Week 96 - Kupang, Dili, Baucau, Atauro (Indonesia, Timor Leste)

The Timor Tour and Travel minibus arrived on time to collect us at our hotel in Kupang at 5am. After 30 minutes of driving around town picking more people up, we ended up at their depot where we had to change buses. We dozed on and off for the first couple of hours until we reached Soe where we had a quick break before continuing north through Niki-Niki, Kefa and Atambua. 

As soon as we reached Soe, we started noticing the traditional lopo huts, circular thatched roofs that reach the floor with only a small arch for the door. The government has deemed the houses unhealthy and built new modern square concrete buildings for the Dawan people, who have then built new lopo behind them to live in. It was market day in Niki-Niki and a real shame we couldn’t stop to explore, there were hundreds of people in traditional ikats (sarongs) buying their weekly vegetables and chickens crowding around the road side.

After another bus change in Atambua, we arrived at the border where we stamped out of Indonesia and climbed back on the bus for the short ride, over a bridge, to the Timor Leste border control. The Timor Leste side was far more modern and we were stamped and through in no time with our Visa Application Authorisation getting us our Visa on Arrival with no problem.

Timor Leste is the youngest country in South East Asia and has had a very turbulent history. A Portuguese colony until 1974, the country then went to war with Indonesia who invaded as they feared a left leaning government in Timor Leste would bring communism to their door. After Soeharto’s resignation in 1998, the new Indonesian president announced a referendum for independence and after terror attacks by military backed militia groups, the UN stepped in to help with the election. In 1999 the vote took place with a majority of 78.5% voting for independence. Killings continued with Indonesian forces on a rampage and the UN was attacked and forced to evacuate. Australia stepped in to help calm the situation and governance was handed back to Timor Leste in 2002.

Another bus change and we continued for 2.5 hours to Dili. Having had an easy journey so far, and having traveled for 10.5 hours already, the road from the border to the capital was surely built to test us. We were jiggled and jostled and tenderised with our driver hitting all the pot holes at break neck speed and we inhaled more dust than I care to think about. The road had been pretty scenic, following the coast and the sunset was beautiful but we’d had little opportunity to really enjoy it. 

The bus dropped us at our hostel, the only real backpacker option in Dili and after checking in we began asking around about Indonesian visa applications, only to learn that the embassy would be closed the following week for Ramadan, not leaving us enough time to get our visas before it closed. Our intentions of getting back to Indonesia to see some of Sumba before flying back to Ubud went out the window. 

As we didn’t have the right passport photos, with a red background, we thought we’d try and get them done that night to speed things up in the morning. We heard there was a photo shop at the Timor Plaza Mall, on the outskirts of the city and that it shut at 7pm. Thinking we had 30 minutes, we jumped in a cab and rushed over there only to find everywhere was closed. We hadn’t realised we’d changed time zones and hadn’t wound our watches forward an hour. Tired from the days journey and getting grouchy, we tried to hail a taxi to take us back to the hostel. Failing that, we flagged a bemo (called a mikrolet in Timor Leste). The van was full of tiny kids and when we got out they waved us away when we tried to pay, a lovely end to a stressful day, although we think we gatecrashed someones family day out.

For dinner we walked across the road to an Indian restaurant that we thought would just make do as we didn’t have the energy to walk further. It turned out to be a magnificent meal, the best Indian we’ve had in a long time and one that wouldn’t be out of place in London.

We woke early the next day to make it to the Indonesian Embassy. After getting slightly lost and walking about a kilometre further than necessary, we finally found the right building and joined the few people already there, to wait for it to open. We were expecting to be given a number before dashing off to get the photos done and returning later to have our applications processed. Instead, after filling out the form, we were ushered inside to sit on a bench in a queue. We finally got our point across about still needing photos and the security guard let us out with promises that we could come back. The embassy only processes a certain number of visas a day and you have to get there early in order to be one of those.

We jumped in a taxi back to the mall and had another 20 minutes wait outside for the photo shop to open. We were then told we had 45 minutes to wait for them to be printed. Rhys popped in to a couple of travel agencies to see how much it would cost to fly back into Indonesia, to get a Visa on Arrival rather than waiting for the embassy to process our overland visas, but we soon found out it was way too expensive. After buying some bread and beans in the supermarket preempting lunch at the hostel, our photos were ready. We jumped straight back in a taxi to the embassy and luckily were allowed back through the gate to lodge our applications. At this point, we were still hopeful our visas might be processed for collection the following day. Then, when we handed over the US$50 each, we were told they’d be ready on the 4th August, 11 days away. 

Cursing our timing we walked back to the hostel a bit deflated, not helped by the grumpy owner who was very unhelpful and the girl who worked there who walked away mid sentence when we tried to sort out our room bookings. We didn’t really want to spend so long in Timor Leste and were keen to get back into Indonesia. Over lunch we studied Lonely Planet and spoke to a few other people who were waiting for their visas and formulated a plan. We would leave Dilli and visit Baucau and Atauro while we waited. 

We decided to head back to the mall to book our flight from Kupang to Bali, realising we were just going to have to skip Sumba and lose the money we’d spent on the flight from Sumba to Bali. The airline we were hoping to fly with had an office at the mall but their flight was 50% more expensive than booking with them online so we sat in the internet shop to book. Having had another trying day we treated ourselves to a carton of cheap wine and jumped in a bemo back to the hostel. 

The Indian had been so good the previous day we ate there again then headed back to the hostel where we chatted with a Welsh/French couple, Darren and Olivier, who we’d met earlier and Kelly who was trying to do research on fair trade coffee for her MA. 

Dili is a strange city, for a capital it’s pretty small and is a real mix of modern and run down with tarmac main roads leading to huge embassy buildings, crisscrossed with dusty dirt tracks lined with shacks. A lot of the prime beach front land seems to taken up by embassies and everywhere you look you see westerners who obviously work at the embassies and NGOs, roaring around in brand new white SUVs. It’s a bit unfair to say we didn’t like it as we didn’t really see much of it but our first impressions were that it was a bit bland. 

After breakfast the next day we put our big bags in storage and hailed a cab to take us to the bus terminal for Baucau. It was only US$2 more than using bemos and far easier and quicker. When we arrived at the terminal, a cross roads lined with shacks selling water and snacks, a group of about ten men descended on us asking us where we were going and trying to herd us onto their buses. We chose the bus that still had a couple of seats left and squeezed in, the seats were for some unknown reason, wet. 

Shortly after, music with my favourite heart palpitation bass started and we wound our way along the coast towards Baucau. It was a little squashy on the back row but we had a window and we arrived 20 minutes early. The scenery was beautiful with rice paddies and rugged mountains on one side and the sea on the other, passing by traditional villages and groups of buffalo bathing in mud puddles.

We got off the bus at what we thought was the end of the line, only to find out we should have stayed on the bus to get to Baucau old town. Luckily, a guy asked us where we were going and shouted for the bus to stop so we could climb back on board. We were the last people to get off the bus and they dropped us at the Pousada, once a place of torture but now a posh hotel. We checked a few guesthouses before deciding to stay at Melita where there was a seating area with views out to sea.

We didn’t waste any time before heading out for lunch, to a Portuguese restaurant with an outdoor terrace before returning to our room to chill and play with the guesthouse dogs. Baucau old town is a few kilometres from the Indonesian built new town and has a bedraggled Portuguese feel to it with crumbling old colonial buildings and huge banyan trees providing shady resting points. We were full from lunch and decided against going out again for dinner, enjoying a pop mie (pot noodle) and playing cards on the guesthouse veranda instead.

Banyan tree shadowing the road, Baucau.

We had a well needed lay in the next day, only waking around 10am. We decided to head out to the beach and began the 5km walk. After asking a few people for directions and getting mixed responses we ended up asking in the Pousada who pointed us the right way. We started walking and about a kilometre down the road we came to a junction and guessed we must have to go straight. We walked for about another kilometre, with the road getting progressively worse and turning into a dusty, rutted track. Although the locals seemed to be saying we could get to the beach that way, we decided to walk back to the junction, we don’t speak Tetun or Portuguese and half the time we can’t even work out what language is being spoked. Portuguese is the official language but only the older generation seem to use it, then there are people speaking Bahasa Indonesian, then Tetun and then there are another 5 or 6 different tribal dialects. 

Back at the junction we took the other road and continued to walk. We asked a few people who seemed to say we were going the right way and the road was more robust than the path we’d taken first. We followed it through a couple of villages to the sea, having a bit of a scare first when a coconut fell and nearly hit us and then straight after, a snake fell out of a tree and landed a couple of metres in front of us. 

The response to white people is very different here to Indonesia, the older generations are friendly but the younger people can be rude and it puts you on edge, for instance, since we left Dili, i’ve had a boy intentionally jump in a muddy puddle to soak me, Rhys has been sworn at, a little girl slapped me on the back of my legs and a group of 4/5 year olds blocked our path and showed us knives asking for money. Then there are the other kids who blow you kisses and shout ‘I love you’ as you walk past, all up we felt a little unwelcome.

Once at the beach we were unimpressed. There’s nothing there apart from one little bungalow with rooms for rent and a few local houses. No where to buy food or drinks and no where to sit. The tide was in and the beach itself was overrated, Lonely Planet describes it as one of the nicest beaches in South East Asia, I don’t know where the writer has been but he’s really missing out if he thinks Wata B’oo is one of the nicest beaches. 

Wata B'oo beach, Baucau.

As the tide was in and there was no where to sit we decided against sticking around and instead went to wait by the road for a mikrolet to take us back into town. There isn’t a timetable and they seemed to go every hour but we had no idea how long we had to wait and made ourselves comfortable on a log. We’d been waiting for around half an hour when a European Commission SUV pulled up and offered us a lift. We jumped in the back and in no time were back in town.

After a slight misunderstanding and having bought a huge bag of about 20 extra chewy doughnuts for US$1, we spent the rest of the day at the guesthouse, watching TV, playing with the dogs and reading on the veranda before it was time for dinner.

After a lazy start the next day, we wandered into the town to see if we could find an alternative restaurant, having eaten at the Portuguese place twice. Finding one with another outdoor area, we decided on an early lunch before walking down to the public swimming pool. The pool is run by the Pousada and is clean and surrounded by a flower garden. When we arrived it was quiet and after swimming a few lengths we chilled on the concrete loungers in the sun. Then more and more local kids turned up, squealing and shouting, ruining the atmosphere a little so we ended up back at the guesthouse with a bag of mandarins, a little bored and counting down the minutes until we could go for dinner. 

Fruit and vegetables for sale in Baucau.

We were woken the next day by the kids at the guesthouse shouting outside our room, the whole time we were there we felt a little in the way and unwelcome and were happy it was time to leave. We caught a mikrolet to the bus terminal in the new town and jumped straight on a bus back to Dili, strangely enough, the same bus we’d caught on the way over. We had better seats and despite the blaring music, the journey went smoothly and we arrived back in a little under 3 hours. From the bus terminal we grabbed a taxi to our hostel where we checked into the dorm for a night.

As always, we had a few chores to run and headed out to the Timor Plaza where, after a Burger King, we planted ourselves in a coffee shop for our first decent coffee in a long time and use of the internet. Darren and Olivier, who we’d met during our first stay at the hostel returned from their excursion to Maubisse and we ended up in the Indian across the road swapping notes and travel stories.

We’d booked a water taxi for the following morning to take us to Atauro Island, 36km and a couple of hours from Dili, over a trench, 3km deep in parts. We were joined by Chris, a Canadian living in Java and Michelle from Switzerland. The boat trip started out relatively calmly but as we drew further from Dili the sea became rougher and by the time we pulled in to Beloi we were soaked and the captain had been sick off the back of the boat.

Luckily there was room available at Barry’s, the most popular place to stay on the island, an Ecolodge on the beach. We checked in to a tent, a bit more luxurious than it sounds, right on the beach on a stilted platform with thatched roof and proper mattresses. 

Our tent at Barry's Ecolodge, Atauro.

The island itself is fairly small, 25km long and 9 km wide, with a mountainous spine of limestone and volcanic rock, the highest peak reaching 995m. Historically, due to it’s isolation, the island was used by both the Portuguese and the Indonesians as a place of exile and was were the Portuguese fled to in 1975 for safety. Now the island is home to mostly subsistence fisherman and farmers.

The beach at Beloi on Atauro.

We arranged to meet Chris and Michelle after lunch and headed to the pier to snorkel. The wind was picking up and the waves were a bit choppy but we still spotted lobsters and some other interesting little fish we hadn’t seen before. After buffet dinner (meals are included at Barry’s) we turned in for an early night to lay in our tent listening to the wind, the waves and gazing at the stars though our mosquito net.

View of Beloi from the pier, Atauro.