Timor-Leste: Culture, Adventure, and Community

A traditional Uma Lulik hut in Maubisse.

Dili: Despite the oppressive afternoon heat, people jog along the wharf, past the famous Lotte clock, depicting a sacred crocodile. Typical transport for locals can be either in one of the microlet mini buses or standing on the back of a ute. Just above the ute, the iconic Cristo Rei looms large in the distance alongside the Areia Branca beachfront.

Day 1: Arrival in Dili
Timor-Leste is Southeast Asia’s youngest nation, but its story spans centuries. The island of Timor was once split between colonial powers, the Dutch in the west and the Portuguese in the east, and later endured Japanese occupation in WWII, followed by a brutal Indonesian annexation from 1975 to 1999. Through all this, the Timorese have shown extraordinary resilience, maintaining traditions, culture, and community spirit. 

Arriving in Dili, after a short flight from Darwin, I felt prepared for chaos, having navigated airports in other Pacific nations. In a matter of minutes I skipped though immigration with a Timor-Leste full page visa pasted into my passport and thought I was off scot-free, only to be told I needed to fill out a form online along with everyone else. Queues were long for this process which was unknown to most, despite most visitors being regular volunteers. Fortunately, a Timorese staff member helped me navigate a computer, whilst others were still sitting at computers half an hour later. With a convenient free airport transfer, I was soon enjoying the fifteen-minute ride through town, taking in the many statues and the vibrant, customised microlet minibuses. I stayed at Sunset Inn, a mid-range hotel near the ferry port and only later realized it is also renowned for its programs for women through Pro-Ema, a local empowerment initiative.

Mural by Tony Amaral featuring traditional motifs near Sunset Inn. 

The breakfast buffet at Sunset Inn was sensational and plentiful; in addition to the serve yourself fruit and pastries, I was even offered a cooked omlette; but the highlight was the traditional Timorese coffee ceremony with local coffee poured through a funnel. The staff were welcoming, and the hotel even had Netflix, handy for drowning out the celebratory thumping beats of a shop opening on the main road, perhaps not music to everyone’s ears.

Coffee poured through a cloth funnel at Sunset Inn, a social enterprise and hotel.

Day 2: Mount Ramelau & Maubisse Tour

The next morning, I set off on a two-day trip with Timor Indigenous Tours to Maubisse and Mount Ramelau, often billed as “challenging but rewarding”. The rough mountain roads required a 4WD, and while many travellers see the pre-dawn hike to the summit as the highlight, for me the real treasures were found along the way. We stopped in villages, met warm and welcoming locals, and learnt pieces of Timor-Leste’s complex history. These moments left a deeper impression on me than the mountain itself.

Our small group consisted of just three: myself, Elia, a 32-year-old Italian man, and our guide and driver, Alto. Elia's resemblance to Italian tennis star Jannik Sinner was no coincidence; as it turned out, they’re from the same region and even distantly related. Towering well above the average Timorese height of around 5’2” (my height too), he stood out physically. Hesitant with English, he demonstrated quiet patience with my steady stream of questions. Alto, on the other hand, was all energy and laughter, his good humour carrying us along the winding roads.

Enjoying the view of Dili from the Dare Memorial and Cafe.

The Dare Memorial and Museum.

First stop was Dare (pronounced "Dah-reh"), where we visited the memorial museum and garden which overlooked spectacular views. Recognising Kirsty Sword Gusmao, a fellow Bendigo native and former First Lady on the video screen, I felt proud that someone from my hometown had made such significant contributions to Timorese communities since independence.

The memorial commemorates Australian soldiers and Timorese allies who fought Japanese forces in WWII. In 1942, as Japan invaded, Australia sent troops to join the Dutch and British in resisting the occupation. While the west fell quickly, the hills around Dili and Dare became the center of Australian-led guerrilla operations. The Timorese were heroes in their own right, providing food, shelter, guidance, and even taking up arms. Many paid with their lives, executed by the Japanese for helping the Allies.

By late 1942, the Australians were evacuated, though local resistance continued. By 1945, the island was devastated, with around 50,000 Timorese killed. The Japanese finally surrendered, returning the east to Portuguese control. Standing at Dare today, the memorial’s quiet presence makes the bravery and sacrifice of both Australians and Timorese deeply tangible.

Local children from a nearby school funded by Bendigo waved to us, maybe oblivious to the dark past of their surroundings; their happiness was typical of the friendliness I noticed throughout Timor-Leste. I found it paradoxical to stand amidst such stunning natural beauty in a place with such a brutal past.

The Nicolau dos Reis Lobato Statue Monument is a significant monument in the Aileu municipality, honoring the national hero and first president of Timor-Leste. 

Next, we visited Aileu, a town with historic and religious memorials, bustling markets, the stunning Igreja Paroquia São Pedro & São Paulo (a catholic church on a hill) and The Nicolau dos Reis Lobato Memorial statue. Timor-Leste’s first prime minister after independence was declared in 1975, dos Reis Lobato, is remembered as a national hero despite serving only nine days before Indonesia’s invasion. Killed by Indonesian forces in 1978, the mystery of his missing body continues to strain relations between the two countries, with ongoing but inconclusive efforts to locate his remains. Today, his name lives on through landmarks such as Dili’s airport and the presidential palace, and statues across the nation, including the monument I visited in Aleiu, a reminder of his enduring presence in Timorese memory even as the search for his final resting place goes on. Interestingly, Aileu was briefly considered as a potential capital before Dili was chosen. The town also makes an important contribution to Dili’s food supply, providing fresh produce such as rice, cassava, and vegetables.

The catholic church Igreja Paroquia São Pedro & São Paulo in Aleiu.

View from the catholic church Igreja Paroquia São Pedro & São Paulo into Aleiu.

A traditional lunch was held at Dili Vanilli, a social enterprise that grows and sells vanilla, coffee, tea, and spices to support the family and community. Unlike Milli Vanilli (the 1980s band who were exposed for pretending to sing their own songs), this place is the real deal! The family even got their young children to perform a scarf dance, a little coerced, but sweet; no lip syncing here!

Lunch at Dili Vanilli.

Kids providing entertainment at Dili Vanilli.

Vanilla beans drying out at Dili Vanilli.

The next stop was the Portuguese-built Pousada de Maubisse hotel, abandoned since Covid, perched on a hill and offering 360° views of Maubisse. On arrival, a bulldog statue greeted us from the handrail, and the buildings, painted in striking red and white, stood out against the lush green hills below. The gardens were still being meticulously maintained, with topiary trees that conjured imagery of a croquet match à la Alice in Wonderland, but the buildings were closed, with plans exist to renovate and reopen.

Entrance to Pousada de Maubisse.

Decorative features on the hand rail of the Pousada de Maubisse hotel.

Despite being closed, the garden of Pousada de Maubisse hotel is well maintained, with numerous examples of topiary. 

Colourful rooftops visible from Pousada de Maubisse hotel.

I was keen to visit Maubisse, having met a number of people from my home town in Bendigo who formed the Bendigo Maubisse Friendship Committee Inc. This group of dedicated volunteers have been helping the Maubisse community since 2006 , with a big focus on helping girls and women.

Offerings inside an Uma Lulik.

Group picture: Jonias, from Timor Indigenous Tours, Alto, a couple on a day tour; a woman from Maubisse, myself and Elia. 

The town of Maubisse is set about 1,600 meters above sea level and is noticeably cooler than Dili. The cone shaped thatched homes, built with bamboo or mud walls that can be spotted throughout the drive are the traditional house typical of this region. The thatched roofs come low to the ground, designed to protect the inside of the house from cold strong winds.

There we visited an Uma Lulik, a traditional hut, which had a smoking fire inside; I read later that, with limited means, the women in these villages would use smoke to get rid of mosquitos during childbirth. In the hut were various offerings to the deceased (animal horns, livers and cooked dishes such as rice). There were bones and horns of the buffalo, the largest animal in the country together with the crocodile, which, however, is sacred. Sometimes there are also offerings of sacred plants to connect with ancestral spirits. During welcoming ceremonies, further items are offered to invoke the mercy of ancestors, and in annual gatherings, descendants offer items to acknowledge their shared lineage. Women would sit separately to men and eat separately during ceremony. 

View from the road, a Maubisse landscape, a buffalo and traditional hut.

Villages such as at Maubisse are characterized by these unique cultural practices, including a rural lifestyle that has been preserved for generations. Our tour guide Jonias (of Timor Indigenous tours) guided us around and pointed out the school there that was funded by Bendigo’s Maubisse Friendship group. After a woman came out and hugged me I wondered if Jonias had let them know I was from Bendigo. He said he hadn't, so I assumed they must always be this friendly and welcoming! 

Maubisse subdistrict has a population in excess of 20,000 people and is the main coffee growing region of the country. I have been specifically purchasing Maubisse coffee in Bendigo when I do my Custom Coffee order. I felt a real connection here as we bade farewell for the next leg of the journey.

A school building in Maubisse.

As we left Maubisse, the pace of the journey changed and I soon discovered what a four-wheel drive could do. Time and again I looked ahead at steep hills or rivers and thought, there’s no way we’re going up that, or crossing that, yet Alto’s skilful driving proved me wrong every time. Even when roads were blocked and we had to find detours, it became part of the adventure. The slow, bumpy ride also meant I could soak up the scenery, traditional huts dotted across misty valleys, mountains rising dramatically in the distance. From Dili to Maubisse the road is sealed, but beyond that, the track to Hatu Builico is strictly 4WD territory and can be impassable during the height of the wet season. 

By dusk we reached Hatu Builico, the highest village in Timor-Leste, with just enough daylight left for a short wander through town before dinner at Ovalido Garden Hotel. The air was cool and hazy, the landscape painted in atmospheric muted tones that contrasted sharply with the bright brochure images I’d seen. At the heart of the village stood a striking blue church, inaugurated in 2022. Glad that I had packed warm clothes, with the chill was a world away from Dili’s tropical heat, I used some extra layers of my own clothes to compensate for the light blanket given. 

Like many towns outside the capital, Hatu Builico had a strong sense of community. Music, whether live, played through a speaker, or drifting from a church, filled the air until dusk, when things fell silent. Children played freely outdoors, improvising without the gadgets of Western society. A wheelbarrow could equally be used as to give each other rides or to collect cow manure for fires or fertiliser, demonstrating creativity and resourcefulness.

Hatu Builico on dusk with its blue church, inaugurated in 2022.

Alto, Elia and I enjoying a simple meal at Ovalido Garden Hotel, Hatu Builico, fuelling up for the mountain hike.

Day 3: Mount Ramelau Sunrise

Despite having had barely four hours’ sleep, our rude awakening at 3 a.m. felt justified; this was what we’d come for: a 3-hour climb to the peak of Mt Ramelau to witness a spectacular sunrise.

At first, I found the trail surprisingly easy and even wished our guide would pick up the pace. Hiking in the dark was a completely different experience, requiring me to either keep my head down with my head torch to watch my step, or hold it in my hand like a flashlight. It wasn’t until the final incline that I really felt my heart racing; at 2,963 meters (9,721 feet), the altitude makes every breath a little harder as you near the top.

Obligatory silly selfies at the summit of Mount Ramelau.

When we reached the summit, the bitter wind lashed against us, and I was grateful I had decided to wear my puffer jacket and gloves. A small group of three other young hikers huddled together, waiting for the sun to rise, along with the three Aussie guys from our guesthouse. Timing is everything on this hike: arrive too early, and you’ll shiver through the cold; arrive too late, and you’ll miss the sunrise. I quickly understood why our guide had brought a blanket, as he wrapped it snugly around his diminutive frame for warmth.

Nain Feto Ramelau (Our Lady of Ramelau), statue on Mount Ramelau gifted by Italy in 1997; blame the battering wind for the blurriness!

At the summit, I noticed the alabaster statue of the Virgin Mary, known as Nain Feto Ramelau or Our Lady of Ramelau was bathed in the early morning light. It felt as if the sunrise had chosen the Madonna herself to illuminate, casting a gentle glow over her face. The statue, a gift from Italy in 1997, stood against the backdrop of misty mountains, adding to the striking view.

Mount Ramelau at sunrise.

Every year in March and October there are pilgrimages to commemorate the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Around 25,000 people summit Mt Ramelau / Tatamailau annually, the vast majority of whom are Timorese visiting for religious reasons, with mass held at the open-air chapel. By contrast, when we reached the summit, there were only ten of us, giving us the rare and unforgettable experience of having the mountain all to ourselves.

The early morning view from Mount Ramelau.

Alto, who had been unusually quiet during the climb, suddenly picked up speed and began skipping down the hill along a different, rock-strewn path. At one point, I went for an unplanned slide, thankful for my day pack and gloves to cushion the fall, and moments later, so did Alto. Laughing it off, we continued our descent at our own pace. After breakfast back at the guesthouse, Alto was eager to head straight back to Dili, our hard work for the day finally done.

Descending from Mount Ramelau.

This time we stopped in Aileu for lunch at Projecto Montanha, a Timorese non-profit dedicated to improving the quality of life in the district through programs in health, education, and the arts. Whilst waiting for our meal, I wandered through the striking exhibition by artist Inu Bere, A Homage to the Exercise of Freedom (also translated as A Tribute to the Exercise of Freedom), displayed boldly against green walls. Alto rested his head on the table for a nap, and Elia sat quietly beside him; the reality of our early rise and morning exercise was sinking in.

Exhibition by Inu Bere entitled "A Homage to the Exercise of Freedom" at Projeto Montanha, Aleiu.

A shop doubling as a home somewhere between Hatu Builico and Aleiu. Most sheds were brightly coloured, providing a strong contrast with the green background of the hills.

Berloi Waterfall.

We stopped briefly at Berloi Waterfall, locally called Be Tuda Berloi, on the way back to Dili. You can’t miss it, as the road practically runs through it. Part of the vast Comoro River system, it is only about half an hour from the city. Alto wasted no time, and soon we were back in Dili. I returned to Sunset Inn and the same room, clean, with a warm shower, air-conditioning, fresh fruit in the fridge, and my program waiting on Netflix.

With extra time on my hands, I ventured out to the ferry terminal to pre-purchase my ticket for Atauro Island. Every source I consulted had a different story about where to buy tickets, departure times, and how early to arrive. Eventually, I was pointed towards a table in the yard where a group of women were gathered, facing each other, almost like a sewing circle, though they were actually selling ferry tickets. With her back to me, one of them asked for my name, so I said ‘Helen,’ which she wrote on my ticket. To save me from spelling out my surname, I showed my ID, and she wrote ‘Attrill’ on a second ticket and charged me for both. After a quick explanation, I got the extra ticket refunded. Lost in translation!

Back in Dili, the heat hit me like a wall. Unlike the cool air of Maubisse, the city was sweltering. I raised my umbrella for some shade, watching in awe as young people jogged along the beach as if the blazing sun didn’t exist.

The Berlin Nakroma Ferry at Atauro Island.

Day 4: Ferry to Atauro Island

As some locals had suggested arriving at the terminal an hour before the ferry (even if you have your ticket), I did, only to discover that sometimes the ferry doesn’t leave for three hours! I met a young man, Trevor, from New York, helped him to locate where to buy a ticket (the place had actually changed!) and we joined the queue, running into Italian Elia again. Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait three hours, more like one, and, with hundreds of other locals, we piled into the ferry.

Sitting near Trevor, we laughed at the movie being shown, with its mix of sex scenes, gangs, and what we initially thought was racial stereotyping: all the men looked Latin American and the women were blonde, only to discover it was an American film using Italian actors as gangsters. We surmised the logic must have been, if they look dark, they must be a baddie. The locals, however, seemed oblivious to the sex scenes and largely uninterested in the film, more focused on moving around the cabin, smoking and socializing.

Unlike some ferries I have taken elsewhere, the Berlin Nakroma was insanely smooth; at first, I barely realized we were moving. 

As the name suggests, the Nakroma was a gift from Germany. It is a slower ferry that runs on Saturdays, taking about three hours and carrying goods and vehicles. This contrasts with the brightly painted Dragon Boat, which may or may not depart later in the day according to various sources. The Dragon Boat is faster but can be rough on the sea, more expensive, and noisy. On my return trip, I traveled on the third option, the Success Ferry, named after its operator, Success Maritime.

Berlin Nakroma Ferry to the right and the smaller, brighter and faster, Dragon Ferry, to the left.

Speaking of names, Atauro Island got its name from the goats on the island. Atauro Island's name means goat in the local language, derived from the large number of goats that were kept there. Indeed I witnessed a great many goats: on the steps up to my hotel, across paths and during a hike to a lookout where they were in all forms of life: fighting, copulating, lactating, eating. Atauro Island counts as paradise if your idea of paradise includes goats, epic sunsets, and the art of doing very little. About 10,000 people live in its villages and seaside hamlets. Once used as a prison island by the Portuguese in the late 1800s and later during Indonesian rule, it is now a place of quiet beauty where the only thing you might feel confined by is the pace of time itself.

Some of the plentiful goats on the island.

I chose Beloi Beach Hotel Dive Resort mainly because it was the only place on the island with air conditioning. As the sole guest in its eight rooms, I had the pool and the hillside views of the beach entirely to myself, a rare luxury. Once I’d settled in, I used the last of my e-sim to look up tours. There was a laminated brochure tucked in one of the drawers, so I WhatsApped the tour provider, but got no response. My other option was to head down to Barry’s. It’s always important to check the ferry schedules for changes and Barry’s Place website was highly recommended for updates, and for good reason. Barry, an Australian and the owner of Barry’s Place on Atauro Island, keeps tabs on what’s happening and I heard how he fell in love with the island’s lifestyle and decided to make it home. An Australian who arrived on Atauro in 2001, Barry runs community and permaculture projects with his Timorese wife, Lina, creating a life deeply connected to the island and its people.

The stunning pool and elevated beach view from Beloi Beach Hotel Dive Resort.

After meeting Barry, I locked in a snorkel tour for Monday and notified Trevor via WhatsApp, since tours were surprisingly scarce,  Barry warning me that "It just might not happen". Barry also pointed out that I’d taken the 'scenic' route from my hotel, thanks to Google Maps which prefers the bumpy gravel road vehicles use. The faster way, it turns out, is a steep staircase where you squeeze past the island’s many goats, the true locals of Atauro. Just as things began to drag, Trevor messaged to say he was watching the sunset, so I dashed down to join him. Not the most breathtaking sunset, but the boys playing soccer on the sand, the very picture of a quintessential Timorese beach, made it memorable. From the moment I arrived, I felt the warmth of Atauro, seemingly everyone calling out greetings in English or with a cheerful “Buen dia,” a remnant of Portuguese days still very much alive.

My lunch at Beloi Beach Hotel Dive Resort

The bar at Beloi Beach Hotel was beautifully decorated with a stunning ocean view, and young Timorese people made numerous trips for selfies, yet it sat empty on a Saturday night, leaving me wondering how the owners made ends meet. My meals were another story: three a day, served with clockwork precision by the cook and her husband, breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, dinner at seven. Each time, silver dishes arrived piled high with enough food for three, and I could only hope they enjoyed the leftovers, just not from my plate.

Plenty of goats and a sea view in Atauro.

Day 5: From Amen to Amorous Goats

Sunday, unsurprisingly, was devoted to church, an essential part of life in most Pacific countries. Down the hill stood a modest local Protestant church where the community gathered in their Sunday best. I joined the congregation for a while and watched their karaoke-style approach, with the song words displayed on a screen rather than in books. Before church and before the heat set in, I ventured up a hill to a nearby lookout. A delightful little girl ran alongside me, wearing a vibrant red dress and barefoot. We exchanged names and chatted briefly before I continued on my hike.

After a while, I realized I had taken the wrong path, which meant a bit of uphill off path hiking, sharing the space with numerous goats. When I reached the pinnacle with its sweeping views of the other side of Atauro, I found it guarded by a bull—or was it a buffalo? Either cowardly or sensibly, I eschewed challenging it, influenced by horro tales of hikers being mauled by cows.

On my way back, I noticed the goats getting amorous, either fighting or attempting (usually unsuccessfully) to mate. Suddenly, a line of cows came thundering down the hill, sending the goats running in a mini Kenyan-style migration procession. 

A mother and daugher on their way to a Christening. 

Day 6 Monday: Snorkelling Day

On Monday, I headed to Barry’s for some snorkelling. It wasn’t even 9 a.m., yet we were already being ushered onto the boat. I met another traveller, Joy, and the boatman seemed ready to set off. “I think we’ve got one more coming,” I suggested, but that didn’t slow them down. Just as Joy and I climbed aboard, a staff member waved frantically and called out to the boatman. Moments later, Trevor arrived, right on time at 9 a.m. Clearly, Timor-Leste runs on its own relaxed rhythm, where departures can come a little early… or a little late.

After our one hour of quality snorkelling, Joy, who spoke the local language, revealed that the boatman had been unhappy with his payment. “How am I meant to live on this?” he had said. I wished I could have returned to offer him more money, but he had already left. With our newfound friend Joy, Trevor, and I tried to find lunch at a local café, only to discover it was closed and with few choices on the island, we headed to my hotel. There, we sank into the sun beds, letting the morning sun warm our skin while the ocean stretched out in every direction. Joy asked if they could have some tea, and the staff kindly provided it. My own meal, included in the price of my stay with three meals provided each day, was simple but satisfying, fish with rice and vegetables. With little else to do on Atauro, the morning unfolded slowly, a quiet reminder that sometimes the best way to spend a day is simply to relax, read, and take in the sea views.

It was only later that I learned Joy had once served as First Lady of East Timor during the interim presidency of her former husband, Fernando de Araújo, in 2008. She never mentioned this to us, instead speaking only of her work at Melbourne University, in California, and here in Timor-Leste. There we were, three travellers of different ages and continents, united by a shared love of discovery, snorkelling together in the waters of Timor-Leste. Joy and Trevor eventually returned to Barry’s for a more affordable lunch, while I lingered, soaking up the sun and the view, my included meal a satisfying reward for a morning of adventure.

Our snorkelling boat (actually a fishing boat).

I would have hiked more on Atauro Island but it was too hot during the day, so there was really nothing to do except enjoy my spectacular pool, pool chairs, glorious view of the town all to myself and listen to the sounds of the people, the music, goats, roosters and laughter.

Atauro life was simple yet vibrant. The community rose with music and roosters crowing, played soccer on the beach, and lived in a way deeply connected to land and sea.

 A typically decorated tipper truck in Atauro Beach.

Fish for sale at the Atauro market.

Day 8 Return to Dili

Although described as 'paradise', I was happy to swap the back to basics culture of Atauro Island for the civilisation (by comparison!) of Dili. I had filled in time in the morning by walking around town, watching some people dressed up, attending a Christening. Locals were already at the terminal waiting for the ferry even though it was three hours away. This made me think I shouldn’t leave things to the last minute on Atauro. I asked the staff at Beloi Beach Hotel to arrange a tuk tuk (taxi) and waited, knowing that on Atauro Island things rarely happen in a hurry. After about 15 minutes, one finally arrived. To my surprise, the cook and her daughter climbed in as well, fully changed and carrying some bags of goods, perhaps to sell, making the most of a free ride downtown. I didn’t mind at all. Unlike the Nakroma, the Success Ferry was nearly empty. There weren’t many vehicles this time, but many people had brought roosters with them which they tied by their legs to a spot in the tray; I tried not to imagine their probable fate in a cock-fight, horrific to me but an ancient cultural practice to the Timorese and sometimes a rite of passage for young men; at least they weren't dismembering the young men like in ancient times. This meant that instead of listening to soft porn (like on Nakroma) we heard the constant crowing of roosters for the duration of the trip. Although it was cool, perhaps air-conditioned inside, most of the locals preferred to sit outside, even directly in the sun. A mother and child who had sat in front of me on the Nakroma were there, recognised me and seemed excited to see me again. Once we arrived at the ferry terminal, I haggled (a little bit but I could have gone further) for a taxi (there’s no Uber, so forget about that) and got it down to $4 USD back to Sunset Inn. When I gave him my 5 at the end of the trip, he exclaimed "$5!" and made to go away. I firmly asserted ‘You said $4!!’ and I had repeated the amount several times before we got into the taxi. I stood right next to the taxi and glared at him. Eventually he laughed and handed me the change, and while I didn’t really need the extra dollar, it was the principle that mattered. From then on I made sure to only get the blue taxis which were metered. It was lovely to be welcomed back at Sunset Inn, have a warm shower (they were cold on Atauro) and better coffee.  And my show on Netflix was still where I left it (I had the same room again).  

The poignant Santa Cruz Cemetery, Dili.

Day 9 Dili sites and move to Areia Branca beach 

The next day I visited the local Resistance Museum (no photography permitted), Santa Cruz Cemetery and Francisco Xavier do Amaral statue gaining further insight into the country’s struggle for independence before moving to my new hotel.

Visiting Santa Cruz Cemetery on a sweltering August afternoon was both haunting and humbling. This quiet resting place in Dili was the site of the 1991 Santa Cruz massacre, a turning point in Timor Leste’s struggle for independence. During a peaceful procession honouring slain activist Sebastião Gomes, Indonesian troops had opened fire on unarmed protesters, killing and wounding hundreds. The tragedy was captured on film (no smartphones in the 90s) by British journalist Max Stahl, whose footage exposed the brutality of the Indonesian occupation and drew international attention to the Timorese cause.

Today, the cemetery remains in use, its bright tiled graves and personal tributes revealing both sorrow and pride. Sebastião Gomes’s grave has become a place of quiet pilgrimage, and although there are few official memorials here, the site stands as a powerful symbol of resistance, sacrifice and remembrance in Timor Leste’s path to freedom.

Statue of Francisco Xavier do Amaral.

Standing in a busy part of Dili, the statue of Francisco Xavier do Amaral honours the man who proclaimed Timor Leste’s independence and served as its first President in 1975. Unveiled in 2017, it serves as both a landmark and a reminder of Amaral’s pivotal role in the nation’s struggle for freedom, his likeness watching over a city that once fought so fiercely for the sovereignty he helped to declare.

View of Cristo Rei from Areia Branca Beach near Beachside Hotel.

After a morning of sightseeing, I moved a little up the road to Beachside Hotel, perfectly positioned on the Areia Branca beachfront. The hotel is owned and run by Australians Bruce Logan and Kathy Petty, who fell in love with Timor-Leste in 2009 and have since poured their hospitality experience into training local staff and creating a relaxed seaside haven. I had read about Beachside beforehand and knew it would be the perfect place to unwind for a day or two, close to the beach and within walking distance of the iconic Cristo Rei statue I had yet to visit.

The hotel’s restaurant sits right on the sand, and just along from it is Caz Bar, a lively beach bar and eatery that hums with energy in the evenings. In the spirit of fairness, I spent time at both, watching the sun melt into the sea, enjoying delicious food, and savouring a cold Bintang, the Indonesian beer that remains a favourite here until Timor-Leste begins brewing its own.

A Bintang on the Beach at Caz Bar, Areia Branca.

Statues mark each pedestrian entrance along the Areia Branca beach.

Day 10 Cristo Rei: Faith, History and controversy

Walking there early in the day to avoid the heat, I hiked to Cristo Rei, the 27-meter-high statue of Christ. Built with Indonesian assistance in 1996, it offers 360° views of Dili and the coastline. The glistening statue dominates the skyline from the various Dili viewpoints I visited. Climbing the more than 500 steps, marked by the Stations of the Cross, was both a workout (even for a gym goer!) and a chance for quiet reflection. At the top, the view rewarded me with panoramic vistas: Dili and its harbour on one side, Atauro Island across the strait on the other and with a little chapel at the top.  For travellers, the climb is a must, not only for the views, but for the layered history this monument represents.

The view from Cristo Rei.

Cristo Rei was unveiled when Timor-Leste was still under Indonesian occupation. Presented as a gift from the Indonesian government, the 27-metre copper statue of Christ was designed by Indonesian sculptor Mochamad Syailillah. Its unveiling was staged to mark twenty years since East Timor’s annexation, a political gesture aimed at winning favour in a deeply Catholic society.

For many Timorese at the time, it was a hollow gift. Indonesia’s occupation brought repression, violence, and loss. To have a statue of Christ, a symbol of their faith, handed down by their oppressors was deeply ironic, and for some, offensive.

Cristo Rei, chapel and some of those stairs. 

From Occupation Symbol to National Icon

After independence in 2002, there was debate over whether to dismantle the statue. Instead, the Timorese chose to keep it. Over time, Cristo Rei shed much of its original symbolism and became Dili’s defining landmark: a place of pilgrimage, a spiritual site, and a proud icon of the nation’s capital.

Cristo Rei from behind, showing the detail of the world globe.

On the way back, I noticed a motorcade of Indonesian guests pulling into the nearby JL World Hotel. Just a routine visit, no doubt, but it struck me as a fitting echo: the statue itself, a “gift” from Indonesia during occupation, now reimagined as Timor-Leste’s most beloved landmark; and modern Indonesian guests arriving in a new, more diplomatic era.

Though Cristo Rei’s origins are tied to Indonesian symbolism and a painful past, seeing it firsthand, I felt how Timor-Leste has reclaimed it as a powerful symbol of endurance and faith. Cristo Rei is powerful not because of who built it, but because the Timorese chose to keep it.

Along the beaches near Beachside, Timorese jogged, exercised, and enjoyed the outdoors. Fitness seems to be a newer cultural trend here, and it was inspiring to watch everyone embracing life so actively.

Cristo Rei, front view.

Timor-Leste balances a tragic history with a vibrant, resilient culture. Its people are warm, creative, and deeply community-minded, from social enterprises like Dili Vanilli to women’s empowerment initiatives. After I shared a post from my travels, my friend Sharna Bremner, founder of End Rape on Campus Australia and a fellow traveller from a tour I joined last year, messaged to say that Timor-Leste is her favourite country. She spent a year here researching the impact of sexual violence for her PhD, work that resonates deeply given the suffering many Timorese women endured during the Indonesian occupation. Hearing that connection made me reflect even more on the country’s capacity for resilience and renewal. Despite its painful past, Timor-Leste shines with energy, community spirit, and quiet optimism.