This sight tugged back my mind that went briefly wandering in 1999 when pro-Indonesia militias terrorized Liquiçá, a coastal city we were about to approach.
The westward coastal drive ain't one of the most scenic we've seen in Southeast Asia. Yet the rugged profile of the landscape, the lack of signs of life, the kind of heat that withers all things, and the despondence of it all made it attractive to us.
Several kilometers past Liquiçá, I looked at Abilio who was handling dehydration like a boss. "How many more minutes?", was my embarrassed query.
"It's very near.", he nodded towards the front.
I was nearing lightheadedness when our cab finally pulled up.
Unlike Maubara Village's terrifying tales, Maubara Fort's stories seem to be hiding between the cracks of the ramparts. There is not much (close to none) details about it that you can fish online. What I did know was there's a restaurant within the grounds. And that's where my two wobbly legs led me straight away.
I'd like to think I ordered the wrong stuff for the resto's highly recommended by expats. Or I just had a bad batch. Price of meals range from $2-5.
We also strolled by the seaside and entered two of the souvenir shops housed in thatched huts. Spent a few minutes watching an old woman weave palm leaves until we decided to buy a couple of her vibrantly hued phone/ciggie cases without haggling. Her weathered face broke into a shy smile.
Our next foray to the unheard, Ai Pelo Prison.
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