at night. It could have been a long night drifting to some neighbouring Indonesian island, or worse, out into the Pacific heading for Hawaii. But, after about half an hour, by the light of candles in the greasy, damp underbelly of the rig, our Timorese crew were able to breathe life back into the engine and we inched ever so slowly but surely back to Dili's port. Safe and sound, but as Oliver now likes to describe his and my days together, 'always an adventure!' > See photos from East Timor. > See photos from Bali. > See other East Timor journal entries. Back to top |
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