In the morning I tell Dave it's bye-bye-time, he doesn't object and goes ashore for a walk. I have a shower, pack my big backpack, collecting all my things from the boat (forgetting a $25 whisky bottle). I'm being watched the whole time by the kids in the water around the yacht.
After noticing some of them with tropical ulcers on their ancles we don't let them come in the cockpit, but just hang on the platform and once in a while, when there's noone, spray-disinfect the boat.
The kids take over the dingy and start playing with it; Dave reappears on the beach, surrounded by the crowd, at least 50 people. He probably feels like Columbus or so, he sure looks like it. I shoot a picture and everyone starts waving, big smiles everywhere.After an hour or so of playing around with the kids, dragging the dingy full of children behind the yacht on the long rope (that wasn't stolen after all) and upturning the dingy for laughs, we calm down, I promise a teenager a cigarette for drying up the dingy and keeping it free from the kids. He can't cope with the job - there are at least 30 or so children in the water, every one of them seemigly with the goal of getting into the dingy or at least putting some water in it. The newly appointed captain goes mad, starts bashing the kids around with the paddles, it horrifies us, evethough we're hysterical with laughter... But it helps! We somehow dry the dingy, I say my "See ya later Dave mate", get my hat, backpack and plastic bag with socks and boots into the dingy and hit the beach. Dave shouts from the boat "I better make some tracks", rescues his dingy from the kids and diesels away.
I feel a major relief, having regained my independence. I sit down on the beach and wait for my feet to dry. The whole crowd is now surrounding me. Especially the kids - they are all over me, there must be at least a hundred of them, some carry schoolbooks. I ask a boy whether I can have a look in his notebook, it's on English - 'good morning', 'good afternoon'. That particular kid is shy but obviously understands English, the local genius, he's 8 or 9.
Eventually I lose patience and start putting socks and boots on, under the approving looks of the children. I put the backpack on my shoulders and start making some tracks myself.
The village is just behind the beach. Again - local huts made of twigs and the everpresent rusty corrugated iron. I escape the crowd of kids and am walking completely alone between the houses. People are everywhere, mostly women doing their household things, laundry and so on. When they catch a glimpse of me they greet, buon dia, even buon dia sinhor and are a bit startled to see me. I myself feel quite confident, in comfortable walking boots, fresh clothes, light rucksack on my back, the aussie-hat on top of all, the day is still cool, it's almost 10 o'clock in the morning.The road is a couple of hundred meters away, there is a group of people standing around a motorbike. I decide to give it a try, go to the bikey, ask him how far Baucau is. Apparantly, it's only 20 km up the hill. I ask him to take me there, and there is a lot of laughter, especially from the girl standing next to him. This is obviously absurd to her - it's her boyfriend and the back seat is reserved exclusively for her. Money doesn't matter in this case, it's totally out of the question. After 10 minutes they ride away.
The guy that saved the dingy appears, now with clothes on, wearing a T-shirt I have seen before on many of the islanders. It's mainly sky-blue, with a map of the world on it and a lot of different flags. It is a part (or maybe the whole lot) of a Portuguese human aid campaign. Altogether I have seen hundreds of people wear them. It's quite nice, by the way, I wouldn't mind having one of those. We look also for the Bulgarian flag, but it is not present on the T-shirt.
I try to get more info on the location. There is a place called Laga, 5 km to the east, another 100 or so further is Los Palos. Baucau, the second town of East Timor, is 20 km to the west. A public transport bus, going to Baucau would arrive at two o'clock, a bus going to the east, but only to Laga, at one o'clock. I decide that given it's size and proximity, Baucau is the place to go today and then organise the eventual trip back to Los Palos from there.
Maybe five bemos pass us, all heading east, to Laga. I ask what's there, they say a big market, which sounds interesting enough to see, and it's only 10 minutes into the wrong direction. I decide to get on the next bemo to Laga and, of course, the next bemo comes from there and is heading for Baucau. The price is Rp.5000, give or take a dollar. I don't want to lose this unscheduled opportunity and jump on.
