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.