Maubare is west of Dili along the winding coastal road whose undulations are more micro than macro i.e. it would make a challenging mountain biking track with many an inattentive rider suddenly and irretrievably, disappearing.
Road repairs aside, it is a beautiful coastline. As we drove we speculated about the existence of crocodiles, deciding that if any lived permanently along this stretch of road, it was probably at Tibar where there are cosy mangroves in which to canoodle. We stopped at Tibar, not to speculate on the reptilian population but for a recuperative coffee. There’s a very peaceful guesthouse there; one which I’m sure warrants an extended stay – they do a great coffee and the surrounds are soothing to those escaping city life.
There are houses along the drive so as usual you have to be wary of the pigs. The story of the three little pigs has three for a reason – they rarely come alone. So if one pig rushes across the road, keep watch for the other two, they won’t be far behind.
We reached Maubare just before lunch, excited by the prospect of dining at the old Portuguese Fort. We missed it at first, drove straight past the “you can’t miss them” cannons that grace the front two corners of the stone wall. We back tracked and though we found the fort were disappointed to learn it was closed for the holiday season. And so on to the nunnery.
The nunnery at Maubare is a tourist destination. Sounds strange but there is an orphanage attached and apparently the nuns “rock”. Having been brought up Catholic and having been sent to a Catholic school where nuns ruled with vicious scowls and rulers of steel, I was both curious and cautious.
Although we had called ahead they were unaware we were coming and so despite our discomfort orphans were dispatched to prepare our rooms. The rooms were excellent – by Timor standards, and let’s be honest, by some of the standards of the more questionable establishments in Aus. There were two single beds, a single with a mirror, a small wardrobe and a ceiling fan. Perfect. We each had our own room and spent scant minutes dumping our stuff and preparing to explore the surrounds.
It’s an extremely relaxing setting. One in which I could imagine spending much time reading, writing or simply contemplating the deeper meaning of life.
We had thought that the nunnery and the orphanage were the same; they aren’t. The orphanage is through the town and one of the nuns was kind enough to accompany us.
The orphans are not necessarily orphans, but children whose parents, or sadly single mothers, cannot afford to take care of them. This is common in Timor where forced sex is more widespread than contraception. The nuns were very welcoming, saying that they had expected us to stay there and had prepared not only rooms but cake!! It was good cake!
I’m not sure what was in their cooking, these nuns seemed very happy; there wasn’t a hint of frustration or the glint of a steel ruler. They laughed easily and often. It was auspicious, they told us, for a family to have a member join the religious orders. Two of the nuns we met are sisters and we all chuckled to think of how lucky their family is. There was also a small cat, so well, they easily won my heart.
The children that live there are aged 6-16 years. They go to kindergarten or school and once they are high-school age go to Dili to continue their education. The orphanage is supported by people visiting the nunnery and by Australian donors. The Australian government has built them a new toilet and shower block – finally a useful contribution (as opposed to the fleet of Prados we apparently bought for government officials – your tax payers dollars at work people!!!).
That evening we attended mass. Yes, I know, I was a bit concerned too, but the roof held and we gleefully sang away in Tetun. The lovely man behind us ensured we knew the page numbers – even after the first song made it clear we were not perhaps the tuneful cherubs our angelic appearance may have suggested.
After mass we ate dinner, a wonderful spread of rice and chicken and fruit and vegetables. The nuns didn’t eat with us. They ate with the priest and there was such raucous and pure laughter emanating from their table that we wondered what was in the water. Whatever is was, we wanted to partake. They were so content, so friendly, so at peace.
It was wonderful to escape Dili’s madness if only for a night and to find a little treasure not too far down the road. But in the morning, after another sumptuous meal, we pointed east and headed back to the daily grind.
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