The end of the adventure

The adventure is over, now there are just hours of sitting and waiting!

Friday night, John, the manager of the Coca Cola plant in Rabaul just talked non-stop until moving away on some pretence. God, what a bore - like Pat two weeks ago or any of the others.

Visited Rabaul yesterday - got close to the volcano. All very good but also nothing new: very much like geothermal parts of New Zealand, including the biting smell of sulphur in the air - hard not to cough. After a visit to the hot springs, we met a man who took us to a mostly buried WWII bomber then a Japanese anti-aircraft emplacement. This involved a 10 minute walk up a hill. A man began following us without explanation then a couple of minutes later, another joined in, carrying a bush knife. I went onto high alert again but the situation was diffused when Bert recognised the first man. All OK but I'm still wondering what they were doing there, in the middle of nowhere. Bert said later he thought something would've happened had he not known one of the men.

Bert also told me earlier that his brother had been "cut up" a few weeks ago by rascals. Obviously they were trying to kill him, because the machete blow was to his face - through his cheek, jaw and teeth. He only survived because a girl ran out and told them to stop, he was already dead - otherwise they would've cut up his legs. The men were caught and are now in jail. Bert didn't seem too outraged by it, in fact he mentioned his brother's harsh attitude towards the locals and that the attack was therefore to be expected. His brother also had children by multiple local women.

Rabaul itself is desolate, especially parts nearer the volcano. Matupit is no longer an island - lava joined it to mainland in 1994. The inhabited parts of Rabaul aren't that nice - it's very dirty, run-down and neglected.

We also looked at some barges kept by the Japanese in a tunnel, and earlier, went up to the Volcano Observatory, which had magnificent views out over Rabaul, Simpson Harbour, and all the cones of the caldera. The Sub base and Wotim Island are two sides of another caldera. The whole place is a catastrophe waiting to happen (again).

The flight to Moresby was uneventful, as was the trip to the hotel, overnight, and the trip back to the airport. So, I've survived PNG, including a brief foray into Port Moresby. Soon I'll be back in Melbourne, life will be as it was, I'll hardly feel I was ever away.

Lapita

Soon I'll be heading home. I feel I've been here for a very long time. Last night, a number of people arrived and, after dinner, we went into Rabaul for a talk by Dimitri and Ben - archaeologists working on Lapita finds on Wotim Island. Fascinating stuff, but I found it difficult to get near enough to talk to them due to the usual motley array of bulging-eyed ex-pat Queenslanders. Eventually I managed to ask Dimitri and Ben if Lapita culture is a sign of migration or just spread of technology - Polynesia of course uninhabited pre-Lapita - but I didn't get a chance to ask about the spread across Melanesia, which had been inhabited for 30,000+ years. The drive to and from Rabaul in the dark was fine - a fallen tree across the road at one point brought me to high alert but it turned out to be innocent. Rabaul at night is like a BHP slag heap.

Kabaira philosophising

I had a relaxing afternoon yesterday and dinner with Bert and Lyn - it was nice chatting. I finished two more dives today, the ear held out, and I've finally reached 100 logged dives! Stephen said when he reached that milestone himself, he had to do the 100th dive naked. I decided not to inflict that on the local marine life!

I saw a turtle the size of a mini on my 100th dive - at first, I didn't believe my eyes. Apparently it's ancient and well-known around here.

It's me and the three canine amigos, sitting here scribbling - two of which are the most playful dogs I've ever seen. It's a good life here for them. There are also a lot of geckos.

So, my time here is coming to a close. What an intense blast of otherness I've experienced. I know it will fade quickly, as soon as I step back on the plane. I listened to the Moody Blues '"The Balance" earlier: this is what I believe - there is a balance, a connection between all things which touches me deeply. A brotherhood of all beings. For so many years and still now, I've tried to mould Christianity into a form that would match what I know in my heart to be true. I've only had limited success. God, the Great Spirit, the Universal Soul, is bigger than Christianity, much bigger. So must I be too.

Christianity has certainly changed things here: it has enabled the people to interact with the outside world, it's provided a kind of interface protocol. From what I can observe, what's reducing traditional beliefs more is the cash economy: dislocating communities, "developing" regions, exploiting resources.

There are Willy Wagtails here!

I do struggle with accepting that Christianity has done damage here - not because I don't believe it, but because loud, ignorant people (elsewhere) have that opinion. I wish to oppose them.

In a bit more than 48 hours, I'll see my beloved Nadia again. I can't wait.

I've been listening to Chris de Burgh's "The Risen Lord" - he does manage to capture something of Christianity's mystical side. There is such a strong, deep longing in me for this - for an unambiguous, eyes-wide-open connection with/to the Divine. A homecoming, a fulfilment. Only passing through the veil will ever give me this. Womb to tomb! If that's what awaits, it truly is a better world.

Diving

In Tolai, the local language, "ravien" means afternoon and "buona tuna" thank you.

Did two dives today and one yesterday and my ear seems to be fine in the water but a bit achy at the moment. The dives were: Dick and Tom, George's Wreck and the Sub base. Went down to 46 metres on George's Wreck.

I went for a walk this afternoon with Vinavel, through the village plantation (cocoa, ruined by moths), then to mission, church, schools, shop, aid post.

Lone traveller

Bert is the father of the owner of Kabaira Hideaway, Stephen. Stephen's mother is Lyn, an Australian who doesn't seem to stop talking unless you walk away from her - perhaps not even then.

A group of nine divers from Sydney are leaving right now - the next group doesn't come until tomorrow, so I'll have the place to myself.

I spoke to Nadia again last night - I can't wait to see her again.

I read yesterday about the Tol massacre and other atrocities perpetrated by the Japanese during the war - hundreds of POWs and civilians were killed.

My ear was very sore during the night but doesn't seem so bad now. Hope it holds out for today and tomorrow.

I must be some sort of freak - the group here seems to think it's unusual to meet someone travelling alone.

Kabaira

Absurdly early flight this morning, 4am start.  One dive yesterday morning in Kavieng - just one due to flight today. I spent the rest of the day looking for Clem then running anti-virus on his computer. Thousands of infected files! Probably should've walked away from it for the afternoon but chose not to.

Flying back to Rabaul - have some sort of ear infection, which may prevent me from diving.

I spent most of yesterday with Dorian and Cara - owners of the Kavieng dive operation. They warmed as time went on. The guys working for them were from New Hanover - "Calaro" all round. A couple of people said it to me later on as I walked by.

Malagan Beach Resort is the only nice place in town.

Angie, Helen, Bernard and Juanita were my very friendly fellow guests at Rawal. The first night, we chatted at length. All four of them were great - we chatted about identity (Angie's heritage mixed from three areas: Manus, Highlands, East), politics - would a PNG loose federation work, sport - Rugby League state of origin mania. Bernard tutors in political science at the university. Angie's tales of Moresby buses were hilarious and good-natured: each bus is privately owned.

I spoke to Nadia at 8pm - I miss her so much!

Last night, the four took me for a drive down "The Highway" to some treehouses - very nice, and "only" K150-200 a night - not bad. I also chewed some betel nut with them: mildly affected by it and it tasted quite unpleasant!

Something else I remember from the village visits on New Hanover - kids walking in front of me, frowning and trying to look officious, saying "space, space"! Another boy said "good morning" to me at 5pm, which resulted in great laughter all round. He ran off slightly embarrassed but returned almost immediately, grinning like everyone else.

I had a sore, swollen foot after Monday but have managed to get it under control. It's a constant battle here against little niggles: sinus, foot, toe, ear, forehead - always hoping they don't become serious. Oh, and my gum/tooth too.

The market in Kavieng was rather uninspiring: betel nut and not much else.

Some other memories of the past few days: for a few moments, after the night dive, I felt like I was part of the sky - the reflections in the water of the stars, clouds and the remaining light were so perfect. Canopus cast so much light it made a trail on the water.

I sat next to Angie on the plane - a very nice young woman. We talked about racism including the Vice Chancellor of the university in Moresby - a South African. There was a student boycott and protests after Oli, a well-liked staff member, was sacked.

Kabaira Dive Hideaway, where I am now, is very, very nice. I was picked up by Bert from the airport and had a one hour, very scenic drive, turning left after Kokopo and before Rabaul. The volcano is billowing steam. The drive went through lush, hilly countryside. Bert is a Philippino/New Ireland mix.

Don't livuk!

So I'm back in mighty Kavieng. The river yesterday is called the Mumurum. I pronounced it Mumarung, which means shy. Lots of laughter.

I've just tried unsuccessfully to get Clem's laptop working. We set off at 7am this morning, via a couple of islands including Tsoilik. Tsoilik used to have a supermarket  (the opening of which is described in Moran's book) but it's now closed due to lack of interest. On one island, we had an encounter with a lady named Lucy Cornelius, speaking reasonable English. She is apparently the local mad woman and was holding a knife. Slightly alarming. "Don't livuk"!

I'm staying at the massively over-priced Tropical Family Guesthouse (Rawal) - K176 per night for a small, clean air-conditioned room. I'm currently sitting at Adam and Dani's place on Nusalik - with probably the best view in town.

The humour here is simple and charming - people say things such as "Hanover takeover" or "sports in the village" and consider them hilarious.

Stars and phosphorescence

Went over to Sophie's home village, Meterankasing, this morning. We continued in the boat up the river there to look at the results of the Tutuman mining operation. Apparently the operation had been "approved" by a local man ... who just didn't happen to be the landowner! Protests by the local people were broken up by the police, who were brought in from outside. The village spring was destroyed by bulldozers.

The village kids were hilarious.

I've coined a hybrid phrase in the last couple of days and it's caught on - "don't livuk" - livuk meaning fear. The guys are saying it at every opportunity and laughing uproariously.

Did a night dive last night on the Sanko Maru - stars, phosphorescence.

I'm leaving tomorrow, so Clem gave me the bill tonight - it was a bit of a shock, but only because of the dive fees - I hadn't expected that. Soured things a little for me.

Clem mentioned that Oliver Mauger (related to Aaron Mauger, All Black) had been here the year before and had spent his time drinking, smoking and chewing betel nut - all in excess. It was a reminder that we're still somehow part of the outside world here.

Paddling the dugout

I've just been swimming and snorkelling at the other end of the island, accompanied by Robin and Bryan. It was a bit murky but there were nice corals and plenty of anemone fish. It rained heavily during the walk back but now it's bright and still again. Make the overcast and spitting. It's changeable!

Had lobster tails again for dinner last night - this time in tasty sauce. I went to bed around 9:20pm and slept until 7am. I peed off the balcony at 4am but rain should've washed it away!

The boys sang the A-E-I-O-U song coming back along the Tunung Highway. I wonder what they'd think of Melbourne? I'd hate it if I'd only known this all my life.

I have masses of mosquito bites on my right arm and my legs - must be from the jungle trek back on Ao island.

I paddled to Kung island this morning in a dugout canoe and surprised Clem with the speed with which I returned. Robin, Bryan and David didn't arrive until about 15 minutes after me. The locals on Kung saw me coming and I heard some squeals of excited laughter from the children. The dugout tended to veer to the outrigger side, so took some getting used to. I guess it was the event of the year for Kung.

"Calaro" is the Tunag word for all seasons. Means hello, goodbye, thank you, good and OK. All depends on the tone you employ.

I walked along the beach on Kung for a few minutes with the usual band of cute kids.

The big village yesterday is called Noi Puas - means Point Sand. I finished Tim Flannery's book Throwim Way Leg last night - well written and a good insight into a good man.

The main attraction

Spent the afternoon over at the large village on the "mainland". The boat-ride over was a bit challenging, getting out through the breakers on the reef. We handed out the last four pairs of shoes to great excitement. As we later approached the football pitch and school, Clem said we'd be the main attraction for the day. A few hundred pairs of eyes fixed on me as I attempted to stroll nonchalantly by. The local MP, just called "member" by everyone, joined us.

We saw one goal scored in two games, then the third game (involving Tunung) ended after two minutes when the ball exploded. It had taken 15 minutes to procure the ball from the reluctant owner from the previous game: his worst fears realised.

I spoke to John Martin, the headmaster of the adjoining school. The school's satellite dish and TV were solar-powered but the solar panels were stolen by local crooks. Everyone knows where they are but can't get the panels back. Martin said the only way was to make everyone feel involved and to make the school and its equipment part of the community. They're now using it to show NRL games for a fee for each viewer: this pays for fuel to run generator for TV classes.

I asked him about logging and he didn't sound at all enthusiastic. Tourism? Yes, and it shouldn't hurt the environment. It's in its infancy. Clem seems to believe the tourism cargo-cult idea but has sensible and reasonable expectations. Michael Moran (author of Beyond the Coral Sea) wrote about this on New Ireland: "soon tourists will come in droves and give us everything we want/need". I don't think that's what anyone thinks here: there's no fever just yet. I guess anything like that falls in a heap if the government doesn't provide any rudimentary infrastructure.

If someone decided to donate some footballs and some school supplies, they could have a huge impact here.

Martin talked about putting up a security fence around the school for K65,000. It seems ridiculous but how else would they stop the thieves. It would ruin the place.

There are no police in this part of the world at all. There's also not much in the way of government. There's a clinic on the Catholic island next to Tunung (Kung). Clem is Seventh-Day Adventist, but was previously Catholic. The Adventists don't drink, smoke or chew betel nut - this is what appealed to him. He was thrown out of school in Moresby and here too when he returned. He had told me his parents couldn't afford to support his schooling any further! Sophie gave me the other story!

Dinner last night was kasava and fish (tuna), cooked mumu-style.

Rontu

Clem's family dog is called Rontu and is quite a local personality. I walked around the island with Robin (Clem and Sophie's first son) and Bryan (their second son/third child) and friend David. Donna is their daughter. Rontu came with us but ended up being chased home by no fewer than five other dogs.

Lachlan and Kirsty had given me an old suitcase full of shoes to bring to New Hanover, because they weren't able to make it themselves. They've pretty much all gone now - there are just a handful of small ones left.

It rained very, very heavily last night and is completely overcast today.

Apparently there's a stone ark on a mountain-top on New Hanover: no wonder they've made Christianity their own. Some people here say that Jesus came from New Hanover.

Chapman's Reef

It was a longish ride to Chapman's Reef via Sasson island, with a "shortcut" over a shallow sandbar. Both dives were great: loads of life and on the second, a huge whale shark. Magnificent. We saw it when we jumped in but lost sight of it until about 40 minutes, when it returned. I swam right up to it, within a couple of metres, and finned furiously to keep up with its languid style.

Also saw loads of barracuda on both dives. It was like swimming in an aquarium - the water was transparent, not blue. Also saw a giant parrot fish, biting big chunks of coral off the reef.

We did our surface interval on neighbouring Ao island - visited a little, one-room school in the village, very cute. The kids were great - full of smiles and laughter. We walked to a huge tree - must be 100s of years old. Legend has it that white traders tried to cut it down but it healed itself overnight when they didn't finish the job. We continued on to a cave previously inhabited by a fierce warrior, who came down the New Hanover coast "eating people". Eventually, he was killed by a local warrior even greater than he. The walk in was over jagged limestone - awful! May've broken third toe on left foot but it's not slowing me down too much.

We stopped on Sasson on the way back. Clem played back the video he'd taken of the cave, including me "falling over" - great laughter from all: Damas from Sasson, "Rasta", Eduard and Blaise from Tunung. We were also entertained by little Ditdit the puppy and his "owner", the boy Manu (Manuel) chasing each other.

There are interesting mountains at the end of New Hanover - Suilik and Suilava: a sacred place with stone-embedded giant's footprints, stone plates and bowls, etc.

In Tunag, the local language spoken throughout New Hanover, "Calaro luai" means "thank you very much". "Malakis" is the word for the magic of Meli. There are 12 totem clans of New Hanover: e.g. "Sui", like a small kingfisher, "Malanang" the eagle for Tunung, while Sophie's clan is the hornbill.

Return of the old powers

I managed to get email working via the satellite phone! Apparently everyone who's been here for the last 18 months has tried to do this without success.

Clem talked last night about a man called Meli on New Hanover, to whom have returned the "old powers". He can chop is arm (left only) with a bush-knife (machete) and it heals again immediately. He wont pass the secret on to other young men because he doesn't think they'll use it for good.

Clem didn't believe in these things until now. It was witnessed by a Catholic church elder, who condemned it as from the devil. Clem questioned this, if used for good. Meli lives in a remote mountain village on New Hanover, so is unfortunately too far away for us to visit. Clem would like to, but last time he went there, "he almost died".

Tunung life

The second dive on the Sanko Maru was great too. I rang my Nadia on her mobile from Clem's satellite phone and spoke for 1 minute, 15 seconds! She got the roses I'd arranged.

We're going to Chapman's Reef tomorrow - by all accounts, it should be stupendous.

Lunch was good again, simple including coconut rice.

It's raining again and there are were whitecaps on the sea as we made our way back from the dive. Since lunch, I've been trying to help Clem get his satellite phone working as a modem, so he can send and receive emails. There are no other forms of telecommunications available in this whole district. He has two very old and very virus-infected laptops.

I washed my clothes too - they're hanging on my hammock.

The reef rumbles, birds chatter, generator whirrs and the rainclouds are heavy on the horizon.

Tunung Highway is the name of the path to the other end of the island - there are only 5-6 houses altogether, in 3 groups.

Sanko Maru

I needn't have worried - 61-minute dive on the wreck went without a hitch. It was magnificent - the ship is more than 100m long and covered with life. A torpedo cut the ship through the middle. Nearby, a Japanese mini-sub lies upright on the sea floor.

The best part was entering the hull, letting my eyes adjust, then enjoying the view out through the ribs of the ship. I saw a large groper, a moray eel, loads of super-cute clown fish, a few angel- and batfish. Clem unravelled a tangled fishing line. I took Ibuprofen to help reduce any sinus inflammation.

Dinner last night was great, as was lunch and breakfast. Sophie's bread is magnificent. She's a shy, pretty village girl from just across the water on New Hanover - Clem says she hasn't been much beyond the New Hanover area. I asked her this morning if she missed her kids, who are staying with her parents on New Hanover during the school week. "Yes, but if I miss them too much, sometimes I paddle over to them". It takes about one hour.

Blaise works for Clem - no English, never went to school.

The sun is coming out again, the rain fading to drips from overhead branches.

Today is my darling Nadia's birthday - hopefully I'll be able to call her using Clem's satellite phone.

All the way with LBJ

Clem seems to interchange Dad and Granddad but maybe it's just me. He was brought up in the Johnson cult, i.e. President Lyndon B. Johnson. A local man still collects taxes to fund the installation of LBJ as president of New Hanover. Clem's Dad is still part of the cult and is now 79 years old. He still climbs coconut trees and is as spritely as a 16-year-old. He was a child during the war. My impression after talking to him is that there's more to the cult than an outsider could understand. We westerners have learnt to take everything so literally - not so here.

Clem considers himself Christian and believes in God. I'm not sure if he holds to traditional beliefs like other people here. His Granddad was still involved in sailing large canoes on raiding expeditions which also involved eating their conquered victims.

I've just been snorkelling on the Sanko Maru wreck but unfortunately have major pain from the sinus above my left eye. I hope it doesn't ruin the diving. Luckily I'm not on a set schedule.

The right end of the world

"Welcome to the end of the world", smiled Clem as we arrived on Tunung. The right end of the world, I said.

The wind has picked up since the two-hour boat-ride ended, blowing welcome coolness from the sea. Looking out north, the next stop is Guam! The rains may be coming, as they did yesterday. The place Clem has built here is simple, clean, idyllic. A French Lonely Planet guy spent 10 minutes here a couple of years ago and that's the only way I heard about Clem and ended up here. The ride in the boat was super-smooth for the first hour, a little bumpy for the second. I've also managed to sort out accommodation in East New Britain when I head back there - Kabaira for three nights.

This may well be the most isolated place I've ever been. I've felt a bit strained since leaving Melbourne but that's starting to seep away now. It's been such a barrage of unfamiliarity, uncertainty, lack of usual security. I'm also aware that my heart is aching for my darling Nadia. I don't want to be away from her like this. Who knows if I'll ever do this again.

I've brought 10 tanks, which equates to five dives: three on the wreck, two on Chapman's Reef. One of the wreck dives should be a night dive.

The only imperfection here is the noise of the generator - but that's almost drowned by the wind.

Clem became a divemaster because of his white teeth! He was the only one in the district not chewing betel nut and was chosen by a passing live-aboard dive cruise captain to help out.

Missionaries first came after the war, according to Clem, and confused the locals, firstly because there were also companies moving in to exploit resources, but also because of what the locals had seen in the war, and because of the differences between what the missionaries were saying and the traditional beliefs of the people. Now there are no missionaries on New Hanover, except for some SIL translators.

The generator is off now - only the noise of the breakers on the reef, squawking birds, the rustle of the wind in the treetops.

Cargo cult is alive and well on New Hanover: Clem said it wouldn't be good for a European to go there alone. It works both ways: not only an expectation that Europeans bring wealth, but also fear that they may take wealth, i.e. resources.

Mining must seem like spiritual rape to them. Why do they allow it? Probably because they lack guile.

Clem's bungalows are well made, there is a bucket-flush toilet and a hand-bucket shower. Clem must seem like a rock star to everyone here. A one-week trip on that American live-aboard turned into nine months in the Solomons.

There are no pigs on this island because the last lot got out and couldn't be caught and ate the crops for two years, so there was no food for anyone! New Hanover has plenty of them.

Into another world

I've stepped into another world: paradise. I decided in the end to leave Rabaul/Kokopo and fly to New Ireland province further north. I'd read some interesting things about it and also about the possibility of some excellent diving on rarely-visited sites.

It was raining heavily as Martin from Bougainville drove me to the airport - he a Baptist. Six churches in the area, he said. Apparently all the land along the road to the airport is owned by "Catholics" - bought a long time ago, no doubt very cheaply. It's now being sold back to the local people.

Lachlan and Kirsty from near Tumut, and their two kids, Jake and May, were waiting at the airport, for the same flight as me to Kavieng in New Ireland. We chatted until boarding. Kavieng is nothing like Kokopo, I feel like I'm in the Pacific now.

We transferred to a boat and were shuttled across to Nusa resort. Just fabulous. Simple.

I met Clem - a nice guy - and will go to his home island, Tunung, with him for at least five days to dive some WWII wrecks and other sites near there.

Sean, the owner of Nusa, grew up in Rabaul pre-eruption. Lachlan has a mutual friend of his in Moresby, Kirsty another in Kimbe.

Clem believes the diving around Tunung is the best in the world, so I'm mounting an expedition with him, including up to 14 filled air tanks! He told me about the shark callers of New Ireland - only Jacques Cousteau has filmed them. Clem assisted an Irish attempt to film the same caller more recently. But the younger men wanted to be in on the action, so "spoke to the spirits" to keep the sharks away. None came! During the first attempt at filming, a canoe capsized, ruining the cameras. The whole thing was a disaster.

Lachlan said his trip to New Hanover 12 months ago is still talked about by the locals - Clem confirmed this. Many of them had never seen a white person before.

Adam (from New St in Hampton, about 200m from our place!) was another interesting character at Nusa, married to Dani. He told of the "meeting" to OK logging on New Hanover - only selected local "representatives" were picked up by boat. The Malaysian Mr. Hi transported the National Conservation officials, even though he owns the logging company! Adam gate-crashed the meeting, having only learnt of it 10 minutes beforehand - he and a friend asked some awkward questions. His friend started taking photos, which resulted in full-scale panic from the selected landowners. Adam met the officials later in the market and asked for their cards - once again inducing panic. The provincial government's legal officer knew nothing of the meeting and said the agreement wasn't legally binding.

Adam was of the opinion that PNG is very resources-oriented and unaware of the value of the environment, e.g. for tourism. Local people are more aware but the central government has become dislocated from the traditional connection to the land.

Sean talked about Lihir (island), which he thought seemed to be working OK. USD 120 million offered for the hill on that island from which the ancestors depart - no sale just yet!

There are lots of dogs on the island. And I've noticed some of the men wearing lap-laps.

No room at the inn

Well, what an adventure so far. Made it all the way to Tokua airport here in New Britain successfully but things went off the rails from there. On the flight from Brisbane to Moresby I sat next to Mark, born and bred in PNG, now living in Brisbane. He spoke of Papuans as "them", "they", e.g. relating to betel-nut chewing in Moresby etc.

Bob sat next to me for the flight from Moresby to Rabaul (Tokua) - he turned things up a notch or ten on the Queensland-style racism stakes.

"'Maintenance' is not a word in their vocabulary", he informed me.

"All the hostesses get pregnant due to unprotected sex. Randy buggers!"

"Not too different to Australia then", I countered. According to him, the mixed-race girls are the most beautiful.

He also said that the Rabaul team in the national Rugby League competition were very good but would lose at Mt. Hagen deliberately, due to the intimidation. "Let the highlanders win".

Finally, "everything was running like clockwork at handover from Australia in 1975, now it's all run down".

I suggested the Papuans might have different priorities, "Yeah!", he guffawed, "lining their pockets!"

There was no bus available at the airport to take me to Seaview, which I had booked for the night. I ended up standing next to two Australian ex-pats and asked them the best way to get to Seaview. They kindly took me along in their minibus when it arrived, which was taking them to a much posher hotel in Kokopo town centre. Before leaving the airport, I rang Seaview and was informed that they had no record of my booking. When we arrived there in the minibus, I asked at reception but they had no room, due to the "BSA" (Benefits Sharing Agreement) parties extending their stay by (another) two weeks. The whole of Eastern New Britain province was booked out due to this: the agreement still being thrashed out between land owners from the Highlands, and the central government, on behalf of the companies wishing to put in a new, enormous gas pipeline. So, my booking had been conveniently "bumped".

So, I continued on with Craig and Pat, the two ex-pats, into Kokopo, and after much lengthy and unsuccessful negotiation to get me a room, Craig ended up offering me his spare bed. Pat only got a room because Craig was a very valued customer of the hotel. Michael, the concierge, had only managed this by kicking out the governor of West Highlands province.

So, I spent the evening and this morning with Craig and Pat. Pat is very much old-school, lives in Lae and is replete with hair-raising stories about life there.

A friend's wife was raped by eight locals and left in a roadside drain in Chinatown. The "boys" knew who'd done it and exacted justice - four killed and the other four bashed. The police were OK with this.

Another story described a robbery at a restaurant, but three Lae Pistol Club members were dining there. One old Italian resident shot one of the robbers in the leg and kept eating. Another diner shot another robber in the head, killing him.

"Just keep driving" is the standard response to road accidents.

Pat continued in the usual sexist/racist/homophobic manner, eventually shouting "poofter!" at me because I was about to share Craig's room. This was meant as a joke, after 1 1/2 bottles of red. A very amiable bloke, though.

He bragged at every opportunity about his blokey sexual exploits in younger years. At one stage, he even coached the PNG national baseball team. "Moses" was the best captain ever, could do anything, Pat was very positive about him. But, "nationals" can get too big-headed, he confided: they need to be taken down a notch in the appropriate way and at the right time. He felt they didn't respect things such as the company hierarchy, if they'd had any degree of success.

Both Craig and Pat are in shipping - it's all very Conrad-esque. The company started in Kuwait during the first Gulf War.

Tavurvur volcano is steaming faintly but nothing more. The thunderclap during the night was just that.

I've been for a wander and had a look at Queen Emma's steps - all that remains of the mansion that that colourful individual once called home. On the way, I walked past a building site and an Australian guy working there waved and said g'day. Also had a look at the Kokopo museum - a musuem itself! Lots of WWII remains.

It's hazy and humid here. Kokopo is not at all charming - usual wasteland appearance with nondescript buildings for banks, post office, airlines etc. Apparently there are Moresby police here due to the BSA and they are asking everyone for "gifts". The PNG SAS are also here for added security.

The gas pipeline the BSA involves will go from the Highlands to the coast and is rumoured to be worth billions, even trillions. All the landowners for the entire length of the pipline are here to negotiate.

I've had offers of accommodation from 3-4 different sources in the short time I've been here: ex-pats with spare rooms. Do I want that sort of holiday? Not really: it's all a bit Far North Queensland and Top End.

On the way...

I'm in the air somewhere over Queensland - the adventure begins! It was a quick $85 taxi ride to the airport, a slow transit in Brisbane and will hopefully be a problem-free transit in Moresby.

I'm feeling quite tense and just want to get there.

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