PNG

An opportunity was offered to me by a friend to travel to Papua New Guinea. It was my first trip overseas from Australia and I was a little bit green, but thought it might be fun. I had little idea what was to await me.
We had arrived in Port Moresby and as the tropical heat & humidity surprised us all, we headed straight to the beach. After a good swim we just lay there on the beach and fell asleep. I woke up an hour or so later with a massive headache. I spent the next 2 days nursing a migraine and vomiting. Sunstroke! Welcome to New Guinea they said.
After a few days of taking in the local sites we jumped on to a local propeller powered plane and headed northwest to the coastal town of Lae. The flight itself was some experience. I had read in magazines that some of the runways in the highlands areas are no more than a carved and flattened bit of land with the grass trimmed. It wasn't wrong. We touched down (to my relief) near some village half way to Lae. I stared out the window in amazement as groups of villagers came running out of nowhere towards the plane as it came to a halt. They were there to greet their relatives & friends coming from Moresby. After some locals had disembarked and others got on, we were soon on our way. I still don't remember seeing a single airport terminal building anywhere on site.

We spent a couple of nights in Lae and decided to catch a boat or ship to Madang, a 3-day journey hugging the New Guinean north coast. It was a magnificent experience just lying around the deck, reading and absorbing the full moon tropical atmosphere. As the boat never moves further than a few km's from the coast, you can observe the ever-changing beautiful landscapes. We spent a few days in Madang on a tiny island (Siar Island), which is so small I actually snorkelled around the perimeter without leaving the water. Nothing but a few huts for the owners and a handful of guests, a tiny cemetery, No power except a generator that runs the solar hot water and refrigerators for food and beer. Every morning someone will take a boat to the mainland to top up with supplies. Nothing but palm trees, crystal clear waters and sand lice. A true tropical paradise. I believe there is a 4 star hotel now.

They make some room in the cabin for her and we're on our way.
As the trucks slowly start making their way into the mountains, the road starts getting narrower and the air a little bit on the chilly side, when all of a sudden she starts yelling how she had left her souvenir (a hand carved walking stick, moulded into a snake shape) on the other truck. No problem the driver says, and proceeds to over take the other truck. By this time the other driver also realises she had forgotten her stick and starts to attempt to pass it through the window. As the trucks start weaving in and out from each other, I catch a glimpse out the side and can not see the road, just rocks flying out from under the wheels and landing in the valley hundreds of meters below. I ponder the situation and think my destiny is now in the driver's hands.

We were told and invited to attend a "Sing Sing", happening a few kilometres out of Mt Hagen. A "sing sing" in Papua New Guinea is a celebration or party, where different tribes from different villages come together dressed in traditional costumes and sing, dance and eat to celebrate whatever the event might be. We had met up with some nursing students who decided to join us on this journey. We were driven to a spot on the side of the road a few kilometres out of town and dropped of. The rest of the journey was by foot along a dirt track leading towards the village and venue. On our way an elderly woman had run to meet us and kept on saying something in excitement while touching one of our travelling companions blonde hair. Our guide had explained that this woman had never seen a white person and was totally fascinated by the colour of her hair. I found this quite extraordinary and a bit doubtful in this day and age as the town centre is not that far away, with a small amount of expats living there. He had explained that that she never ventured out of the village and a few people go there. We were unique visitors in this region. I had kept my reservations. We finally arrived at the site, and surprisingly not that many people around, however it was evident they were preparing for something big. Many people had already been dressed in traditional costumes and for a small donation we were allowed to take some group photos. Within about an hour groups of men had started coming down from the surrounding hills, fully dressed up, with makeovers and some actually carrying ghetto blasters under one arm and a beer stubby in the other. Oh well I guess no one is immune to the 20th century as sad as it may be. Soon there were literally 1 to 2 thousand odd people dressed in vibrant colours of traditional costumes and head gear. We were openly invited to join in the dances and celebrations. By this time I was free to shoot at will and kept the kids entertained every time I went to reload my camera.
It was a fantastic day, and to this day still don't know what the occasion was.

After a little while the driver of the other truck managed to pass the souvenir through the window and we reassumed single file formation. I saw the edge of the road again and felt at ease.On our way we had picked up some passengers. Some men who definitely looked of warrior decent, muscle bound quiet, and sporting face paint and battle scars. Not that friendly or talkative. Meanwhile others just couldn't stop talking and firing question after question at me, like where are you from? How many wives do I have and how many pigs does it cost to buy a woman in Australia etc. It was a magnificent journey.

We'd left Madang on our journey into the highlands. We decided to do the PMV (Public Motor Vehicle) service, which is basically like hitchhiking aboard anything that goes past except you negotiate a price beforehand. A local English expat had stopped to pick us up in his 4 wheel drive and took us to a road junction, where he was heading straight and we were going right towards Goroka (The origins of the famous "Mudmen of Goroka" tribes). We sat along the road for about an hour when 2 beer trucks, loaded with beer cans had stopped to pick us up. They said the girls should sit in the front truck cabin and the boys on the back on top of the beer cans. As there was only so much room we split up and took a truck each. Not too comfortable on the butt, but hey? What an adventure! A few kilometres on the trucks pull over and we're told a bit further on one of the trucks has to turn of going to a different destination, so one of our co-travellers has to jump out of the second truck and get on ours.