Under the Weather

As I stood in front of the refrigerator using a pair of scissors to butter my bread, I realized that with L off to Australia, I have been doing things a bit differently.

More podcasts at breakfast, and more staying up late. Meals blur into each other; I haven’t heard the song about “having a beer with Duncan” in four days; I’ve even been neglecting to put up the bug net (it’s much easier with help).

I’ve also been a bit under the weather, a combination of an infection requiring antibiotics and a few headaches preceded by blurred vision and enlarged ‘blind spots.’ No emergencies. However, despite having been in the country for over a year, this was the first time that I needed a doctor, and it became clear that even for those with resources, doctors can be difficult to come by.*

The Australian doctor has been out of town, and I called a dozen friends trying to reach the Portuguese doctor or get the number for Dr. Dan at the Bairro Pite clinic.

I ended up speaking with Dr. Dan, and he texted me the right dosage of antibiotics. I went to the clinic meet with him, but, after briefly taking a seat on one of the benches, I closed my book, slid out and returned to work. The woman sitting in front of me was still turning the pages of newspaper slowly, unhurriedly; it would have been a long wait.

I did not consider going to the National Hospital. My experience there has been limited to observing the work of the mobile voting unit in the in June parliamentary elections. Then, as now, refugees had established communities in the courtyards between the buildings. There are animals and small shops and cooking fires, all amongst the wards. The hospital, airport and perhaps Metinaro, with its ability to cut off access between Dili and Baucau, arguably remain the most concerning camps in terms of critical infrastructure.

On Cipro and back on track, I’m taking this time to slow down and do my thing. From self observation, this appears to involve going to yoga class and then spending the rest of the day in my stretchy pants reading, eating, reading, and listening to NPR. I’m now off – or up – to Dare for the rest of the week. And I am sure that the cool air is just what the doctor ordered.



* UN employees have access to the UN clinic.
Photos: Top - Work on the sidewalks on Comoro road, near Tiger Fuel. Bottom - Customs house.

Amongst the Silver Taxis

The car died for the third time in the middle of Bairro Pite. The AC was already off to coax the absentee engine to push us the rest of the way up Hudi Laran. We sat low in the seats, waiting to start rolling again.

A ‘97 Nissan, it wasn’t a bad car, but considering that we were stopped in the center of the road, sweating, I thought that $5,500 was a bit high. And $4,000 was a bit high for the matte black Mitsubishi Lancer with no wheels; and $5,000 was too steep for the red Lancer parked behind the Chinese restaurant that revved and shook like a bull terrier as I leaned in to check the mileage.

Dili is an ibun ba ibun (word of mouth, lit: mouth to mouth) kind of place. The good deals are to be found through friends and work-mates, through the vulture’s-luck of someone rushing off to Nepal or Geneva or Afghanistan. One has to get out of the mainstream. It was with this in mind that I gambled on my landlord’s friend and won a Saturday idling in the Nissan, squinting down dusty streets.

L and I have been searching for a car since I got back. On the weekends we have donned bike helmets, filled water bottles and peddled to the various Singaporean and Japanese dealerships and checked out the message boards in Lita and Landmark. It feels dorky shopping for a car via bike – we must look hot and desperate, which is not far from the truth. And the dealers can tell. Dead meat from the start.

So today, when we finally bought the car, there wasn’t the euphoria of getting a super deal. The seller simply said ‘no’ as we stuttered and lied through our various ‘negotiating strategies,’ finally handing over the asking price in thick bundles of soiled tens and twenties. At least he could have pretended to give us a break; take pity on the cyclists!

With the car I’ll be able to attend yoga class, visit friends and get to Landmark on yogurt expiration day (super deals!). Most importantly, the car means mobility after dark, and we’ll be able to go out on nights when neither of us can eat more of Sunday’s dhal. Life will be more independent and flexible. I will drink to that tonight.

This is my first car.


Postscript: In the end, the car is nothing flash: small and silver, ready to join the schools of Dili taxis. This is camouflaging strategy. At the other end of the spectrum is armoring; a ute I rode in this weekend had metal grills on the side windows and a windscreen of bulletproof glass so thick that it warped the road. Impenetrable, cocksure.

However, I think that L brought up a good point: What happens if you lock your keys in the car?



Photo: Modified from HHH forward. Ta.

FOS: You Win

I'm back after a month in 'Merica.

I've actually been back long enough to have my generator catch fire, watch the boat catch fire, travel with a pig back from Viqueque, visit the nuns, count whales, start a new job, move into a new home... just not long enough to get online.* Thank you FOS for the shove.

*This was also made clear when I had no idea that the Boston Red Sox had won the World Series. I fear my Massachusetts driver's liscence is going to be revoked.