There was another Mexican party in Dili recently. That makes two such parties in the space of a few weeks. This one was much the same as the last, only this time I was more drunk and decided to dance.

There was a lot of salsa dancing going on. I was happy to just bop by myself, but at some point a lady, she may have been Portuguese, started teaching me to dance.

The other couples on the dance floor were flinging each other around in circles, twisting and turning with ease. You have to lead me, said the lady. I’m freaking trying, I replied.

I was taken back to about 10 days before, when I had been taught Timorese dancing. I quickly mastered that left-left-right-left-left-right shuffle. But this salsa had me beat.

You have to lead me, said the lady again. I could see she was frustrated. My years of dancing to house, techno, trance and drum n bass music were no help. I felt like a kitten stranded in the middle of a highway.

After two songs the lady decided it would be better to leave me to my own devices. I’m not built for salsa dancing – I hate it. There may come a day when I change my mind about all of this, but for the foreseeable future I don’t want to dance – I can’t dance.

The big question is, Would I like salsa dancing if I could do it better? I don’t have an answer.

I have a story on Asia Times Online called “East Timor tries to buy some time“.

While I may have very few words to write at the moment, here are some pictures from the past couple of weeks.

There aren’t many things I miss about Thailand, but I still read the news every day to see what’s happening. The current political crisis is a worry, but there’s enough comment on that from people actually living in Bangkok. I feel as if I’ve almost washed Thailand out of my hair. I’m happy to have a fresh start and something new to sink my teeth into. However, what I would like to sink my teeth into in Dili is some decent food.

The restaurant scene in Dili is dire. I eat most of my meals at the local warungs. The food is simple and it usually tastes reasonable. The hardcore local joints charge about $1 or $1.50 for a plate of food. I get as much satisfaction eating at these places as I do eating at the more-expensive restaurants.

Moving up the scale there are restaurants serving Chinese and Indonesian food for about $3 to $4 a plate. These places are like buffets where you have a little bit of everything and they are probably my favorite restaurants in Dili. Starco is one that springs to mind and Terrace Café is also decent.

At the far end of the scale there are the expat restaurants. Sushi, burgers, pizza, kebabs, whatever you want: you can find it in Dili. Unfortunately the food at these eateries is average at best. I haven’t been impressed by any of Dili’s expat restaurants. It’s not that they’re expensive because the food is cheaper than at many of the restaurants I ate at in Phuket, but there’s nothing that really excites the palate.

I miss Thailand for its food, for all the hidden-away spots I used to eat at, for all the street vendors, for all the restaurants. I didn’t expect the food in Timor to be exceptional, but living in Thailand I became rather spoiled in terms of what I ate. Food was exciting, much like it was during my recent trip to Ainaro. Those people sure know how to eat.

Other than that everything is OK.

The lack of posting going on here is due to me spending a week out in the wilderness. Although I have never been keen on traveling and darting about from country to country, cramming as many destinations into each week as possible, I still get a buzz from living in new places and experiencing different cultures. Last week was my chance to see what life is like for many out in the districts of Timor-Leste.

I was in Matenu, a small village in Ainaro. From one day to the next I had no idea what was in store. It was the kind of trip that many people would hate. We traveled for five hours in the back a pickup truck. There were about twenty of us: fifteen adults, five or six children, one buffalo and a pig. The truck dropped us off a hefty walk through the hills from our final destination.

We slept outside in makeshift marquees made of bamboo and tarpaulin. The ground was hard and the temperature dipped dramatically after sundown. In the mornings we bathed and swam in a river with kids splashing about all over the place.

During the day we drank coffee, whisky, palm brandy and beer. Sometimes we even drank water. Being out in the hills, the combination of altitude, caffeine, alcohol and heat meant that we were all out of our minds most of the time. People from neighboring villages and sub districts arrived until there were at least a hundred of us, with numbers swelling up to three hundred towards the end of the week.

Many of the people in Manetu harvest coffee. They also grow potatoes and other vegetables. But people came from miles around bringing pigs and buffaloes and goats and we ate like kings. It didn’t take long to get used to the sight and sound of animals being slaughtered and chopped up for cooking. Pigs in particular scream for their lives like a human would, but I had never eaten pork that tasted so divine.

The main activity during the week was dancing. By day we danced outside to the beat of a drum, while at night the generator powered a sound system and we danced under cover until the sun came up. Everyone danced: the old, the young, the men, the women, the guy with one arm, the people in traditional Timorese dress.

At other times I walked through the hills, stopping off at huts now and then, invited in for cups of coffee. For seven days I didn’t see another foreigner and the Timorese welcomed me into their lives with big smiles and shots of palm brandy, which, by the way, tastes much better than palm wine.

There’s so much more to tell, but after a week away I now find myself with a mountain of work and freelance assignments to sift through along with dozens of emails to reply to and follow up. But still, I had a great week and haven’t for one moment regretted my decision to leave Thailand.

Returning to Dili was a deflating experience and I felt disassociated from the city. Many things just didn’t seem right. It was like coming down.