Once Dili gets under your skin, sunk into your imagination and concerns, it can be hard to shake. I think my sister understands that; upon leaving she said that Bali was beautiful - green rice paddies, rushing water, and frangiopani flowers - but that going to Timor-Leste had been special. I took Jess straight up to Ubud. It has a bit of a hippie vibe - lots of wheatgrass colonics and dangling power crystals - and yoga classes. My first was a bit funny. The teacher, who wore reading glasses and flared, corn-flower blue spandex pants, said that it would be a "gentle class," and we spent the first 10 minutes breathing in and out while trying to follow her sweeping, unpredictable gestures.
Inhale (arms up), exhale (arms down), inhale (finger into a triangle around the belly button), exhale (raise the triangle to the nose), inhale (one arm up, the other out), exhale (arms behind), etc, etc. I am glad Jess opted for a run instead - I wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face as I flailed for the sake of my neglected chakras.
Perhaps more beneficial for my inner health, however, was a long evening siting cross-legged on the couches of an open organic cafe with Jess, dipping bites of bittersweet chocolate cake into our cappuccinos. We did lots of walking and window shopping, talked easily.
I am back in Kuta now, and with my sister already back in the States, I feel ready to get back to the quotidian: Starco, Tetum, tomatoes on toast (Jess's and my favorite "hmmm, let's just stay in tonight" dinner), porch sitting, and taking care of my laundry. I feel ready to get back to work and back into the loop. The yoga teacher, inhale, would say that detachment isn't my strong suit. Exhale.
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