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Saturday, 13 October 2007

Journey to the highlands...

DAY 1: The long flight to Lae

"We have finally made contact with Tom Jumeraii", she explained. "So you can go on over as we discussed in Sydney". So I am off to Papua New Guinea (PNG) and not to Australia as expected.

In a futile attempt to escape the sticky humidity the three of us wait inside the big shed that is the international terminal of Honiara airport. Most of the ceiling fans are going but they must be going very slowly because their effect is minimal. Tony, the aid project's in-country manager and Fiona, a member of the NGOs (non-government aid organisation) executive committee, wait for the early afternoon flight to Brisbane. I board the Air New Guinea flight half an hour before they leave. We taxi out, stop at the end of the airstrip, the engines roar and we speed down the airstrip, climb and turn west over the blue sea.

Flying... it's something like three hours to Port Moresby, the capital of PNG. We pass over ocean, then over a chain of islands dotting a turquoise sea, then more ocean before crossing the PNG coast.

Decending... the city sits on the coastal plain fronting Torres Strait, the body of water that separates PNG from Australia's northern tip. It's a hazy, brown-coloured landscape down there but there are high, grey-green mountains off to the north. I realise this is the Owen Stanley Range and recall that it was here that Australian troops stopped the Japanese advance in 1942. I recall, too, that it was in those ranges that my father fought the Japanese in those desperate days. He respected the Japanese soldier and praised the PNG highlanders for the help they gave to Australian forces.

In Moresby, waiting

Port Moresby air terminal is a big shed. It is bigger by far than Honiara terminal but none of the ceiling fans work. It is hot and dark in here. Most of the flourescent lights have failed, casting the crowded interior into a humid gloom. When they come on again in the late afternoon the event is greeted with cheers from waiting passengers.

I learn that the flight to Lae, PNG's second largest city, over the ranges on the north-east coast, is running late. Six hours later I am still waiting. The man sitting next to me is waiting for a flight to Mt Hagen and it, too, is late. He tells me to insist that the airline pays for overnight accommodation if the fight does not eventuate. Another man I speak to, a man of Asian origin who lives in Lae, is also awaiting the flight but he is taking the delay philosophically as if he is used to such things.

Over the ranges

Late in the afternoon we climb out of Moresby and the coastal plain below folds into an incredibly corrugated landscape... a jumble of ridges deeply-incised with valleys cut by fast-flowing streams. There is plenty of forest down there but no sign of the many villages that dot this fantastic landscape.

The sun sits just above the ridges and I wonder if Tom is still waiting at Lae airport. Looking out, the scene is one of grey mountainscape and fading light, the sun radiating a menacing orange colour through scattered cloud. Finally, just after sunset, the engines change pitch. We have started the descent into Lae.