Timor-Leste

This entry is part 5 of 22 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #10

In a world becoming ever more accessible and with many countries facing the prospect of losing their identity, Timor-Leste is one of the few places these days that can still provide an adventurous traveller with a sense of
discovery and exploration. Ray Friedrich went for a look at this fabulous, largely unspoiled eastern half of the island of Timor.

It’s hard to focus on the road when you’re distracted by scenery like this. Heading to Mount Ramelau.

From a tourist’s perspective, it’s a unique time to be travelling through Timor-Leste.

It’s blessed with much of the natural beauty offered by other South East Asian countries without the throngs of tourists that flock to many of its neighbours’ shores. The country itself still seems to be finding its feet with the scars of the Indonesian conflict still very much visible, a noticeable divide between the wealthy and the poor, a lack of basic infrastructure in some places, the recent withdrawal of the UN and Australian Peacekeepers and a tourism industry still in its infancy Far from being a deterrent, this unique blend of factors combine to make Timor-Leste an ideal destination for those following the path less travelled.

All welcome

The country’s capital Dili is itself a city of contrasts. The bustling harbour city is one of Asia’s fastest growing, its streets are full of beeping cars and motorbikes, and are lined with vendors selling their wares.

Rice terraces flanked by imposing mountain ranges are a common sight in Timor’s rural areas.

Dili’s fortunate in having a picturesque beachfront overlooking the tranquil Atuaro Island and is lined with bars and restaurants mostly frequented by expats, travelers and aid workers. But you don’t have to scratch too far under the surface to find local neighbourhoods occupied by people living a far more modest life, and it was these backstreets I most enjoyed visiting while I was in the city. In these areas I got to glance at the dusty underbelly of Dili and had the opportunity to meet and befriend locals. In spite of living in what I perceived as poverty, these were some of the happiest and most welcoming people I’d met. I was warmly welcomed to local gatherings like cockfights and beachfront “fish on a stick” barbecues. More often than not the travelers I brought along and I were the only westerners there.

Head for the hills

As much as I enjoyed Dili and its surrounds, the advice from expats to ‘head into the districts to discover the real Timor-Leste’ rang in my ears. I was keen to explore the pristine beaches and lush rainforest that I’d heard so much about.

I was very fortunate to be on a BMW 1200GS which was quite an attraction for the locals and a very good conversation starter.

Most importantly though, it allowed me the freedom to travel at my own pace and interact with the local people in a way that just wouldn’t have been possible if I was travelling in any other form of transport.

I left Dili and headed east along the northern coastal road to Baucau, the country’s second-largest city. The scenery on the way was spectacular and the winding road passed through beachside villages and mountain passes surrounded by thick rainforest. Although the road wasn’t in the best condition, dodging the potholes and oncoming buses around blind corners added to the adventure and made the ride all the more enjoyable. Nestled in the thick jungle and overlooking white sandy beaches, Baucau had a real Portuguese flavour to it, the colourful buildings gave it a vibrant feel and the local market place was a hive of activity.

After exploring Baucau my next stop was the very pretty resort town of Com. The main street was lined with guesthouses, most of which enjoyed views over the picture-perfect beach. Although the water looked extremely inviting, some recent crocodile sightings and a few warnings from locals ensured I stayed on dry land.

Uphill battle

From Com the road headed south to Tutuala beach and Jaco Island, Timor-Leste’s easternmost point.

I came to Timor-Leste for an adventure, not just a riding holiday, and the road to Tutuala beach definitely didn’t disappoint. At times it was very rough and at other times it was nonexistent, culminating in an eight-kilometre downhill section that was a test of both bike and rider.

After wrestling with the big Beemer for well over an hour I somehow made it to the bottom of the hill without incident. I was absolutely exhausted and thoroughly enjoyed a Bintang while watching the sunset from my traditional beachside bungalow.

I happily decided the ride back up was a problem that could wait until tomorrow.

Universal language

The further I ventured out of Dili the more I became aware a western traveller was still quite a novelty, especially one travelling on a fully loaded 1200GS. As such I was greeted by almost all the locals I passed, and as soon as I’d meet somebody who could speak even a few words of English I’d be enthusiastically ushered aside for a chat. The friendliness of the people was quite astonishing, especially in the remoter villages where communication was often a barrier. It’s amazing how far a friendly smile can get you. With a smile, a little patience and at times an absurd form of sign language I’d generally get my point across.

Bottler

With the start of the wet season imminent I took the local advice and avoided the unreliable south coast road and returned to Baucau before heading south into the interior mountain region.

The riding was once again spectacular, and as I made my way toward the town of Loi Hunu the vegetation grew denser and I passed through the region known as ‘The Lost World’. The road began to climb into the mountains and the higher altitude brought rain with it. As the heavens opened the dirt roads soon turned into muddy streams, and although I was soaked through and the roads were becoming a little precarious, my enthusiasm for the scenic mountain ride was certainly not dampened.

Petrol availability in Timor-Leste is limited to the cities of Dili, Baucau and roadside vendors selling petrol in plastic water bottles. Not wanting to try my luck with the bottled fuel, I explored the area around Loi Hunu and then made my way through the mountains back to Dili to refuel and prepare for the ride to Mount Ramelau, Timor-Leste’s highest peak.

Smokin’!

The road to Mount Ramelau took me through many quaint mountain villages and the town of Maubisse, which is home to an old Portuguese Pousada – hotel – that offered magnificent 360-degree views of the surrounding countryside.

As the road wound its way up into the hills it once again meant rain. The dirt roads soon consisted of long patches of mud and the potholes in the tarmac sections quickly filled up to create water crossings that spanned the width of the road.

I must say, I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Some of the locals were confused when I’d get through a large puddle of water and then turn around to do it again faster.

The last 18km to the village of Hautobilico at the base of Mount Ramelau was a cobbled mountain pass with sheer cliffs to one side and unmatched scenery. It was slow going and I crawled my way to the base of the mountain in 90 minutes, arriving quite late in the afternoon. A local guide assured me we could do the return trip up the mountain before it got dark, so we set off at a cracking pace. My guide soon showed his lack of fitness, and I left him smoking a cigarette halfway up. After I’d reached the summit alone I found him not much further along with another ciggie on my way down.

To his credit, we did get home before dark.

Coasting

It was time to head west and the coastal road to the Indonesian border offered some stunning views. Unfortunately there were 110km of roadwork to the town of Liquica which made it a slow and dusty ride.

I was surprised to find the resort I stayed in had hot, running water, a rarity outside of the cities.

I was refreshed and raring to go the next morning when I headed to the small town of Morobo, a weekend getaway with natural hot springs in a mountain setting popular with the local people.

There were always a few common occurrences as I headed into the more remote areas of the country

• The roads would always deteriorate, often into rubble
• Communication would generally get harder, meaning more sign language
• The local people just seemed to get friendlier, more welcoming and very enthusiastic to see me and the bike

Morobo was no exception to these guidelines.

After enjoying the unspoilt forest of TimorLeste’s mountain region one last time I headed back down to the coast and decided to spend the night in the town of Balibo, known for the tragic events of the Balibo 5 in 1975. I was soon chatting to aid workers, volunteers and nuns, and it wasn’t long before the local parish priest offered to let me stay as a guest in the church’s accommodation.

The priest was quite apologetic about how simple the accommodation was, but I found it as nice as most other places I’d stayed in while travelling the country. Although I offered several times he refused any payment, saying he was just happy to have the opportunity to practice his English.

A curious local along the mountain pass to Mount Ramelau. BMWs aren’t too common in the highlands of Timor-Leste.

Into Indo

I left Balibo in high spirits thanks to the generosity of the locals and headed to the border town of Batugarde. I approached the border with mixed feelings. I was excited about the new adventure Indonesia had to offer but a little saddened to be leaving a country that had provided me with such a mixed bag of great experiences.

Timor-Leste delivered the riding adventure I was searching for, but I still had much to explore.

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