Timor Leste: The adventure destination of Southeast Asia

Have you tired of the well-worn tourist trails in Southeast Asia? The late nights, hangovers, scammers, and long distances? Do you want to escape the overcrowded cities? Are you looking to add some adventure to your travels? If you are, then Timor Leste is the place to visit.

Tatamailau

Nestled high in the mountains, the village of Hatubilico, is the starting point for Tatamailau, Timor Leste’s highest peak. There is no regular transportation to ‘Hatu,’ and you may find yourself in the back of a truck, bumping along unpaved roads, listening to branches brushing against a tarpaulin covering. Travel outside anywhere of Dili is an arduous task in Timor Leste, with the twisting, narrow roads often in need of repair, similarly the microlets (minivan taxis), that cough and crawl along the mountainous routes.

Sitting at 1950m, Hatubilico is a picturesque mountain village, with red roofed buildings and small farm plots spotted across the hillsides. Silence permeates in the late afternoon, save for the occasional clang of hammer on metal, or a mother calling to her children. Overhead, rainclouds are gathering, their ominous forms rolling in across the hilltops. The wet season is approaching.

The truck stops somewhere that feels like the centre of town, and I climb down and wave thanks to the drivers. They toot goodbye, and an arm waves from the window. Accommodation is scarce in Hatu, with most options being the spare rooms in family homes. Finding the only currently operational lodging is a matter of asking around, following vague directions, and then waiting for the proprietor to return home from their farm, or the shop, or a neighbour’s house. As with all mountain villages, life in Hatubilico in unhurried, and will not move any quicker for outsiders.

The hike to Tatamailau is a pre-dawn journey, and after a long day of travel, from Dili, to Maubisse and finally to Hatubilico, I rest early, and sleep easily.

Hatubilico, Timor Leste

At 2:00am, Hatubilico is eerily quiet, and the clouds have blanketed what would otherwise be a glittering night sky. A soft breeze moves through the valley, brushing past my cheeks and pricking my ears. The only sounds are my footsteps. They crunch on the gravel path, towards a vaguely described trailhead. Before long, another set of footsteps are audible, the rapid pitter-patter of a dog trotting behind me. Its tail swings with gleeful anticipation. The dogs in Hatu do not bark and wail at strangers, in a reflection of the friendly manner of their Timorese masters.

There is no discernible route towards the Tatamailau trailhead, with international tourism an afterthought anywhere outside of Dili. In the early morning darkness, I can only guess, and consider that the widest road, that also trails up, is the best option. My four legged companion follows behind, in tacit approval.

Tatamailau is more commonly known Mt Ramelau, a name adopted during the Indonesian occupation (1975 – 1999) and is taken from the massif. In the Mambai dialect, Tatamailau means ‘Grandfather of all,’ and on a clear day it nearly possible to see the entirety of Timor Leste, with views that stretch for hundreds of kilometres.

The tranquil silence of the early morning is soon disturbed by the revving of motorcycle engines. A glow of lights flash up ahead, and confused discussion between shadowy figures echoes through the mountains. I quicken my pace, hoping to catch a ride, or at least confirm that the path will lead to Tatamailau. The group of university students are rearranging themselves on a particularly steep and bumpy part of the road, and some opt to walk, rather than risk falling off. They are also on their way to Tatamailau and invite me to walk with them.

We soon reach the trailhead, and after a brief stop for snacks and water, begin the climb. In the traditional beliefs of the Timorese, the peak of Tatamailau is where the spirits of the dead travel, and as a sacred, and largely inaccessible site, it was not climbed. With the arrival of the Portuguese colonialists, those local beliefs were co-opted for Christianity, and Tatamailau became a resting place, before an eventual ascent to heaven. The top of the mountain now boasts an open air church, and a 3 metre statue of the Virgin Mary was installed at the summit in 1997. When we arrive, as the sky is illuminated in a warm orange glow and the students all cross themselves before stepping onto the concrete platform.

Dawn on Mt Ramelau

We return to Hatubilico mid-morning, and at a local shop constructed of corrugated metal sheets, eat instant noodles and bananas. From there the adventure continues, finding a ride back to Dili. In another stroke of good luck, it is market day, and a truck is leaving Hatubilico at lunchtime, bound for Maubisse. Hessian bags are stacked inside, filled with rice, second hand clothes and a variety of produce. A group of travellers then climb aboard and balance in precarious positions on the bags while gripping the railings. An elderly lady, here face etched with decades of rural life, lights up the first of many cigarettes. Rainclouds gather once again, darker and heavier than yesterday, and a tarp is thrown over the top of the truck. The muddy, smoky, cramped tray is the only ride out of Hatubilico, and the truck limps out of the marketplace before commencing a bouncy ride towards Maubisse.

Waiting for the truck to fill, with my four legged companion

Atauro

The journey to Atauro Island is far more straightforward, with ferry services running daily from Dili. As we glide across the strait, a small television is showing a Fast & Furious movie. There is no sound and the subtitles have clearly been produced by someone with a tenuous grasp of English. For the next 90 minutes, I am transported from Timor Leste, and travel with Jason Statham and Dwayne Johnston, as they save the world and reconcile broken relationships.

Atauro Island has all the trappings of a tropical island paradise, though with an underdeveloped charm, yet to be marred by mass tourism. The ferry docks a short distance off shore, and we are ushered onto a smaller boat, then motored towards a concrete jetty. The small boat bobs and rocks, and the passengers hesitate before taking their careful first steps. Arms outstretched in a delicate balancing act they climb ashore one by one. Onshore, a seafood market is in full swing, serving grilled fish, squid skewers, and lumps of rice wrapped in banana leaves. Yet there is nobody ushering us towards their particular stall, no touts and no hustlers, in fact there is little attention paid to us at all.

On this eastern side of Atauro, the village of Beloi is dotted with homestays that offer home cooked meals, and fans that work when the electricity is on. Coconuts fall in the streets, piling up amongst the discarded plastic bottles and food wrappers. It is simple, quiet and blissful.

Seafood market on Atauro Island

Manucoco, at 995m, is the highest point on Atauro. Beginning in Vila, it is a difficult climb, along unmarked goat tracks and overgrown, seldom travelled paths. There are no guides and no maps. After several hours, I pass a farm that feels uncomfortable and inconvenient, located so far up the mountainside. However, the thwack of machetes on branches is comforting, a familiar sound of village life, and the reassuring presence of other humans nearby. The summit of Manucoco is dense and mossy, and the air thick with moisture and damp. Views of the cool ocean below tease and tantalise from that high point, and in my sweaty, exhausted state, I know it will be hours before I reach them.

The descent passes through more farmlands and homesteads, and a wrong turn takes me to the village of Makili. There is no road access out of Makili, so I hitch a ride with some fishermen back to Vila. Wading out towards the boat, my feet sink into the sand and the water is as soothing as I imagined from the top of Manucoco. The refreshing salt water finds all the scrapes and scratches from the branches on Manucoco, stinging and healing. On the short ride back to Vila, I let my hand trail in the water, my fingertips skimming the water’s surface. From Vila, I hitch another ride, this time not as comfortable. In the back of a delivery buggy, on sacks of rice, bouncing around all the way back to Beloi. Though it beats walking in the midday heat. At the homestay, my host Estevau offers me a coconut, and as the water runs down my throat it has never tasted so good.

Sunrise on Atauro Island

Quelicai

The village of Quelicai appears as little more than a footnote in my guidebook, which in any case, is more than a decade out of date. Quelicai is listed as somewhere to hike to Mt Matebian, another of Timor’s high peaks. From Dili, microlets run along the coastal road to Baucau, and then to Quelicai. I have no idea what to expect, as there is no accommodation. Though there are stories of travellers lodging at the church. Before leaving Dili, I search Instagram for people who have visited recently, and send some messages, in the hope of finding some help and information.

The microlet arrives in Quelicai late on Sunday afternoon. At the church, there are still some worshippers inside, though nobody who speaks English, and my Tetum, Portuguese and Indonesian are limited to basic greetings, thanks, and a handful of numbers. I check my phone for any messages and discover that the travel gods are in a benevolent mood. There is a message from Patricia, and she knows someone who knows someone who knows Padre Alvaro, the church pastor. Patricia has sent her phone number with instructions to call. The only place to eat in Quelicai is a roadside shack, a short walk from the church, run by a lady named Tasha. In another incredible stroke of luck, she speaks fluent English. I order a plate of rice and chicken, and together we call Patricia. The three way conversation involves us handing the phone up and back to each other, relaying messages, exchanging names of people in the village, and confirming arrangements. After my meal, Tasha sends her daughter to fetch someone from the village, who will contact Padre Alvaro, and I return to the church to wait. The alchemy of rural village life has struck again, and it is soon determined that I will lodge at the boarding school adjoining the church. In the evening, Padre Alvaro invites me to dinner, and with his protégés, we discuss life in Australia, Timor Leste, and my status as an infidel in a country full of faithful believers.

Matebian is another mountain sacred to the Timorese. Traditionally, souls reside there before commencing their passage to the next world. In 1975, during the Indonesian invasion, Matebian was a literal refuge for lost souls. The mountain and its surrounds sheltered some 20,000 people and was a base for the Fretilin guerrilla army. Today, the caves and plateaus host hikers instead of guerrillas, and, like Tatamailau, Matebian has been crowned with a foreign deity. Arms outstretched, the stony face of Christ the King, watches over his faithful flock.

The route to Matebian is the most beautiful of all. Shepherded by my guide Eduardo, we first pass through villages and rice fields on the outskirts of Quelicai. From there, the path towards the summit is little more than a goat trail, and the route twists and turns for hours, passing through limestone karst that multiplies the higher we travel. The clear skies at the summit offer a spectacular view of the eastern expanses of Timer Leste.

Views from the top of Matebian

Timor Leste is one of the least visited countries on earth. While numbers were building pre-pandemic, their peak of 74,800 in 2019, was still dwarfed by the millions of visitors welcomed by their neighbours. The capital of Dili is easy to navigate and offers excellent cuisine, catering for the large expat population, including many Portuguese. Outside of Dili, roads and infrastructure are basic, and travel is seasoned with a sense of adventure that is becoming harder to find. In addition to the hiking opportunities, Timor Leste also offers world class diving, and pristine beaches – all without the crowds found elsewhere in the region. Nestled in between Indonesia and Australia, Timor Leste and its people are a breath of fresh air in Southeast Asia.