Travelling Swift

Stories from a Single, White, Idiotic, Female, Traveller

A Brief Week 2003

In 1999 a political referendum for independence resulted in the death of one third of the population. Militia acting under Indonesian orders, seeked out and slaughtered the independence supporters by the thousands, in an attempt to maintain control of the country. There is evidence of the destruction across the war ravaged land, in burnt out buildings and deserted villages. Though the Timorese wear a smile across their faces, it belies the pain suffered, as war crime units seek permission to exhume bodies for evidence of mass murder. While the UN prepare to withdraw, the Timorese are learning that existence is now a western philosophy. Standard of living is defined by the UN bank which funds some of their workers up to 1000 US dollars a month for accommodation, while the Timorese still seek to scrape a meagre living. So much for distribution of funds. None of the following of what I write is meant to take away the gravity of what happened here, the help that the UN has provided, or how much much more the UN could help by not swallowing funds for luxurious living when people are still homeless.

OK enough seriousness from me, now for the flippant tales of the Rain Goddess Emma.

Dili, the driest place in Eastern Indonesia has suffered the longest wet season in four years. Thought to have finished, my arrival sparks off a new wave of flash floods. I am a true Rain Goddess. I am staying with my friend Tessa, at a dive shop run by an Australian and Irish. Both of whom I suspect were deported from their homelands for hair color and sense of humor (guys you know which way around). A professional diving organisation that permits heavy sarcasm and abuse to be delivered its customers, a perfect place for the likes of me. Tessa has a new man in her life (a UN VIP BodyGuard and Drug Squad Team Leader (WOW just like 007, or Kevin Costner)) whom I believe to be a cross between ex-SAS and the Milk Tray man. He even takes us on covert undercover tailing operations when joining our friends for dinner, though that may have been a cover up for getting lost. All secret agent stuff!!!!!

The place is full of tanned Portuguese with long dark eye lashes, ray-band wearing Americans, all in combat gear sporting bulging biceps and tight buns. It's heaven, though occasionally it seems that too many of them are auditioning for the next part in Rambo. Mum whenever you want a week long ogle let me know.

A five hour drive to the remote eastern coast proves to be a hard lesson in fighting back seat driver terror. As the Dutch driver's ego devolves into thinking he's the World's Best Raleigh Champion, he risk's our lives to swerve Water Buffalo (understandable) chickens, (downright stupid), and play head on chicken with trucks (bigger than ours of course) on narrow roads. We aquaplane across the road floods, and never use the burnt out brakes on corners for fear of swerving, and rolling down into swamps to kiss the man eating crocodiles.

Driving through local villages, I get a fleeting glimpse of toothless grins dripping and oozing with red liquid. As we slow down for the numerous road humps and ditches, I'm imagining full scale cannibalism. A la carte tonight will be roasted European on a bed of rice. Fortunately for me, they're sucking the addictive beetle nuts juice which renders them as useless walking zombie's on a Michael Jackson thriller video.

One week, a few bottles of vodka, and excellent diving later, I'm returning to Gili Trawangan. All to resume my life of sunbathing and occasionally teaching students to dive. This is such a hard life!!