Tangerine Dreams: A Dog's Dinner and the Final Hurdle

So we had arrived in Kupang. Indonesia was almost at an end. After finding somewhere to stay we hit the night market for some fresh grilled fish. Despite admiring the beauty of the fish whilst diving, Roel and I shared a Coral Cod which we picked ourselves. It was so good that we decided to stay another day, just so that we could go to the market the next night to try some more fish - this time we had Oriental Sweetlips. We spent the next day wandering round the town then tried to get a bus back to the hostel which took us somewhere and left us, lost, so that we had to walk back.

Sabine's bike didn't seem to like the heat.

Locals here carry live chickens on the back of their motorbikes adding to the cacophany of things it's possible to carry around on a 125. Thus far I've seen 6 single mattresses, families of 6, pigs and every household appliance imaginable. Honda CG125, the family utility vehicle powering the world.

Sabine, Roel and I set off the 300km to the border. We made it after a hectic ride where we only stopped so that Sabine could photograph small children. The adults laughed when the children started to cry, then emerged out of their homes carrying more small human offerings. Sabine was ecstatic.

Another one of Sabine's victims.

The road my GPS took us down turned into a very windy dirt road. It showed as a shortcut on Roel's map and the locals kept pointing us onwards. I was beginning to thing that the Indonesian's must really have hated the Timorese.

The border was the usual border affair, but pretty straightforwards. Sabine wasn't happy when the guards found out she was German and couldn't stop talking about their World Cup Performance.

Blocking the road before leaving Indonesia. I think I've covered close to 7000km making may way over the archepelago.

The Timor side was a breeze since we had all finally been granted visa approvals and we had turned up 30 minutes before they wanted to go home. Very little paperwork was required, just turn up, show your approval letter, pay $30US and get a visa. They even knew how to stamp our Carnet's. My stash of bribery fags came in handy once again when an official asked if we were carrying any cigarettes.

Once over in late afternoon we finally ate breakfast, agreed that it would be silly to try to make the capital, Dili, and set off to find somewhere to camp. Just about every single person on the road waved to us. Despite Indonesia's bullying and harrasment in their turbulant past, they all looked really happy and actually seemed to be doing things to improve their country rather than just hanging round and letting Jakarta take care of it which seems to be the Indonesian way.

We found the perfect camping spot on a huge dried up riverbed covered in soft sand and found the highest piece of land, just in case there was rain in the hills and a flash flood appeared to give us an early morning bath. Someone had kindly already set fire to some driftwood, the smoke from which kept some of the mosquitos and sandflies away.

When it got dark Roel revealed a secret that he had been keeping from me for a long time. His giant metal box of goodies on the back of his bike contained a rather nice camera tripod, which he had never used. I immediately commandeered it and used it to take photos of the stars. I had previously tried a couple of times on clear nights, but the tripod made it a million times easier. Here are the results which I'm pretty chuffed with.

The Southern Cross, pointing the way South.

The next morning a couple of kids turned up to watch us in amazement as we rode across the river bed. I kept them amused by riding my bike into a big sandy hole. We took it easy, slowly winding our way through the dry landscape next to the coast. It's amazing how only 300km away by boat, Flores was much more humid and cooler, whereas Timor is hotter and dryer. Eventually, after Roel struggled with his continuous fuel problem and Sabine had a punture, we arrived in Dili. This was the end of the line for us. South East Asia had been traversed. Our next job would be finding how to get the bikes to Darwin, Australia.

At the guesthouse I re-affirmed my belief that I'm a pirate by making friends with a parrot who then wee'd on my laptop and stole my headphones then proceeded to follow me around everywhere. Sabine and I visited a supermarket filled with all sorts of western delights for the UN NGO's who roam the streets here in brand new giant Toyota trucks almost outnumbering local traffic. I almost had a heart attack at the sight of frozen pizzas, sirloin steaks, freshly cooked bread and bacon. I'm going to enjoy cooking in the kitchen here.

The locals got fed up of all the UN driving around as if they own the place not so long ago and came up with the cunning idea of using a can of black spraypaint to add a C and T to the UN on the side of every vehicle. The roads were a safer place for 2 weeks. Despite their mandate that they're here to help, we can't see much evidence of what the UN is actually doing. All that seems to have happened is that prices have risen on commodities as the locals take advantage of the fact that the UN just throws money away. I'm glad I'm not a tax payer contributing to the 'holiday' that the 'peacekeeping' force seem to be enjoying in a country ranked as 'dangerous' as Afghanistan and Iraq. When they eventually leave we think there will be big problems as locals earn a pitiful $4US a day, a beer costs about $2US. The US military is apparently actually doing some good by building schools and the like in the countryside. The UN doesn't apparently get much done because of all the buerocracy required in getting a truck for every single worker.

UN 'World Police'

War games; The US Navy has a presence here, which more than likely is because the Chinese will be conducting oil exploration here soon. hmmm...

Jesus keeps an eye on the proceedings in the bay.

Having organised shipping through Perkin's, an Australian shipping company in Darwin, who's agents in Dili, SDV, attempted to charge double what it should cost, we made use of the cleaning facilities at Troy Adams' company. Costing $50 per bike, and we would do the cleaning, Troy would cast his expert eye over our work to make sure that there was not a single piece of dirt, mud, sand or seed anywhere on the bike. Australian customs are fanatical about finding anything. For my bike which had been leaking oil for the past year, there was crap from 18 countries to get rid of.

The flag lowering ceremony, 6pm prompt, everyday at the Presidential palace, where coincidentally there is also free wifi to steal.

Pineapple headress bedecked guardsmen who lounge on the front steps all day then come to attention at 6.

There was a birthday party at the hostel. A little girl turned 5. Her parents bought her a very friendly white dog which followed her everywhere. She had called it 'Bintang', meaning star. The party would be in a couple of days.

I returned one evening, exhausted, sunburnt, dirty and hungry from cleaning my bike all day in the searing heat, made myself some food and looked forwards to going to bed. I was chastised for making food because everyone was going to the party, which I had forgotten about, and there would be food there. I wasn't particularly in the mood but was asigned someone who would wait whilst I finished eating, showered, then escort me across the road.

After I had showered, and was still covered completely in oil, I was ushered into a UN 4x4, beer in hand, by an Ethiopian who is paid almost twice as much as the Ethiopian President to program computers. I was under the impression that the party was just over the road. An American girl joined us and we raced off into the night to pick up someone for the party. 'I'm not supposed to give anyone lifts' the Ethiopian explained as he struggled to control the car whilst using his mobile phone and avoiding the scooters in the road.

We headed out towards the airport to find our fare. The streets were filled with people banging stones against lamp posts and lane dividers to make as much noise as possible. It felt like a riot was imminent and I began to doubt whether being in a UN vehicle was such a good idea. Eventually we found the people expecting a lift and headed back to the party, which WAS just over the road, within walking distance.

Food was served in a buffet style. The 'piece de la resistance' was a silver bowl filled with spicy meat. It was the little girls white dog 'Bintang'. I tried some, and to be honest, it tasted like rotten meat. It was chewey and sinewey and rather tasteless but what little taste there was just screamed 'dog'. How it is revered as a delicacy I don't know. Even stray dogs I passed scraps to wouldnt touch the stuff.

The birthday girl with her birthday dinner.

To add to the experience, all the Tourists present were then partnered with a local for the first dance. The young girl I was partnered with didn't seem too impressed by my dancing technique, which just saw us going slowly round in circles whilst I tried not to trip over my own feet or injure hers.

Back at the cleaning station, I was extremely chuffed to find a UN cap lying around, so promtly stole it - quite possibly the greatests souvenir from my travels. When I went to the shops, the Timorese gave 'the westerner wandering round in dirty oil stained clothes with a backwards turned UN cap on' some bemused looks.

Would you trust this man with your country?

After 5 days of cleaning, it was starting to take it's tole on my mental health. Everytime I looked at the bike I found more little bits of dirt which I attacked with a toothbrush and petrol. I started cleaning other inanimate objects too, chairs, tables, parked cars. It was getting silly but we were paranoid about not being allowed into Australia. It had better be worth it!

Dirty Bike

Cleaned Bike

To be honest, Australia scares me. Not because of the massive areas of desert which will require me to carry extra fuel and water. Not because of all the poisonous creatures there are and all manner of wonderful ways to die. No, it's because I will now have to play by the rules once again. No more running red lights because nobody understands what they mean. No more undertaking trucks by riding offroad through the dirt where it's safer. No more playing 'stupid' because I'm foreign and want my own way. I will need insurance, maybe an MOT for my bent, leaking, rusty bike.

Anyway enough moaning, when we had finished cleaning, we stuck the bikes on a flatbed - to stop them getting dirty again, then without strapping them down, clung to them as we raced through the streets of Dili to where we could stick them in the container.