The World's Newest Nation

by Neil Harris

There aren’t too many countries in the World where a man can display his cock in public, and not fall foul (should that be fowl?) of the law. East Timor (the world’s newest nation) is one. Cock fighting is the national sport, closely followed, judging by the number of children about, by sex. Children, especially under 10s, lined the roads to wave and cheer as our two 4x4s drove through both country and town. This enthusiasm, tinged with an appealing shyness, is not confined to the youngest, even teenagers and old folk join in. Historical highlights are few and far between. There are a few remnants of Portuguese colonial rule, and various sites of massacres and atrocities, both from the Indonesian occupation and the post pullout breakdown of law and order.

Virgin, Mt Ramelau

The scenery, for such a small country, is very varied. The central highlands, when cloud cover permits, are spectacular. The highest peak is Mount Ramelau (around 3000m), best climbed in the dark to arrive at the summit for dawn. A statue of the Virgin Mary awaits, and a very cold wind; however, the view more than compensates. The day before this ascent was spent in Hatubuilico, a widely spaced village, it sits at around 2000m. We were lucky enough to be there for market day, an open air affair where women sit selling produce and cheap imported goods, while the men busied themselves with the more important tasks of cock-fighting and gambling. As one would expect there was a village idiot on hand, an elderly man who insisted on being photographed; the reward was a bear hug of gratitude. Suai, in the southwest, is a bit forlorn, with an unfinished concrete cathedral and a small, but rather interesting market. (the village idiot here was an old woman who insisted on showing me a shoe catalogue, her betel nut stained grin would have graced a Hammer film from the sixties). Nearby there is evidence of potential wealth for Timor Leste (the preferred name) in the form of a leaking oil well. There is an on going dispute between the Australian and the East Timorese governments about the position of the international boundary between the two countries. At present most of the offshore oil lies in Australian territorial waters, but many say this boundary, agreed when Indonesia occupied, should be further south, giving much of the benefit of oil wealth to this very poor country.

Atauro Island is visible from Dili. Although only 24km away there is a 4km deep trench in-between, the joint between tectonic plates. The journey across to the island had to be undertaken in a pair of outrigger canoes as our hoped-for fishing boat was out of commission. The brisk trade winds ensured a choppy ride (think three hours of being doused with lukewarm water). Atauro Island avoided the worst of the civil strife that followed Indonesia’s withdrawal. The inhabitants, about 8000, have an aura of tranquillity and contentment about them. We stayed next to the beach in an Eco Lodge, this situated close to the main town of Vila. Nearby palms swayed in the constant wind, a pleasant noise to accompany sleep in huts constructed almost entirely from the by-products of the ubiquitous coconut.

East of Dili lies Baucau, a citadel inland from the coast. Here there is a distinct Portuguese feel. Our accommodation was in a nunnery! Not the most comfortable, or quietest, bed I’ve ever slept in, but memorable for being lulled to sleep by the haunting sound of Amazing Grace in Portuguese sung by novice nuns.

Climbing to the summit of Mount Alena, a short drive inland from Baucau, is not very arduous, but as I was at the rear of our small group a little worrying. I was being followed by two boys carrying machetes. These very sharp implements were being swung into passing vegetation uncomfortably close to my head as we ascended. I hoped their interest was pure curiosity, rather than malice aforethought. It was. On the second evening in Baucau we were treated to a concert by the 30 girls (aged 15 to 19) of the school run by the nuns. This was perhaps the highlight of the trip; their singing, dancing and drumming had an innocent charm that is all but absent in the western world. Los Palos lies in the flatter eastern end of the island, here cattle roam amongst poor villages. We visited a tais co-op; tais are the local woven cloth; and a soap co-op; made from coconut oil. At these our small group was the centre of attention, especially with the younger kids. Wary of strangers, the power of the digital camera and its ability to break down barriers came to the fore. It dawned on me after a while that the complete lack of interest shown by some of the old folk when showed their image had more to do with poor eyesight than indifference.

East Timor (Timor Leste) is a small and very friendly country. This naive friendliness is bound to change, as tourism increases due to its proximity to Australia and thanks to excellent diving, some golden beaches and beautiful mountainous scenery.

First published in VISA issue 65 (Feb 2006)