I get into trouble

Monday morning I reluctantly take a cab to the airport and leave for Lae. I just hope Dave will do what he promised and have my car towed to PNG Motors with my instructions to strip the engine.

In Lae, I’m being met by Peter Fidder, the sheetmetal worker who has already installed some of the ductwork. It is a self-contained unit already piped up and only needs ductwork connected and the control wiring, so no need for a refrigeration mechanic. Peter has already hired a local native lad to help him install the ductwork and the unit is already positioned on a concrete plinth, about a metre from the external building with the ductwork going up the side and turning into the ceiling space.

OTC Building Lae

I install a steel conduit between the unit and into the wall for the control wiring. There are lots of wires in the conduit and I have to struggle to get them all in and it takes me some time. The conduit is about a half metre above ground. I hope nobody stands on that I think, or it’ll snap off. I grab a large piece of chipboard and write in big letters DO NOT STAND ON THIS CONDUIT.

In the meantime I hear Peter up in the ceiling blowing his top. He later tells me, the ceiling space is very tight and him and his temporary boy are lying on either side of the duct run. Peter joins his side of the duct and drills the screws in his side to fasten the joint. He then says, your turn, Tommy. No response. Your turn, Tommy!, still no response. He looks under the duct and there is Tommy, fast asleep. That’s when I hear Peter blowing his top.

I’m in the building, starting to install the control panel when I hear the snap just outside the wall at the unit. When I get there, I see this pair of black feet climbing up the wall. Of course my conduit has snapped off clearly shearing the wires clean off at the elbow into the wall.

That’s when I blow loose my cool. I call the native a black *!$@^%  so and so, useless git. I have to start all over again, pull out the wires cut and thread new conduit and pull in new wires, all the time stewing, swearing and cursing. I’m still swearing and cursing when the white police inspector accompanied by a couple of native constables with the black git who stood on the conduit in tow, appear next to me.

'Is this the masta who abused you', the inspector asks the black fellow. 'Yes, masta'.  ‘Did you insult this man?’, the inspector turns to me. ‘Yes I did, officer’, I reply. ‘Any reason’, he continues.

‘Yes, of course there is a reason’, I snap. I explain the trouble I had with the conduit, getting all the wires in and point to the large sign that’s still on the wall.

‘Is that true’, the inspector asks of the black fellow. 'Well, yes, I did stand on it. I thought it would be all right’ the boy replies.

The inspector walks away back to the car, with the black constables following. ‘Serves you right’, he says to the black git, ‘I would have done the same’.


Next - I have been let me down.

Will the Morobe District really disappear?

For some time there have been rumours going around that a big earthquake is about to destroy the Morobe District. Lae is the capital of the Morobe District. This earthquake has been forecast by some American female medium appearing on American TV. There are many expat people who live in Morobe Districte who believe that and have booked their holidays and are leaving the region for Australia, but not us. Phil and I stay in Lae and take our chances. I can't imagine Dave allowing us to leave Lae just because some nutter forecasts an earthquake.

Click on map to enlarge it

It’s Saturday night and Phil and I go to the movies. When we return to the hostel I climb into bed and start reading my book, when suddenly the room starts shaking madly. OMG, the earthquake. It’s true, we’re going to die. Everyone jumps out of their beds and runs outside. The earth rumbles and shakes, fortunately not violently. It lasts for about five minutes, then everything is calm again. We go back to bed.

Next day, the newspaper’s front page reads, EARTHQUAKE – WE’RE ISOLATED. Apparently the Seacom cable that links Australia to Asia and Europe and passes trough Lae, was damaged by the earthquake. So this woman was partially right. There was an earthquake but it didn’t quite destroy the District, just a vital link.

We stay another few weeks in Lae and it’s been over three months since we’ve been away from Port Moresby, and we’re glad to be home, when we land at the airport in Port Moresby.

Time to say Goodbye to Madang

I’m sad to say good-bye to Madang I love it here. But we must go on with our trip and when we land in Lae, Werner Utzinger who is up from Port Moresby, working here, greets us. He already has a hire car so we don’t need another one. Werner drives us to Barclay’s hostel where we move into our rooms.

No troubles here with the bearings, they await us at the wharf. We take Werner to his job site in the mornings before taking off to do our service work. A very unique phenomenon in Lae is that it rains every afternoon. You can set your clock by it, on the dot of 2 o’clock, down comes the rain for about an hour or so. The end result is Lae is extremely green. The golf club near the airport looks lush with deep green fairways and bushy trees.

While having a drink at the Outrigger bar of the 'Melanesian Hotel' in town, we hear the boss talking Swiss-German to another hotel employee. I’m with Werner and we call out to them in Swiss-German. They look surprised and come over for a chat. It turns out that Walter Gschwind is the hotel manager and Hanspeter is his chef. They invite us for a game of Jass, the Swiss national card game for the following Saturday and we accept. Small world.

Füfzg, Ass mit de Stöck

Saturday before lunch we front up and are taken to Walter’s private rooms. We play cards all day and night and drink quite a bit. On the house, of course.

Come back tomorrow morning; they say when we leave way after midnight. We will, we say.

Sunday morning we’re back at the hotel and get stuck into some serious drinking and playing Jass. I wonder who’s cooking for the hotel guests. My sou-chef, I’m being told, don’t worry, he knows what to do.

It’s a long weekend and on Monday morning we’re back again. We haven’t had a decent meal or sleep since Friday and I’m starting to feel it. By Monday night I’m totally out of it. Three days of solid drinking has taken its toll. I’m sick as a dog and crash in an empty hotel room. I don’t wake up until Tuesday morning when Phil calls to see if we are going to work.

I thank Walter and Hanspeter, for their hospitality and Phil drives us to work. I totally enjoyed this weekend.