The voyage: sea, sun, stars, dolphins, sails, flying fish, sharks, seasnakes, phosphorescence, jumping tuna. Sunsets. "The Beach". Snorkeling in 2000m of water. Blue. Cooking and washing up. GPS, charts.

On the fourth day, Sunday afternoon, the first land.

The depth alarm goes beep-beep-beep, says 30 m, then 25, 22, 20. Until then we were going straight for the dark landmass on the horizon. Dave is asleep, perhaps presuming it's my watch. I set the course to be parallel to the land and watch the depth meter - 20, 18, 16, 15, I'm trying to set the bottom alarm to ten, there is a lot of beeping, Dave wakes up and ask about the depth. I say it's 15 or 14, he starts shouting "turn the boat around, are you out of your mind?!? There could be a coral or a pinnacle anywhere, it's just a thin fiberglass hull". I turn the boat another 90 degrees, we're heading away from the land, depth drops into the 30s and 40s. Dave goes to sleep, comes back again, still swearing at me, "can't believe that after surviving 400 nautical miles on high sea, you were heading straight for the beach, oh my god, my heart does a hundred miles, I cant sleep….". I let him go on for a while, then I tell him that we were actually not going directly for the beach, but parallel. He doesn't really understand and goes on about my common sense and seamanship; I let it slide.

We sail the boat close to the nicest looking beach, let the anchor down and wait for the sunrise.

Dave goes snorkeling; I am alone on the boat. It's the first sunrise with land around, the clouds hanging on the mountains are spectacularly lit, the beach is framed with turquoise water, the coral and the fish are visible even from the boat. I'm trying to forget the incident in the morning, thinking "just one more day and then sink, you idiot".

Two canoes (with those side-stability things) appear around the small cape, each with three fishermen, going straight for the boat. I feel slightly uneasy, because Dave isn't to be seen anywhere, meaning that the honor of the first contact falls to me. I start the engine for 10 seconds in the hope that David will hear it underwater and will come fast to help.
The fishermen arrive and start saying things like selamat pagi, buon dia - Indonesian and Portuguese. I'm the schoolboy who hasn't learnt his lesson and is being examined in front of the whole class - I can't say a word to these people, it is quite embarrassing, I point to the south and say Darwin, then raise 4 fingers for the number of days. "Aaah. Australi, Darvin"..
Eventually Dave appears on the beach, sees the canoes and swims for the boat.

Three of the men climb onboard. The contact is, to say the least, slow. Dave's Indonesian matches that of the fishermen, which means not really fluent. We introduce ourselves, their names are Geraldo, Matheus, Joan, Ino. Sounds like Southern Europe…
They start pointing at the lures, obviously asking for them, looking at the depth meter and the solar panels, giving us thumbs up. I'm surprised they know what a solar panel is, so with some signs I explain to them the flow of electricity to the battery and they all nod, yes, yes, bagus.
Some time later they get half a box of cigarettes, bagus again, and go fishing, keeping an eye on us.

We lift the anchor and decide to check out a bit of the southern coast before we go for the passage between Yako island and Timor itself. According to the charts we have, that part of the sea is totally off limits to all but Indonesian military vessels.
After dieseling for about two hours and being exposed to those magnificent views of tropical mountains, beaches, palm trees and coral reef waters we see some people on a beach, they're frantically waving. Dave asks me whether I want to go and see them, or speak to them. I just have written down the numbers 1 to 10 in Indonesian, as well as thank you, sorry, good morning etc. and am keen on using the newly obtained knowledge. We swim for the beach with our snorkeling gear, it's about 150m, it's low tide, the last 50 meters are hell to walk on the exposed coral. But who's complaining, it's my first land in four days!
There are about 10 people on the beach, a couple of kids, women, men and some elderly. It looks like it's a family. They are sitting under a sort of roof construction, consisting of thick twigs on crouches and palm leaves. After looking more closely I see that the whole thing is tied together with long leaves, there is nothing industrial like wire or plastic on the whole structure. It is here today, but it looks like it could have been there 3000 years ago. Later on I test the stability and it is quite a strong thing.

Our second talk to the locals is slightly easier, they speak better Indonesian, so the struggle to understand is on our side. They inspect the snorkeling gear, are really impressed with it. We go for a walk along the beach, the locals come with us and show us a path into the forest. Now suddenly there are more of them, some in military uniform, all have big knives, one has a gun. Big smiles. We smile, too.

It's the first time I'm in a real tropical jungle and I'm walking on my bare feet. Surprisingly, the path is quite soft, with the occasional twig or log to be negotiated. After ten minutes it becomes more difficult and I see the first mosquitoes appear. I decide to go back to the beach, Dave continues with the Timorese. Two minutes later I'm alone in that jungle, I stop and have a look around - it's nothing and everything I ever imagined. All the Gerald Durrell books come to life.

The first village is at least 50 km west, so we decide to go back for the passage and stay there overnight. There are more people on the beach over there, we recognise our fishermen friends from the morning. We swim ashore, have a look at their catch, it's all brilliantly colourful, like a candy store.
There is a dead-end-road on the beach and a rest area, striking in it's normality - concrete chairs and tables, just like a stop on a highway anywhere. Wonder what the traffic here is like…

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