The windscreen gaps through which Sydney taxi drivers peer are often small, once the half-dozen phones, satnav gadgets and credit card terminals are accounted for. Yet the window of a Sydney taxi looks positively expansive compared to those found in Dili, capital of Timor-Leste, or East Timor as it was once known.

Among the ranks of eager cab drivers waiting at Dili's international airport to take my fare, none had more than half of the windscreen visible. The top half is obscured by a thick black opaque sun screen to ward off the harsh tropical sun, while cluttered all around the dashboard are flags, religious artefacts and tissue boxes.

After some haggling, I picked Crispim as my driver despite his lack of a Virgin Mary statue, mainly because his sun visor still left some room to peer through as we navigated along the mountain passes and around the school kids waiting for the bus into town. This was probably safest for me, as I couldn't really see the navigation efforts required at the mostly free-for-all junctions and pot-holed streets as we careered around blind corners and mountain gullies.

The first thing that strikes you about Dili is its fondness for flags. Atop every building of worth, from the antennas of cars and painted onto the sides of walls, the liberation banner of East Timor nationalism is displayed proudly. Although now in opposition after the country's third post-independence elections, it is the black, red and yellow colours of the once-banned Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor, Fretelin, that make up the flag of the country now officially known by its Portuguese name Timor-Leste.

Although East Timor has been overtaken by South Sudan as the world's youngest nation, few Australians have yet paid a visit to the country, a one hour flight from Darwin. Few, that is, except the gas field workers who are disgorged from the twice-daily flights before transfering directly at Dili airport to helicopters that whisk them to rigs halfway back to Darwin in the Timor Sea. 

The oil workers, as with the aid workers before them, have ensured that English has taken a foothold alongside the most widely spoken local language Tetun and Portuguese, the official language and that of colonial times.  Indonesian, despite being the language most of the tiny country's 1.2 million population grew up speaking in schools, offices or business, is relegated now to fourth place behind English. And Australian English at that. At the airport the taxi hustlers so reminiscent of the developing world, add a "mate" to their pitch. Shopkeepers ask "how you going?" while advertising hoardings promise "heaps" of data for visitors on their roaming services.

Australia is held in high regard in East Timor, chiefly for having been there for its little neighbour during both its brief stint of independence from Portugal in 1974 and also as leaders of the Interfet peacekeeping forces from 1999 to 2000 after the country's diffcult separation from Indonesia.

Today, the welcome mat is being rolled out for Australians as the country gears up for tourism. The collection of beach front restaurants, snack shacks and cafés that line the wide bay of Areia Branca serve arctic-chilled beer, beef pies and some even promise flat white coffees. Australian sports bars are springing up and I saw copies of Closer, New Woman and Nuts at a newspaper kiosk.

Yet there are signs too that the demographic is shifting slightly towards the adventurous independent traveller. Behind me on the immigration queue was a lady on an escorted small group tour on a repeat visit having come first on a cruise ship. The cruise lines still include the country's waters in itineraries, with some stopping long enough for a shore visit, others pointing out the country's magnificent mountains from the ship.

Genuine tourists are hard to find. There are signs the sleepy town of Dili is gearing up for an influx, however. Last year the fifth annual Tour de Timor mountain bike ride brought in so many visitors that there was an accommodation squeeze. The hotels are largely those from the Indonesian era with some Portuguese mansions thrown in.

Yet all around Dili there is a construction frenzy. As with any developing nation in the midst of a resources boom, pavements are being paved, foundations are being laid and scaffolding is being erected.

It still feels like a developing country, with petrol sold in water bottles and livestock still roaming the backstreets, but it also has the feel of a tropical resort island waiting to happen. Kind of like Bali meets Botswana.

The big drawcard is Christo Rei de Dili, the giant statue of Jesus Christ erected as a gift by the Indonesian government on the mountaintop overlooking the capital. The statue was a gift by Indonesia to East Timor to mark its 20th anniversary of integration into the archipelago country. Despite its symbolism, at odds with the growing independence movement at the time of the gift, the statue is the source of enormous pride to the Timorese. Crispim tells me in a mix of Portuguese and English that it will one day be as big an attraction as Rio's Christ the Redeemer statue. When I visited the main use of the 500 steps was to provide an outdoor boot camp for early morning exercisers. In couplets of ten repetitions the runners attacked the steps as I walked briskly up and out of their way.

Once at the top the view is stunning. The turquoise waters that hint at the diving and snorkelling opportunities just starting to be tapped stretch for miles around, punctuated by the sharp mountains of the Timorese interior. These cliffs and hills are covered in dense tropical plantations, leaving a lush verdant blanket over the jagged edges. Timor's place in the tropics is well understood. The statue itself has Christ atop a globe, feet firmly in the Asia Pacific, with Australia's recognisable outline pride of place. Once you descend the 500 steps again a market awaits with handicrafts including fine woven scallywag dolls that would be considered insensitive in Australia and whose jet black skin far from represents the generally mulato colouring of most Timorese. 

Timor is a unique blend, drawing almost equally from the indigenous heritage of Melanesian groups like the Tetun, the Portuguese, the Javan settlers from Indonesia and assorted other Asian arrivals over the years. There are some notable Australian residents, too. A Melbourne girl, Kirsty Sword, became Timor's First Lady, having married liberation hero-turned-president Xanama Gusm√£o during the struggle for independence. 

The Gusm√£os and other firmaments of the Timor elite flit back and forth to Darwin to shop and have a big city experience. This may surprise those who know Darwin as a big country town. But Dili is the capital of a country whose central business district extends a mere four blocks.

This makes a walking tour very manageable. The Portuguese era colonial offices now house the European Union, the lead donor in rebuilding efforts. In the next block is the government palace, which not only has a gate through which you can walk, but also has free Wi-Fi in the grounds. Gusm√£o was said to have wanted the parliamentary buildings to be open to the public. 

The standout, though, is the architecturally-stunning Resistance Museum.  The sleek minimalist concrete structure wouldn't look out of place in Manhattan or Bilbao. Wealthy benefactors are clearly behind the choice of graphic design, the layout and the English translations, all of which are very slick and professional. The museum itself details the history of Timor in a more-or-less neutral way, from prehistory through to independence. The multimedia displays focus more on the struggle against the Indonesian occupation, but this partly reflects materials available. What is striking is that there is little invective in the text. Speaking to one of the curators, Jo√£o, he suggested that it was more important that the history was well presented rather than it being dismissed by potential Indonesian tourists as one sided.

Not that Dili is yet on the Jakarta middle classes' weekend break radar. Nor do Darwin residents yet pop over on the 70 minute Airnorth flight for a short break but the signs are here that soon they will. The dive sites are internationally-renowned and two of the best lie around the rocks at Jesus's feet giving the octopus, moray eels and tiger sharks that teem in the coral fringes divine protection. As with many parts of the archipelago, there is a surf break that draws the adventurous board rider. Of most promise is the offshore resort of Atauro Island, where water sports are taken seriously, as is décor. Elsewhere in mainland Dili, The Excelsior remains the gold standard hotel, although availability is a challenge when resources workers and UN delegates converge on the city.

Dining, too, is emerging. I sat down to enjoy a banana fritter and a local coffee in an unremarkable café in the city centre. Later on I found an upmarket bakery serving takeaway coffee in paper cups, a nod to the expatriate workers' tastes. Elsewhere the dining takes place along the beachfront strip, with a variety of cuisines on offer, although nothing uniquely Timorese is in evidence as yet.

As Crispim drives me back to the airport at the end of a whirlwind day trip, he predicts I'll be back for more. With the rapid development underway and the huge potential that this beautiful, welcoming country has as a tourist destination, I am certain he is right. Timor's day is coming and for the intrepid, it has already.

As we skirt back past the liberation hero roundabout, complete with twice-life size statues of gun-toting paramilitaries, back to the airport, I come to see the effectiveness of Crispim's total sun visor as the harsh sun beats down on the glimmering freshly tarmacked road. A group of Australian Federal Police officers are waiting to hail a cab on my return. "How does that bloke see out of his windshield?" one asks. He gets on just fine, I tell them, just fine.

The author travelled courtesy of Airnorth

* The author has made amendments to the original story, first published on September 22