“Piglet,” said Rabbit, taking out a pencil, and licking the end of it, “you haven’t any pluck.” “It […]
Embassies are odd places, each have a distinct character, with similarities – separate spaces serve different purposes behind the walls, gates and guards.
Dili is cupped between the ocean and the mountains: a narrow strip of flat land before the steep hills.
I jumped at the chance for some congenial company and a seat in a 4WD for a 4.5 hour, 100 km, drive to Baucau for lunch and back again.
I’ve been here for seven weeks and I still haven’t got out of Dili. I hear that the climate is kinder in the hills, and that it is beautiful.
You can do an awful lot with ten litres of water. Over 10 litres of water sit in the pipes to the two cold water taps, and the warm water system for the shower in my flat.
The second day in my flat I’m cooking garlic, and in walks a cat. Mister Busa has stayed.
31 January I’ll be on my way to Dili, Timor-Leste to do my thing again.
True to form, I’ve signed a 12-month contract having done no research about the country or organisation I’ll be embedded in. Because that’s how I roll.