The Honeymoon. The Highlights.

•  Realising that getting there was half the fun.

•  Discovering that the entire island of Timor only has one mix tape that has been copied and distributed to all bus drivers, shops and airports for continuous and painful repetition, 24 hours a day. And each song has EXACTLY the same bass line. Since getting back, have realised that it is the same stuff that our little diva neighbour belts out most hours of most days of the week.

• Noting the fully sick detailing on the windscreens of all the local buses - a word or short phrase in a whacky font - as if giving the bus its title, while at the same time diminishing visibility by at least 30%. Here are some of my favourites:

“Xpressi”

“Simples”

“Stand by You”

“Google”

“Posh Boy”

“Don’t cry”

“Buser”

“Forever Power”

“Blessing”

“Predator”

“Gentlemen”

“Cleopatra”

“Corinthia”

“Alfa Omega”

“What’s the Greek connection?” you ask. I don’t know.


• Catching an unusually large number of men doing up their pants after urinating in public.

• Learning how to make hibiscus tea (among many other, wondrous tasty treats) at the Casa Luna cooking school (a wedding present from my naughty friends, Tara and Will).

Here’s how: You get 3 hibiscus flowers, put them in a cup. Pour over boiling water. Watch it turn dark purple. Take the flowers out. Squeeze in the juice of a lime. Watch the liquid turn to pink. Add sugar to taste. Chill if desired. Drink.

• Marvelling at young children asleep whilst riding motorbikes with their families. One little boy was standing, slumped over the handlebars, dead to the world.

• Discovering that using a banana leaf as an umbrella may not be all that effective, but it sure looks cool.

• Being oblivious to the fact that our fancy “Honeymoon Special” masseurs from our hotel in Amed were not the same people that come along from the beach and say: “You wan massaz?”. We’d booked for 3pm. The hotel masseurs were late. The beachcombers were not. We weren’t to know. We undressed. The beachcombers started with their baby oil. The fancy ones turned up at the door in their fancy uniforms and their aromatherapy oils. Then there were four masseurs in a room with two half-naked tourists looking confused and guilty, feeling like we’d been caught cheating. We wanted the good stuff. We ditched the baby oil (paid for it) and spent the next hour and a half in aromatherapy heaven.

• Getting loved up on New Year’s Eve with my two favourite men in the whole world: Wade and Michael Franti. Watched and listened to the smooth acoustic tunes with our legs dangling in the pool. Then went back to our own villa*, with our own private pool and had a night time swim as the rain started coming down. (That part was a bit luxurious).

• *Shaking my head in disbelief at the traffic congestion while walking back to our villa on New Year’s Eve. At one end of the road the cars were at a stand-still, motorbikes weaving in and around them, as well as speeding down the footpaths, until eventually, the motorbikes came to a gridlock, leaving only small spaces for us lowly pedestrians to squeeze through. Eventually even we were unable to advance any further, with all the available spaces being taken up by cars, motorbikes and other pedestrians.