Nudibranchs, Seabees, and Honourable Mentions

Walking to Christo Rei

Last Friday I went for a walk with Ingrid Martine (Norway), Helena (France), Vikram (India), and Cesar (Timor). We walked, the long way to Christo Rei, the Jesus statue, passing through the Presidential Compound and the many UN guards, this time from Pakistan. While we set out at 5 pm the sun was still baking hot, and in no time at all I became very glad to have brought both water and my asthma medicine. I was less happy about my choice of shoes, and my heavy camera and flash-light. Both came in useful though by the end of it. The trip is very beautiful, you climb up the slope and over the ridge of the mountain, passing down onto the other side where the white beach is utterly unspoilt. I have seen this place often from the top of Christo Rei, and often thought it must be a hassle to reach it, but that the beautiful stretch of land was certainly worth it. On the other side you walk along the cliff, beach and mangroves on the other side. And as we came close to Christo Rei the sun was starting to set. I was told that the last time the group had taken this walk they had found themselves attempting the ascent in complete darkness, and eventually had to shine their way by iPhone's and Pods. Walking back on the other side of the beach we were granted a spectacular sunset.

View from the mountain crest; Christo Rei is hidden behind the mountain in the left corner

The very beautiful view that makes ten km in the heat worthwhile

The whole evening was topped of by group dinner, we were joined by Bernardo, and the evening quickly developed from just a meal to an entertaining night of drinking, and a somewhat failed attempt to reach a karaoke bar. This is probably a good thing, for I have been informed, after giggling conspicuously at the sight of the two elder men in a sofa with a mike, (the rest of the room was mostly empty) that they take these things very seriously here. Having arrived home late the night before I managed to sleep as late as 9 the next morning before the usual squabble of animals and people woke me up.

I have been feeling tired this week, and couldn't think why until I started to go over my level of activity. It is not a quiet life that one leads in Timor-Leste. Monday spontaneously provided a ceremony at the Norwegian embassy. The Norwegian Refugee Council has been here for several years now, sorting out the massive problems with IDP's especially from the 2006 crisis. The leader of the mission is an enormous man, who stands out in many ways, mostly upwards. While I had read about him in preparation for my bachelor thesis, I had never seen a picture. Alfredo was a refugee to Norway from Chile, in the time of Pinochet, and this was the party to announce – Mission accomplished. There are no longer officially any IDP's in Timor-Leste, and schools have been built all over the country to give people a fresh start. Naturally there was a large congregation of Norwegians, salmon, and nice wine. Among the people I met was a priest, stationed in Singapore, but currently in Timor-Leste. He gave me his card in case of emergency. I had a very interesting conversation with a representative from the local NGO Lao Hamutuk (Walking Together). LH is known for being quite critical of a lot of the development agencies and government actions. It was interesting to get a perspective on my own workplace from someone outside, and much more critical. In the end he promised to send me a series of links to support his arguments. I also met a Norwegian self-declared Marxist; philosopher and writer, who was here as a part of his international journey. Among his exciting tales were stories of interviewing the Guerilla warriors of the resistance. All this and more in just an evening. Timor-Leste is an interesting place, with people from such a vast spectrum – culturally, ethnically, religiously, politically, ideologically. 

Not Norwegians, but real mountain 'bikers' that raced past us to climb the mountain

Tuesday was the day that Portuguese lawyer Bernardo had decided that I had to learn to drive a car. And for this, he deserves an honourable mention this week. After having quickly determined that among things I need to learn are diving, driving, and surfing, he took matters into his own hands, and drove me off to the old horse racing tracks outside of Dili after work. After assuring me that he drove a car first time when he was nine, and that I was being very silly (regarding nerves about wrecking his car) he carefully explained what a car is and does, and how it does it. And off we rolled down the track. I am pleased to say that I overtook the other car that was practising, in a turn no less! I was even dismayed at the very slow driving. And just as I was getting the hang of driving in large laps, Bernardo changed plans, and we crossed the main road to drive along the sea. I don't have any pictures of this beautiful place, but picture if you will, that the mountain plunges into a river, which was slowly creeping onto the horse tracks. On the other side the sun was setting into another spectacular Dili sunset reflecting itself in the sea. I can hardly imagine a more exquisite location for a driving lesson. I also managed both going backwards, in sharp turns, and through sand, and didn't hit anyone, anything, or even slightly ruin the car. I did however get a cramp in my foot from stepping on the throttle. It was an exciting adventure, and I give Bernardo wonderful reviews as a driving teacher; thanks very much.

View from the Presidential compound

The evening of course did not end there, and sure enough, another day another party. This time it was at the Portuguese compound, and involved wining and dining, a sound system the envy of most Roskilde camps, and of course both poetry reading, drunken dancing and guitar playing. The sangria (that wasn't sangria but very sweet, golden, and full of limes) was served in a large aqua container, carved open. While it was certainly a bit of a culture shock I admit I had a spectacular evening and the Portuguese are very friendly. Also, I can't help but think about all those times when we play the old lame songs – you know, that stage of a party? It is kind of funny when you experience this, from an outsider point of view, and while the musical repertoire brought to mind Dario's with long curly mullets, strolling along a beach lamenting love lost forever, the reception from the party people was tremendous, and very entertaining. What can I say - “Vi maler byen rød” and other 'good' old Danish hits just can't compare. I must add here a brief “The world is small” note. Mid conversation with a Portuguese UN police officer, about travelling and seeing the world, I overheard Bernardo refer to my conversant as Ricardo. 

Me: “Sorry, are you from Lisbon?”

Ricardo: “Yes, I am”

Me: “Do you happen to know a Danish girl named Inge?”

Ricardo: !! “ Yes, she was couchsurfing with me in Lisbon!”

The world, ladies and gentlemen, is a small place – I propose a toast to time-space convergence and globalisation. Huzzah.

Wednesday I can tell its about time to take things a little bit easy. Aside from my evening escapades there is of course also work in the office; from 8.30 – 17.30, and taking place in three different languages. Monday saw one hour staff meeting in Tetun, followed by a two hour meeting in Indonesian regarding the planning of my working group – which methodology and tools we should use, how, and when we should do what. It can all be quite intense, especially because it is interesting and absorbing. Come Wednesday evening however, I was feeling the exhaustion hit home. Nonetheless, I pulled myself off the couch and biked down to my very first Capoeira lesson. While I love karate, it was time to try something new (as there is no one here who trains Kyokushin) and one might as well go in a totally new direction if one is going anywhere, and why not supplement the aggressive fistfights with dancing acrobatics? After two days now of utterly stiff limbs, I will grant the Capoeira practitioners out there that yes, its hard work. Doing slow motion cartwheels, and all of this standing up, and almost lying down in 30 degrees Celsius, is no mean feat. Still, I may well have to acknowledge that I'm a fighter no a lover, and that hitting people is what I like to do. I did however where my peace shirt, so I was trying to mend my ways. Exhausted, and soaking wet it was wonderful to come home to freshly made juice – thanks mom.

Thursday I decided I needed a break, and took the afternoon off to finally conclude my passport, visa, and visa card problems. After thwarting a taxi drivers attempt to invite himself over to my place that evening, the only remaining challenge was the staff at the visa office. They've had my passport for a while, and it was finally time to get it back with my year long multi-entry visa in it. After a great deal of foraging in trays, cupboards, boxes, and stacks of paper, a sullen official told me that they did not have my passport. This was a lie of course, and I saw straight through him, and started to quarrel in Indonesian. Having established a mutual language, I quickly rallied the support of the remaining staff, and the search for my missing passport recommenced. And there it was, on the table, in a little pile with someone else's soon to be missing passport. We all laughed heartily at the episode, and I decided it was time to go home to get that afternoon off. Before this little adventure, I had already had lunch with aforementioned Norwegian philosopher. What should have been a lunch to discuss his writing an article for Det Ny Clarté (a Danish Magazine I used to be a co-editor for, but with which I am now mildly speaking – very loosely affiliated) it became a two hour discussion regarding everything under the sun that was relevant to Timor. Development, neocolonialism attitude, governments, mismanagement, and many many other things. While I spend all day everyday talking about these things, this was a highly interesting and intense conversation leaving me both a little confused, a little disgruntled, and a little pessimistic about the business of developing nations. The evening itself was spent with cocktails (mom had visited the UN compound and acquired cheaper alcohol) and the TV series “How I met your Mother”. There was much laughing, much popcorn, and an ending that was both very sad and very lovely to the first season.

And today it is Friday, and all of these pages have only been a brief documentation of the weeks events. I went to lunch today with my boss Nigel, and discovered something. There is a great big world of Nudibranchs out there. You heard me, Nudibranchs. More commonly referred to as the sea slug. Nigel has mentioned these to me before, beautiful colourful creatures who have the wonderful scuba diving asset of not moving very fast. I did not realise they were usually only about 2-3 cm large. So while waiting for food, and pondering images of colourful sea slugs, the first Nudibranchist arrives. He has been photographing nudi'es on his last dive, and wanted help to identify which type – there are over a thousand. After much enthusiasm Nigel and Nudibranchist no. 1 conclude that they do not know which type it is, but that the pictures taken are awesome. They were – and I hesitate to include what were rather explicit sea slug details. The second nudibranchist arrived shortly after to say hello. I had met this one before, and had no idea that he too was associated with this underground movement of sea slug enthusiasts. After some deliberation Nudibranchist no. 2 has decided which sea slug Nudibranchist no. 1 had encountered, but we have also looked over a number of other seaslugs in our search. I concede – they are certainly colourful, and quirky, and delightful looking creatures. This sentiment was shared by Nudibranchist no. 3 who turned up last, and whom nearly squealed with delight at Nigel's book full of the creatures. There were many exclamations of adorable nature, and I think it is very clear that a great deal of enthusiasm and love exists for these little gastropods.

Friday evening is fast approaching, the night is very certainly still young, and the weekend only partially filled with events. Its a great life here in Timor-Leste, and though hard, overwhelming, and hot at times, I really wouldn't trade it. Ate logu, and have a nice weekend.

Pasir Putih - White Sand Beach at sunset

PS. Seabees are not like seaslugs - they are the US Navy who I also saw at lunch. I merely include them as they are also an interesting species. And just to be clear, I didn't think of their clever nickname - it says on their army uniform.