Steve thinks weather can color first impressions of wherever you’ve landed. That was true of our arrival in Papua New Guinea Sunday morning. We had a pleasant two-hour flight from Honiara to Pt. Moresby, PNG’s capital. But we descended to the airport through skies filled with menacing clouds. On the ground, gusty winds matched the evil reputation of this city, which regularly ranks among the most dangerous in the world.
We reached our hotel around 3 and were assigned a room on the fifth floor. It had huge windows overlooking the nearby beach, but the wind was shaking them so violently I could imagine them shattering. The racket continued all evening and was still so loud when I went to bed I had to wear earplugs.
Everything I’d ever read about Pt. Moresby suggested it was not safe to go out and walk around. So even though Monday morning dawned bright and calm, both Steve and I were content to hang out in our room. He worked on his travel journal; I wrote my last blog post. At 2 pm we were supposed to meet up with our tour leader, Christopher Bartlett, in the hotel bar. But mid-morning, a disturbing message popped up on our WhatsApp group chat: Christopher and a half-dozen other tour members were delayed in New Britain, where they’d been scuba diving. With luck, they might land around 4:30. A while later, Christopher Whatsapped again, suggesting we get a ride from the hotel down to Ela Beach, where festive activities celebrating the 50th anniversary of PNG’s independence from Australia were supposed to unfold.
This took a while to organize, but Steve and I and five other members of our 20-person group eventually piled in a van and drove down the hill. It occurred to me that the US State Department wouldn’t approve. PNG is already on their “Reconsider Travel” list because of the crime, particularly in Pt. Moresby, and political unrest in the western highlands. The anniversary celebrations would draw large crowds that might become violent, one bulletin advised, so they should be avoided.
When the van disgorged us next to the beach, however, it was obvious little to no danger lurked here. The balmy day and cool breeze off the ocean would have made anyone feel cheerful, and the women and children and families we encountered on the boardwalk were in an extra ebullient mood. Everyone smiled at us and returned our “hellos” and most were dressed in the red, black and gold national colors, Many waved large PNG flags. They sang out “Happy Independence Day!”and we chorused back the same.
Along the busiest part of the boardwalk, vendors had set up tidy booths where they were selling clothing and jewelry and other crafts. So we shopped and took pictures and made our way to a stage where we caught a few music and dance performances. Then Steve and I and Kate decided to walk back up the hill to our hotel, rather than catch a taxi. No harm befell us.
I don’t doubt that visitors to Pt. Moresby routinely get robbed or even worse. Still, my experience that afternoon and in the next few days made me think anyone who wouldn’t dream of visiting Papua New Guinea because it’s too dangerous should reconsider their travel plans.
PS — I’m writing this in the Eastern Highlands. We’ve been on the road for three days, and we’re immersed in the cultural experiences at the heart of this part of our itinerary. Internet connections are getting worse and worse. I’ve decided to keep my posts short, limit the number of photos, and send them whenever I catch a good, brief online connection. But that’s likely to be sporadic for the next few days.
At home and abroad 