BE WARY OF THE MEAT

Generally, I’m a meat loving guy. I’m not a carnivore to the extreme, but I do enjoy my meat. In Timor-Leste, I’m hoping more and more that I get a pass on eating the meat. No, this is not a feeble attempt to make sure that I don’t eat dog again, but recognition that meat and the way it is prepared traditionally in Timor-Leste is bad.

I have received beef, pork, chicken, dog, and some other unknowns (maybe goat) while working in the communities, and can’t recall a single good one. The quality of the meat is preposterous. Beef is grisly, full of arteries and veins, and impossible to eat with all the shattered bone pieces after they hacked (or more properly, bludgeoned) a leg to smithereens with a dull butcher’s knife. The chicken is always meatless, hacked to pieces and seasoned with something awful. Pork only seems to consist of the chicharron (the skin, the fatty layer directly underneath the skin, and a little of the adjacent meat) but when I get only that i get sick and end up puking my guts under the bridge down by the river. Not pleasant! My body just can’t handle that much fat. I have the same problems when I eat pig’s feet.

So, though meat is a rare occasion, once a week at most, I would prefer it even less. I can easily survive eating the many types of unique vegetables I find in my food here. Oh yeah, and those amazing lettuce, tomato, onion salads with salt, vinegar, and oil poured over top. There is something about a fresh, vine-ripened tomato that is delicious.

NOW THAT’S SERVICE

Good service is not a common thing in Timor-Leste. Just getting service at all is an accomplishment. Okay, I’m not being fair. Service in a person’s home is always gracious and warm. Many businesses also give service that, though not good, isn’t that bad. The thing is that there are very few examples of good service.

Today, I did get good service, from the government. A task that was supposed to take from 4 to 6 weeks ended up only taking a week and a half. And to think that I was worried that it wouldn’t be finished by the time I leave Timor-Leste in early October.

The thing is that I can’t give credit to Timor-Leste for this one. My hats off go to the much lambasted and criticized U.S. Government. Yep, that passport renewal that required processing in Jakarta, Indonesia before the passport could be printed in the U.S. at a passport agency, and then mailed to the U.S. Embassy in Dili took all of eight days. They told me it would take four to six weeks. I didn’t even ask for the speedy service. All I can say is, “Wow!” and “Thank You.” Heaven knows that I certainly didn’t expect it.

COCK FIGHTS

I went to my first true cock fight tonight. It was a fight to the death. Once was enough for me.

Marie Anne and I had gone to find a couple tapstand locations, when we noticed the two work vehicles at the local medical clinic. I thought for sure someone must have gotten hurt. Seeing how bad the roads are, I was sure it must have been a motorcycle accident. I parked the motorbike and we went up to the clinic, but no one was there. So we looked around back and saw a large commotion.

One hundred and fifty or so people had gathered to look over the roosters and, of course, watch/bet on the fights. All in all, about a dozen and a half people, including three of my work colleagues had brought roosters to compete, though in the end only a few dared to.

After a bunch of sizing up, two roosters were prepared to fight. On the left foot, where the spur protrudes out, a 3 or 4 inch razor sharp dagger blade was affixed to each rooster. Once prepared, the roosters were brought into the ring. They were allowed to peck at each other so to become riled up. Once riled up enough the sheaths were removed from the blade and they went after each other. After a couple minutes, one rooster disembowelled the other to win the fight. The winner gets money, the loser gets a chicken dinner, a real treat!

WHAT’S THAT ON YOUR HEAD

Do you know those games we play as children where we need to walk an obstacle course with something balanced on our head? Be warned; never challenge a Timorese to such a competition. You will lose.

A couple weeks back I went hiking around Oecusse with Marie Anne. We were descending a steep and treacherous trail less than a foot wide and a steep drop-off on the left on wall on the right. The trail was of a poor quality, the unmaintained type with rocks, tree roots, sudden drops, climbs, disappearances in a stream, and so on. While on our way down, we had to step off the trail onto a tree (remember, the ground dropped away quick and it was not wide enough for two people to pass) for some Timorese coming up the trail. In this group there was a man carrying a backpack (for the back, right?) on his head, though with the assistance of his hands. Following him were three women all carrying items on their head, balanced. Most impressively, a woman was carrying what looked like a large soup kettle. Not once did I see them touch the pot as they climbed and manoeuvred up the difficult trail. I should note that the women put a towel rolled up like a donut on top of their head to provide cushioning and a flat surface (at least flatter than the top of the head) to carry objects on.

After Honduras, I thought I was accustomed to seeing people carry objects on their head, but the Timorese are exceptional at it. They carry many more things and much greater weight on their heads. And I guess the women look exceptionally elegant with their locally woven tais worn like a long skirt and rolled over at the waist to keep them up. Now, if I can work up the brashness to photograph a group of women carrying stuff on their heads. That is how we transport sand to distant sites without road access where we need to make concrete. But that is another blog post why the local people don’t use mules or horses for transport here.

SPLURGING IN DILI

Last weekend, I left the bush for a couple days for a little splurging in the capital. By splurging, I mean eating. After weeks of rice and spinach, I needed to expand my culinary boundaries, for at least a couple days.

I ate at a typical Western restaurant for brunch. I had fish at a Portuguese place. I enjoyed spicy Sri Lankan and amazing Indian. I even ate a steak burger. I think everyone thought I hadn’t eaten for months.

I also took the opportunity to pick up a bunch of reading material and movies in the Dili house.

Dili is not a pretty city. Really there is nothing nice about it except for its proximity to the ocean and the amenities that it has. The city is overpopulated with expats. I have never been in a foreign city that has such a high percentage of them. I think this is more due to Dili’s small population (150,000) for a capital rather than the net number of westerners.

There were many Americans around Dili, due to that the Pacific Fleet’s hospital ship docked off shore to give free medical care to Timorese in need and US military doctors practice without the high liability of American hospitals.

LIVING WITH FRENCH

In Timor-Leste I’m working for a French NGO. As could be guessed, most of the employees who are expats are French. There are four expat employees in Oecusse, the district that I live in. Three are French, and I’m the lone American. For better or worse, the French influence affects my daily life. For example, I was in Dili, the capital, last weekend. The remoteness of Oecusse means that a trip to Dili is a restocking trip. What are those things that we needed to buy in Dili? They were good European wine (no Australian or New Zealand, I’m not sure if this is because they don’t produce good wines or they are just unfamiliar), high quality cheese, and chocolate. Somehow, I’m not surprised by the selection, but I do admit, I do enjoy their good wine, cheese, and chocolate.

LIVING WITH FRENCH

In Timor-Leste I’m working for a French NGO. As could be guessed, most of the employees who are expats are French. There are four expat employees in Oecusse, the district that I live in. Three are French, and I’m the lone American. For better or worse, the French influence affects my daily life. For example, I was in Dili, the capital, last weekend. The remoteness of Oecusse means that a trip to Dili is a restocking trip. What are those things that we needed to buy in Dili? They were good European wine (no Australian or New Zealand, I’m not sure if this is because they don’t produce good wines or they are just unfamiliar), high quality cheese, and chocolate. Somehow, I’m not surprised by the selection, but I do admit, I do enjoy their good wine, cheese, and chocolate.

WHAT I’VE GOTTEN USED TO AND NOT IN TIMOR LESTE

Would I eat dog? Five weeks ago I might have pondered the question before eating dog meat, now I just dig in. Yes, I did eat dog and it tasted like a cross between beef jerky and venison.

Anytime I travel to a new place there are always many customs that I need to adapt to. Sometimes I am surprised what I adapt to, other times I just can’t make the transition. In Timor-Leste, this is no different. I have been surprised how quickly I’ve gotten used to not having electricity during the day and taking cold bucket baths. I even have master and no longer mind the squat toilet; you just learn to balance well on your haunches. Now, I just need to master reading while sitting on my haunches. I haven’t been able to adapt to the local custom of wiping with the left hand instead of toilet paper. Splurging for toilet paper is a worthy expense for me. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I’ve gotten used to much of the food, though after my first couple weeks I thought I’d never get there. I have gotten used to trying to communicate in the local language though I often give a mishmash of Tetun, Baikeno, Bahasa (Indonesian), Spanish, Portuguese, and English; somehow understanding is achieved, though it takes awhile sometimes. I’m learned to be able to drive on the left side of the road and shift gears with my left hand. I’m still getting used to riding the motorbike and I will be accustomed soon. I haven’t gotten used to not having access to the outside world on a regular basis. Having internet and phone only once a week and only at night when there is electricity has been trying. I don’t miss not having TV at all, though I do watch movies on my computer from time to time. I have even gotten used to blogging again.

MOTORCYCLES

Today was my first time riding a motorcycle the 2 hours from Oecusse to Passabe. It was dramatic. One of the technicians rode with me as my experience riding a motor bike was only in town and so didn’t prepare me for roads that are in horrible condition (in car the 40 km trip takes 2.5 hours, and average of about 15 mph) and steeply go up and down. The good news is that I survived.

The first 15 km are quite easy, only some minor uphills and much of the way roughly paved. The places where the road is gravel it is at least in good condition. However, on the first gravel uphill. I down shifted poorly and the bike got away from me. I got the bike stopped before I went off the edge of the mountain, but I had to tip it over. Good thing I was going slow, so I just hopped off the bike and let it tip over once I stopped. I didn’t even hit the ground. Then on the following downhill I got to the bottom and crossed the river. When I say crossed the river, I mean I literally went through the river and got wet. I was happy that I didn’t tip over and was able to ride with my legs in the air.

Once I got to the other side of the river I looked back and didn’t see the technician that accompanied me, so I waited. After awhile I saw an ambulance stop on the far side of the river. Then I saw a big truck stop and saw a motor bike being hoisted in. I just thought, “oh no!” So I crossed back through the river and sure enough, my companion was in the ambulance. Another motorbike had nearly hit him so he turned hard and wiped out on the gravel on the long downhill. He scrapped his leg up pretty good. The steering column on his bike was bent so he couldn’t ride it the rest of the way. The truck hauled it to Passabe.

I was now on my own. After crossing through the river yet again, I started up the steep, rough and long uphill on the other side. However, I had problems as I was in too high of a gear and stalled the bike out on a 10 or 12 percent grade. I was not experienced enough to be able to work the brake, clutch, and throttle on such a steep grade. I have a problem of either not giving enough throttle or too much. On the hill, I gave it so much throttle that I did a wheelie all the way over backwards. I was able to get off the bike as it went up, but I did crack the rear tail-light when it hit the ground. Luckily, I had passed the ambulance as I crossed the river (it too was going to Passabe) and the Cuban doctor (he works at the health clinic in Passabe) patiently explained to me in English (I didn’t know he was Cuban at this point, and he didn’t know I spoke Spanish) how to better listen to my clutch and throttle. Finally, after 20 minutes of failure, he drove the bike to a flat spot and I practiced a few more times and was off (not such a big deal when you don’t have to worry about the brake.

Over the rest of the trip I stalled the bike a couple more times on steep uphills. If I wasn’t able to get it started, I would just turn the bike around and go downhill until I could find a flat spot so I could start up the hill in a lower gear. Finally by the time I got to Passabe, I could start going up a hill. I’m not proficient, but I don’t kill the motor nearly as often.
I figure by the end of the week I should be an expert.

Mom, you did not read any of this!!!!!!!!!!

THE ALL CARB DIET

I can’t resist. I’ve put off the topic too long. It is my favourite topic so it’s about time I talk about it again. Of course, I’m referring to food. Oh! I love to eat everything. No, I’m not a foodie or a connoisseur. I have a blind love (mostly!) that is indiscriminate to food of all qualities. Food, in general, is a wonderful thing.

Here in Timor-Leste, the food is nothing to write home about, but I’m beginning to like it more and more the longer I’m here. I don’t think I will crave any of it as most of it is rice with boiled vegetables on top. Any meat I’ve had has usually been so hacked and the animal had so little meat on it to begin with, that it is just bone and gristle. The one thing I do truly enjoy is the lettuce, tomato, and hard-boiled egg, garlic, and some type of onion salad. A dressing of oil, salt, and vinegar is liberally applied to the top. Maybe it is the pure lack of fresh vegetables, but this salad tastes amazing.

The Timorese diet is almost completely carbohydrates. There is some fat, and almost no protein. I get some through eggs. There isn’t enough meat to count. I only get it on the weekends when I leave the communities. I’m fairly active here and eat large quantities of food, so I think that would compensate. But it doesn’t. After three weeks working in the community I have lost ten pounds. I really don’t know how. The only thing I think it can be is that my body burns through the pure carb diet a little too easily.

SNORKELING TO PLAYING IN THE MUD

Sunday morning I got up early to go fishing. Richard, who is also working on the same project that I am, though with USAID and not the NGO I am working for, has a 15 foot outboard. We loaded in and sped off to try a few fishing spots. A few minutes after setting sail, we encountered our first pod of dolphins. They were going the opposite direction as we were, but they swam with us for a short distance. That was the first time I had ever seen several dolphins swimming a few feet from me at the front of the boat. Amazing! After we went a ways from Oecusse we drop some lines in the water. I had a hit. It was a 10 plus pound fish. Richard stopped to do some spear fishing and the others and I decided to snorkel. The place we stopped was the most beautiful reef I had ever seen, better than anything I had seen in Thailand. I’m not really sure how long I snorkelled, the beauty of the place made time unimportant. On the way home we encounter two more pods of dolphins; one pod had more than 30 individuals. We arrived home weary and sunburned. I thought I was fine, but I was really wrong. Now my back hurts a ton. Oh well, it will be gone in a day or two.

A far cry from yesterday today was rainy and miserable. I headed out to Passabe with the car fully loaded and hit rain almost immediately. It rained most of the two hours of the trip. On the way into Passabe, we pass a couple of the projects I’m working on. I asked if we could take a side road to see a separating tank that we poured Saturday, but I hadn’t seen yet. We made the left and started down the steep downhill. We went maybe a hundred meters. The car slipped and slid like we were on ice. We quickly realized we shouldn’t have gone that way. The road was a wet slimly clay that was as slick as ice. I knew the moment we started down that we wouldn’t be able to go back up to the road we left, but the driver got nervous and insisted we turn around. We turned around but couldn’t make a meter of progress forward in the slick clay. We pushed and pushed and couldn’t move the truck forward without it sliding back down. Finally we got some communities members with a rope and pulled the car back up to the other road. It took 20 of us to pull the vehicle the 100 meters uphill. The locals got a kick out of the Malae (white person) barefoot in the mud pulling away. By the time I arrived in Passabe, I was wet and muddy. Not a good way to start the week.