My most ardent followers (I count 2) would know that I signed off in Darwin. It wasn’t easy getting my truck on a ship to Timor Leste, but I did. The next thing to worry about was would I ever see it again?
I went back to Sydney. To be honest I was a little over Sydney a few months back. But planets aligned and universes conspired – I re-discovered the Sydney I loved. So the time back there with family and friends was great.
I was in contact with my customs agents in Dili – they said get to Dili on 22 July. So off I went – via Darwin to a country I knew little about, to pick up a truck I hoped was there, from people I’d never met or spoken to. What could possibly go wrong?
(That thing around my neck?? The rainbow maker? Stay tuned – more in a few days)
I’ve wondered how to describe Dili. For me, it’s not far short of perfect. But I might write about that separately. For now, let’s get the truck!
So, I arrived around 4pm, 22 July. I texted the agent. But… there was a key piece of paperwork missing. The shipping line wouldn’t release the truck. Panic stations, emails and texts were fired back and forward across the Timor Sea. I hunkered down for what I thought might be a few days wait. However, it was only 24 hours. On 24 July I was told to turn up at Port Tiber to collect my truck.
Off I went in a taxi. As we arrived at the port, there was the truck. Thank God!!! I could lay eyes on it. I even walked over and touched it. For 7-8 weeks, honestly I was scared the thing was gone forever – the relief when I saw it was palpable. I hadn’t realised how scared I was.
But… there was still a bit of drama. I needed to pay the customs agent US$2,100. They asked for cash – although they did supply an invoice. I tried to get into the Port Authority building but, no, I wasn’t allowed in. In Dili, access to Govt buildings requires long pants a collared shirt and shoes – things I expect not wear for 2-3 years. I was barred. What happens now?
Eventually, up wandered a 20-something bloke wearing a motorbike helmet. “Give me the cash”, he said. “I sort it”. I really had no choice. I handed over what was probably the average annual salary for a Timorese worker – he disappeared inside.
I waited. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. What the … was I going to do now?? No truck. No money, No paperwork. And some bloke was screaming off on his motorbike laughing like a crazy man at this stupid old white guy.
But… faith, right? People are honest. Eventually out he came. He had my paperwork – a thing called a Carnet, the passport for the truck. It was all stamped, ready to go. He gave me the keys for the truck. That was it. It was done. I hopped in and drove off – back to my hotel.
And I need try to tell you what that felt like. I’d done it – something I thought was beyond me for a long time. I’d freighted my vehicle to a totally different country. I’d performed an administrative miracle in something I knew nothing about. I’d trusted a series of total strangers to help me along the process. For 2-3 years I’d dreamed of that moment… the culmination, really, of every hope and dream I’d had. And now here I was, driving my truck through the streets of a foreign country, on another continent. I felt almost ‘out of worldly’. I can’t find better words. Sorry.
And how did I react? I parked up at the hotel, and for the next 3 days was I totally exhausted. I went through the motions day to day, but my body and my brain were mush. I didn’t quite recognise it – it took the wisdom of a lovely couple I met to tell me what I’d achieved, and why it would be normal to collapse in a mess of relief. And that’s what it was.
But there I was. In Asia, in a new country. My adventure was really happening. Maybe 3 days later, I woke up with that thought.
How bloody good is this!!!