The hard, scenic road to Jaco

Ironically, it is Timor’s brutal history that has preserved its primal beauty, saving it from chain-hotel tourism Timor-Leste reminds you of days when it was still possible to believe in lands “far, far away”. Moored on the far eastern edge of South-East Asia, its crocodile-shaped length is a speck on two seas: Banda Sea to its north and Timor Sea to its south. Yet, those who make the journey and reach its easternmost district of Lautem, right up to Tutuala­a village that hides caves dating back 35,000 years­and make the precipitous right turn going down to Valu Beach (navigable only by a four-wheel drive), are looking to go even farther: to the magical island of Jaco.

Jaco Island is part of the famed Coral Triangle, an underwater area that holds the world’s greatest diversity of both corals and coral reef fish, and is protected by the Nino Konis Santana National Park. The island is considered a sacred site by locals and is uninhabited. There are no permanent structures on the island, camping is prohibited, and its only regular visitors are fishermen, their hand-sharpened spears laden with fresh-caught yellowfin tuna and red bass. The biggest draw is, of course, the beach itself, which, even in a country strewn with great beaches, elicits rapturous eulogies.

I arrived in Dili, determined to see this secret island. Dili, which is the best place to stock up on bottled water and other supplies, has a unique vibe that draws from the Austronesian-Melanesian mix of its population and, naturally, the more recent history of strife and violence. The street scene is gritty, with the notorious martial arts gangs a constant ominous presence in the city’s underbelly. At Arte Moris, the city’s most well-known art space, installations and artwork use burnt tyres, brightly coloured gasoline jerrycans, mutilated automobile parts and assorted detritus to narrate a visceral post-conflict experience.


No, Dili is no place for the effete flanêur; Dili demands you dive in. Flag down a taxi blaring foot-tapping “tebe-tebe” tunes and ask for the beachfront Avenida de Portugal. There, eat heartily from stalls smoking grilled meats and fish, dodge local boys­still wet from their swim­kicking around a football, shout your “botardes (good afternoons)!” to the foul-mouthed fishermen pulling in their nets, sidestep the UN troopers out for a run, and stay clear of the odd street gang looking for trouble.

Elsewhere, locals throng the beaches near Areia Branca, the site of a cliff-hanging 27m statue of “Christ the King” (moulded in the likeness of Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro), while expat aid workers and off-duty UN police officers peel off their neoprene wetsuits and brag of sightings at the city’s many world-class dive sites like Dili Rock or, a little farther out, K41. These days, the evening ends with nothing bloodier than the sky, stained with the setting sun, and everyone­locals, expats, UN troops, tourists­can climb the wooden steps of Castaway­Dili’s undisputed king of evening hangouts­and settle down to jugs of sangria and a live band.


It wasn’t always like this. For nearly a quarter of the last century, East Timor (as it was known then) was a battleground. In many ways, it was to Indonesia then what Kashmir is to India till today. Over 100,000 deaths, countless human rights violations, massacres (most notably in Dili), and daily brutalities marked the Indonesian military occupation of the island. When independence came at the turn of the millennium following a UN-supervised referendum and the departure of then president Suharto in Indonesia, clashes between pro-independence and pro-integrationist forces rendered Timor an even more dangerous place. For most parts of the last decade, various international and UN peacekeeping forces have kept an uneasy order in the country. It’s only in the past two years that a more lasting calm seems to prevail. If all goes well, the remaining UN forces will leave by Christmas this year.

In a perverse way, it’s this history that has protected Timor’s exceptional natural beauty from the scavenging attentions of global resort chains and tour operators. But “give it another couple of years, you wouldn’t be able to recognize it”, a local friend tells me when I exclaim what a discovery this feels. He may be right: In October, CNN’s online travel portal argued that Timor deserves to be a more popular destination and The Sydney Morning Herald has compared it to Bali in the 1970s. According to the government, arrivals are few, but growing steadily.

For now, though, travelling through Timor still gives you that rare feeling of having truly discovered a place for yourself. For those headed to Jaco Island the experience is intensified.

The road to Jaco takes a particularly scenic coastal route: Think white-crested sapphire blue waters, bottle-green rainforests, handsome mountains, and a white sand coastline that would put Amalfi to utter shame. But it’s hard on the tyres and the road deteriorates rapidly after you cross the fishing village of Com. The only solace is in the ancient Fataluku houses that dot the landscape as you make your way to Tutuala and then, bravely, down to Valu Beach.

Reaching “pantai (Bahasa Indonesian for beach) Valu” feels like a minor victory. Jaco Island is in sight. Unfortunately, the only way to get there is to wait on the beach patiently for a kind fisherman to take you across.

 

Source ETAN by Abhijit Dutta