Papua New Guinea (PNG) is a place you travel to really feel alive. Travel here can be challenging, but is unlike most other countries. My dream to walk the fabled Kokoda Track was officially dashed the other night due to time limits, permits, and the inability to withdraw money. Shattered, I wasn’t keen on spending all of my time in Port Moresby. Booking a flight to Lae proved to be a major (and relatively expensive) mission. PNG’s fierce geography means there is no road connecting the country’s two largest cities, and with limited time it meant booking a flight with Air PNG. Unlike on Air Niugini, the only thing they serve onboard is water. After a few days in Moresby, I wasn’t keen on staying the night in Lae; I hear it’s not safe, I don’t know anyone, and the cheapest accommodation is about K150 per night. The Highlands has what you’d call the only true road system in the country, and the cost of a public motor vehicle (PMV) has risen substantially due to the current cost of fuel. It was 4 PM when I landed in Lae, and from there it was an adventure. Most sources don’t recommend either hitchhiking or taking a PMV at night and, unlike in Australia, it’s not possible to just pitch my tent on the side of the road somewhere. It was at Nadzab Market where a local named Joel would take me under his wing.
Joel was on the flight with me and he made a call to arrange a PMV. He was on his way to Kundiawa, the capital of the province of Simbu (pronounced “Chimbu”). I decided to take the plunge and do the overnight trip, even though it’s not recommended due to the risk of raskols, accidents, and banditry. All sorts of unwritten rules apply when it comes to belongings: for example, close the window of the bus or PMV when using your mobile phone, otherwise it can get snatched. For the moment we hung out at the market, stocked up on some snacks, and drank SP lager whilst we waited for the PMV. Nadzab Market is colourful.
Buses in PNG remind of travelling in Ethiopia or Peru…the driver hangs around or drives round in circles until the bus is chock-o-block and then the journey begins, even if it takes two hours to fill the bus. Like in those countries, roads are often dug out of the sides of mountains with deep canyons below. At 6 PM the adventure began, and I figured if the raskols get us, they get us. As my film director would say, I’m on a fearless journey and sometimes I (as I often do) have to trust the universe. Through the night we travelled, and people and places are open at all hours selling fruit, coffee, betel nut, cigarettes, lamb flaps, and chips, even past midnight. Joel advised me to remain near him as there are all sorts of dodgy characters out at this time. This would be a beautiful journey during the day but I’m saving on a night’s accommodation. At about 1 AM we stopped in Goroka. The Goroka Show, held annually in August, is a goal of mine. PNG drivers drive with extreme intensity, and it made both Joel and myself nervous when the driver was going super-fast round tight corners. Understandably, I got zero sleep on this journey.
Although the PMV was going all the way to Mt. Hagen and could have dropped me in Kudjip, it was still dark, and Joel advised me to disembark with him and hang out at the police station in Kundiawa for a few hours. Police stations in PNG aren't the shiny, sparkling offices you see in Australia. In Kundiawa, the water wasn't running, and betel nut stains cover the walls. The main office itself is very spartan with little more than a desk with a few pieces of paper, but the officers themselves are very friendly; a female officer gave me a bilum bag and advised me to carry my mobile phone and other things in my bag instead of in my pockets. Freezing cold it was, and one of the officers walked with us across the lot to get a coffee. At 6:30 AM, a PMV to the town of Banz showed up, and Joel instructed the driver where to drop me. By then I was completely exhausted. I promised myself I wasn't going to be doing these overnight hitchhiking and bus journeys but they're sometimes necessary. Whilst not Moresby or Lae, people in Banz were out early going about their business.
My latest CouchSurfing host, Cedric, lives in the village of Nondugl but would meet me in Banz. He's from France, has travelled extensively, and recently married a lady from PNG. I had told him I was likely to arrive at around 1 AM but times have to be taken with a large grain of salt in PNG. He said we would have to walk for nearly an hour but felt relieved when we got on a bus. The bridge to Nondugl collapsed weeks ago under the weight of a truck, and only 4WDs are able to cross the stream.
I had to cross carefully to ensure that I didn't take a fall and get all of my electronics wet. Cedric is the only foreigner for many kilometres around, so everyone wants to stop and talk to him. Up many hills I had to walk and then more than an hour later, I huffed and puffed as we finally arrived at the home of Cedric and his wife, Cathy.
After a coffee, I was ready for a deep slumber after this extraordinary journey.
