Tne of the most amazing experiences for my group was walking the 100 kms or so from Letefoho to Dili in one day, near the end of the trip. Apart from it being physically insane, it was spiritually rich because we were amongst one and a half thousand people from our village all walking together to attend the ordainment of 3 seminarians to priests by Bishop Belo. It was the first time the village walked to Dili as a group. I felt honoured to participate. This is the journal entry I wrote about the walk when I got home:

After our send-off farewell by our students we retired for a couple of hours sleep in the priest's house, then it was up at 2am to walk to Dili. Very cold. How we got through the night without spraining an ankle is beyond me. But we did, and I had a good time.

Walking hour after hour in a huge column of people - the size of which you could only estimate from the many singing voices carrying through the night - was a surreal experience. We walked from 2.30am until a half-hour stop at 7am in Glenoult, where Marty and I stocked up on the best bananas I have eaten.

Then across country - red dirt and eucalypts exactly like the Australian bush; fields of head-high grasses and wiry undergrowth; down a slippery jungle embankment; along a shallow river covered by a canopy of palms, vines and leafy green trees; up a very steep, winding narrow ridge where a fall would be dangerous; wandering through a dazzling, glittery leaf world; then into the dense coffee plantations and emerging onto the road near Rakelau at 9am.

In the 6.5 hours spent at Rakelau none of us got any sleep - the mass, brunch and lunch seemed to be planned deliberately at intervals to prevent sleep.

The second half of the walk was difficult and the minutes passed slowly. 1 hour seemed like 3. I don't remember that much of it. After only a few hours of walking the ocean came into view. At this point all my mental capacity for rational calculation flew out the window, and I was convinced we would arrive in Dili within the hour - after all I could see the ocean?!

It wasn't to be. Unfortunately, as we had been told, Rakelau was only the half-way point. The last 25 kms took AGES. We walked along a long straight road near the bottom of the hills through houses unfamiliarly lit up with electricity. And I mean it was a long road - it just kept on going and going like an Energizer ad.

We stopped at Tiba where I slipped into a temporary state of concussion. The stop allowed my sore legs to cool down and stiffen, so getting up and walking again was painful - my legs cramped and I just hobbled dutifully along. When we reached the ocean and walked around the point we were collectively convinced we were almost there, we were similarly convinced an hour later when we passed through the city gates manned by the UN, and again when we started passing houses.

Eventually I realised that it was all a cruel hoax and we would never reach our destination. No, not really. I held out a sliver of hope, mentally marking off each landmark as we passed it - they were much further apart than I remembered. Well of course this weary bunch of footsore zombies eventually made it to the camp - I docked in at 11am, 7.5 hours after leaving Rakelau. I arrived with Sam and Marty.

By the end of it Bentil said I was walking like a drunk - weaving along, stepping on people's feet, with my eyes glazed over and my mouth wide open. Not a pretty sight. Eddie, who had been driving the entire time without drinking water, passed out upon arrival - falling on top of a kid. He thought there had been an earthquake.

My main memory of the walk is a general one - of a long column of people snaking down the road, endless chants and songs, many children and elderly people, some carrying babies, most wearing thongs, without water because it was too heavy. This column was always head by Father Soares in his white robes - this dynamic little man perpetually sang songs, prayers and rosaries into the loudspeaker, with hundreds of people echoing him. A scout carried a big wooden cross swathed in a tai, the traditional Timorese cloth. Onlookers would cross themselves as we passed. We had a UN escort for much of the way to clear the road.

At the camp we were shown to the house where we would occupy the floor of the lounge room for the next 2 nights. Dinner was still served, to our surprise. After the extreme day's events, and it being pretty late, it was odd to be presented with such a normal thing as dinner. We were told there was mass in the morning. Marty made a joke that it would be at 5am. Eddie, with a slight mischevious grin, said absolutely deadpan "Actually yes, it is at 5am." In response Marty choked and spat cabbage and rice half-way across the room - to Bentil's surprise. Marty wasn't used to Eddie being playful, although he was telling the truth (but luckily we could sleep in). I wonder what Bentil thought of our table manners? I don't think anyone had the energy to care about the cultural appropriateness of our behaviour by that point. After dinner we collapsed in our clothes for a well-deserved sleep, at about 1am. What a day!

Alex Fletcher