Timor is neither Europe nor a goldfish bowl so cries of “Oh a castle!” rarely, if ever escape from the mouths of over-awed tourists or somewhat unobservant residents. However, I have recently been privileged to not only utter this cry, but to move into said palace. Oh and what a palace it is!
But before I list its virtues let me expand a little more on accommodation in Timor. It’s basic. By basic I mean there is usually no hot water; toilets are 'flushed' using a bucket, a ladle and copious amounts of water - which may or may not be flowing; kitchens are one or two burners and rarely an oven; bedrooms may or may not have a window; there is generally air–conditioning; seldom a washing machine, often a cleaning lady who comes as part of the package and sometimes a landlord and family that live either in your compound or close by; and this family will include five or six children, a dog or three, numerous chickens and perhaps a pig.
The thing that I have found difficult is not so much the simplicity, it’s the general belief among some Malae that “this is Timor” is an excuse for living in semi-unhygienic conditions. For example, in my last residence, the bathroom flooded every time someone used the washing machine. And by flooded I mean two inches of water that took a couple of hours to subside.
Now though, I am living in a palace! A palace I tell you!!! It’s owned by a Timorese – foreigners aren’t allowed to own property in Timor. The tenant is a Hawaiian with a penchant for interior design. By interior design I mean remodelling. He has rented the house and it sequentially ‘fixing it up’. While he can’t own the house, he can sublet and thus recoup and perhaps over time even make money. At the end of it, the Timorese owner gets a fabulous house.
So what makes this abode blog-worthy? To begin with it has a real bathroom! No, not even a real bathroom, a designer bathroom. The shower is a huge outdoor room with a big wall around it so Toms can’t peep . . .unless they bring a ladder. The bamboo tree from next door lends a beautiful ambiance and the hot water . . . well, that’s just luxury!! Inside is a second room with a wash basin and a mirror and a flushing toilet. Did you hear me people? A flushing toilet. And no traditional round button stuck on the top, no we have a square button that’s positioned on the side. Very chic! Not only that I have my own shelf – in the shower room and the inside room. There are multiple places to hang my towel.
The kitchen is huge and houses two fridges, a freezer a microwave, a working electric jug, a two burner gas hot plate a wall-length bench and a huge table with stools. No oven, but hey for the other advantages I’ll forego the Sunday roast. There is a garden, a beautiful garden with green plants that even offer flowers and a grapevine which I’m told produces somewhat acidic fruit.
If all that wasn’t enough to send me apoplectic with glee, we have a cleaning / washing woman. Well, that’s her unofficial title. Her official title is variously Saint who keeps our floors squeaky clean, Mystical woman who makes washing dry when it’s raining and Ironing angel who takes muddied clothes and turns them into neatly pressed and folded garments that appear in exactly the spot I’ve allotted them.
I know I’m supposed to come back to Australia . . . I know, I know . . . but seriously, it’s a castle!!! And I’ve never lived in a castle before! I could seriously get used to the ‘simple’ life of a developing country.
No comments:
Post a Comment