Oz to Ice

After getting the bike, I tackled my first bit of SE Asian traffic and it was like everyone said; its ok once your in it despite being slightly terrifying while watching from the footpath. It helps having an off road oriented bike here too. The roads are so bad that the extra suspension travel means that you don’t have to split your concentration between the traffic and crumbling road systems.

Getting the bike also means getting out of Dili, first stop a little place called Bacau, a small town build on a hillside by the beach. Beautiful crumbling Portuguese era buildings sit amongst the massive trees of the jungle while nearby rivers run alongside the road and even into the concrete public pool, closed for cleaning while I was there. Down on the beach a family of Timorese teach me that the local way of waving someone over uses the same gesture as telling someone to piss off back in Australia. Combine that with being yelled at in a language I don’t understand and you end up with some rather confusing situations. Thankfully this one ended with bbq horse from a bucket and cheap Portuguese wine from an imported flagon.

Further east I enter the town of Los Palos in a rather unique fashion; racing one of the local boys on his little scooter, launching the bike off the old steel trellis military bridge and past the local policeman who is just laughing at us. Even if he did want to pull us up for being idiots, I don’t think he would know what the speed limit there was anyway. With roads this bad, drivers generally govern their own speed anyway.

Los Palos is home to a man I was lucky enough to meet called Maleve, a rather unremarkable man apart form his stature; shoulders as broad as his are somewhat of a rarity in these parts and hint at him having been very physically powerful in days gone by. However, it’s the deep scar across hi brow that gives the biggest hint as to his past life as a militant fighting the 25 year long occupation of Timor Leste by Indonesia’s military dictatorship from 1975 to 1999. The scar was given to him by the butt of an Indonesian rifle but isn’t the worst of the reminders that the community bears. Maleves brother carries a scar running vertically up his stomach, a souvenir from an Indonesian bayonet, while all through the town there are vacant houses and plots of land, abandoned due to the superstition that the land is cursed after a violent death occurs there.

One of the most striking conversations that I have with Maleve was in regards to the number of Indonesians currently working in Timor Leste. When I asked if there was any resentment towards the Indonesians, he told me that the Timorese people had made the distinction between the Indonesian military and government, who they despise, and the people of Indonesia who had very little input in the decision to invade.


some of the views on the way east out of Dili




the old portugese markets in Bacau


the natural rivers running through town mean the water in the fountain is always crystal clear


the old portugese barracks, now the local school


the public pool is also fed by the clear waters running through the town, when its not closed for cleaning


these two started cleaning the bike without being asked but were more than happy to ask for money for their services once i got back


the revolutionary vibe is strong in the village of Los Palos


Maleve, one of the only men ive ever met that has the right to wear a che guvera tattoo


drinks and music with the locals




a little of the local delicacy, possum foetus wine


keeping motorcycles inside is still a novelty but nothing has ever felt more right

Fantastic. I'll enjoy following your journey. [emoji4]

Holy crap man simply stunning photos!! Are you a professional photographer?

Looks like an unforgettable experience. Congrats.

haha i wish. be nice to get paid for something i enjoy. i did sell a photo to my mum once, does that count?

Great photos and an even more impressive travel perspective. Bookmarking and looking forward to updates. Ride well!

I'm in

Enjoy the adventure!

apologises for the poor photos in this post, the rain kept the cameras tucked away for most of this story

Back on the road again and the rain set in as I headed for the south coast of Timor Leste. Things went smoothly until I got to a village with a short, steep and one-way hill. The rain had turned it into a potential landslide zone, the only way down being with both legs out, the rear brake locked and looking for a pile of soft mud large enough to stop me smashing into the truck that was bogged at the bottom of the hill and filling the road. With the rear wheels buried up to the axle in the sticky red clay, the local men were rather optimistically pulling on a steel cable in an attempt to pull it up the slope. I like to say that they were dreaming but have since learnt that Indonesians have more than a few surprises up their selves

The rain continued and so did the bad roads until it ended at a 200m wide riverbed with a river that was slowly rising as the rain continued to fall. The nearby Chinese workers camp wasn’t much help as to what was going on and the village id just passed through looked deserted. I eventually tumbled on some kids out playing in the rain, one of which spoke some pretty rudimentary English but managed to get me to understand to follow him. He took me to the temporary bypass track that looked as though it had been temporary for a number of years. With all the rain it wasn’t much more than a muddy track and I had about as much hope of getting up it as I had the hill I had slid my way down.

Trapped between two unrideable slopes and with the rain still falling, I gave up for the day and was led back to the small hut that the kids occupied, all 8 of them along with their parents. They gave me a small patch of grass to put my tent on while the father cut two of the biggest palm leaves ive ever seen to be used as a cover for my bike. While putting a couple of leaves on my bike doesn’t seem like much, the fact that he was willing to go out into the rain just so he could help protect the property of a complete stranger spoke volumes about the culture of these people.

Eventually I’m all set up for the night and changed out of my muddy riding gear when the mother of the kids come over to hand me a bowl of instant noodles and some kind of unidentifiable meat. It tastes amazing and curiosity get the better of me so I ask what the mystery meat is and am promptly shown the empty shell of a sea turtle laying next to the remains of a fire. Not something I ever thought I would get the opportunity to eat.

We spend the night laughing about how we cant understand each other and I teach some very basic English to the kids. The next morning I’m farewelled with more turtle meat and even some turtle eggs cooked inside lengths of bamboo over the fire. During the night, the rain stopped and its under clear skies that I tackle the muddy slope that forced me to call it a day only 12hrs before.


the families hut that managed to sleep 8 people


a shot of the kitchen area


the all natural bike cover. it doesnt pack down real small but the price is about right


the most exotic food scraps ive ever seen


the guys standing on my right is a grown adult and a pretty common height for these parts

<iframe src="//player.vimeo.com/video/85722360" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen allowfullscreen></iframe> <p><a href="http://vimeo.com/85722360">Timor Leste NYE</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user8273843">Rob Armstrong</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>

More here: http://oztoice.wordpress.com/2012/01/03/nye-2012/

Timor Leste is heaven for camping. Being less populated than other parts of SE Asia, there&#8217;s plenty of land to pitch a tent on, be it on the beach or up high in the mountains. Be careful on the beaches though as salt water crocs inhabit these waters too, something I got warned about after the locals saw me bathing in the ocean one afternoon.

One of the strangest things was the peoples reaction to me camping there. Naturally they want to check out all the weird gear that I&#8217;ve got but generally not before asking if they can come and look. Even when camped in the fields they keep their buffalo in, they would stand some way off just watching and waiting for me to signal them over before approaching. It was almost like they respected my own space. Or maybe they are just wary after 250 years of having their land and resources taken from them by foreigners and are a little wary about why I&#8217;m here too.




camped by the beach as the sun sets behind me


flowers at 2000m


one of the more memorable campsites


wild horses running through the mountain tops at first light


visitors were always super curious. would have been great to have a better conversation that "Hi. Robert. Australia" then laughing


cooking in the tent is a no-no but cooking from inside the tent is still ok


a HDR shot of the sunset from 2000m


More here: https://oztoice.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/camping-in-timor-leste/

Riding a motorbike around foreign countries give a unique insight into the culture that your immersed in, unlike package holidays or following the tourist trail, armed with a copy of *insert mass produced travel guide here*. I still get to see all the touristy spots but also get to see all the pieces in-between that haven been set up to accommodate for tourist and maintain a more genuine feel.

The story was no different in Timor Leste where I got a feel for how a country might work without the need nor desire for interference from a centralised government. Watching an extended family pitch in to build a new house was something of a revelation to me. They used what they could to get by, salvaging materials from other construction sites and substituting restrictive building legislation with experience and common sense. While I&#8217;m sure the house they were building would have won any design awards, it still served the same function as the McMansions back home and they probably had more freedom in its design than most people do. It was good to see people getting on with life without the need for people sitting in offices telling them how to do it.

The cock fighting match was another experience altogether. I&#8217;ve never seen it before and its becoming more of a rarity in SE Asia as countries like Indonesia try to ban it from happening (countless cocks kept under woven bamboo baskets throughout Indonesia tells me the government is loosing that battle) but in Timor Leste its still completely legal and happens all over the country. Even in some of the most remote corners of Timor Leste large sums of money are exchanging hands while roosters try to avoid razor sharp blades strapped to their opponents spurs in the hope that they wont become tonight&#8217;s dinner. With it so heavily ingrained in the culture, even the kids have their own roosters that they are taught to raise properly in order to one day turn them into money making machines in the local arenas. A small table off to the side of the cock fighting arena that served as a kind of roulette table with minimal moving parts turned the former rice paddy field into a veritable village casino.


the men of the family pose for a photo before i leave


all concrete was mixed by hand, the stones and sand mined from local rivers and sized manually while water was carried on the back of motorcycles from a nearby stream


the arrival of a foreigner at this village cock fight was enough of a rarity to halt proceedings until i had been introduced to everyone and the obligatory questions had been asked like "where are you from, how many cc, how old are you, how did you got so big?"


the fighting and gambling quickly got underway again


a future hopeful champion


some fights ended quickly and cleanly, others were drawn out with plenty of blood and excitement from the gathered crowd


when things in the cock fighting ring got a little boring, everyone migrated over to the roulette table to try their luck on a ball rolling around on a divoted surface


more here: http://oztoice.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/the-family-home/

Passing through Timor Leste wouldn&#8217;t be complete for an Australian without a visit to the small and rather unremarkable village of Balibo. Most people will never have heard of the place but this is where the Indonesian government of 1975 first invaded Timor Leste, which began 25 years of military rule that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Timorese. Australians will know it as the place that 5 journalists reporting on the invasion for Australian news channels were murdered by the invading military and the proof of what happened destroyed when their bodies and footage were burnt. It was also the beginning of the Australian governments dubious history with Timor Leste as they turned a blind eye to the murder of the Australian journalists and the Timorese people.




a couple of locals by the roadside


with very little support from the government, this family were walking back home after clearing a large tree off the road using only their parangs (machetes)


pretty standard fuel stop in these parts


a very old and very cool looking truck that looked like it had been parked up for a while


this was a buffalo about 2 hrs before this. now its almost dinner


<iframe src="//player.vimeo.com/video/94924137" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen allowfullscreen></iframe> <p><a href="http://vimeo.com/94924137">Riding and Camping around Timor Leste</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user8273843">Rob Armstrong</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>

more here: http://oztoice.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/balibo/

Sad to see this thread peter-out BlackCap, though I see you're still posting otherwise. From your blog it looks like you were productively distracted in SE Asia for quite some time...

Hope you're well and I hope to see more of your story in the future. Safe travels.

Great pics + words

Safe travels,

JM.