Indonesia

appreciated some support at that time, especially as things were really hectic and our last night had not been good. Mark had caught a gastric bug and threw up during the night. We had to expect that the others would follow and had to be prepared. We caught a local flight to Brisbane, where we had to change planes for Darwin via Mount Isa.

In Brisbane, waiting for our connecting flight, Margie got sick all over the terminal floor, and our mood was very low. Had we only stayed home! What had we let ourselves in for? But the journey went on and we boarded the plane for Darwin. On the flight George was sick. Luckily, there were sick bags in the plane and he was old enough to manage on his own. We tried to get some fresh air in Mt. Isa, but instead of a cool breeze, there was a hot dry westerly blowing which did not bring any relief.

In Darwin the heat and humidity hit us as we left the plane. We had booked into the Koala Motor Inn, near the airport. It had a swimming pool, which was some diversion for our children, but because of their gastric bug none of them were really enthusiastic. For me, though, it was some relaxation, although I was very tired. Alison tried to catch up with some sleep, but she was not feeling well either. We all turned in early for the night, and none of us felt like eating anything for dinner. The night was like a nightmare for me. We had two different rooms, with two children each. George and Mark in my room both threw up, and so did Alison. I was feeling weak, but at least I wasn't sick. A taxi took us to the airport the next morning, and I had to help loading our luggage onto the plane. It was a two-engined propeller driven plane, going on it's bi-weekly flight to Bauccau in Portuguese Timor, where a lot of Darwin people spent their holidays.

The flight across the Timor sea was not too bad. None of our children threw up, and Alison was beginning to feel better too. As soon as we flew over the island of Timor, our spirits began to lift. In Baucau we had to wait for a small plane to take us to Dili, the capital of East Timor, which was under Portuguese rule. The airport there could only take small planes. We had to wait for a couple of hours, but it didn't seem to matter. The air was warm and pleasant, our children began to play again and take some interest in their new surroundings. Alison and I looked at each other: "I think we will be okay here," she said. "It's so peaceful and relaxing, and the children seem to have got over their sickness."

And so it was. The trip from Bauccau to Dili in a small plane was most exciting for our children. They looked out of the windows, and as the plane was not flying very high, they could see details of the roads, unsealed tracks through a very mountainous region, and a few villages scattered around. Dili was a lovely sleepy little town, peaceful and far away from the rest of the world. The Hotel RESENDE was comfortable and our boys came back every now and again telling us of their adventures and what they had seen, such as chickens being killed, a boy with a monkey on his shoulders, and people trying to sell local foods. We had to

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