Madang My Favourite Town in New Guinea

             A few days later, we’re on the plane to Madang.

Madang is another nice place in New Guinea. We book into the Smuggler’s Inn Motel on the lagoon. It’s an idyllic place. The motel is run by Marcia Barlow and her husband John. There are about 12 rooms in a separate building, a bar and a dining room in the main building plus a large verandah overlooking the lagoon. There is about a metre drop from the verandah to the water and we can see the corals below the water line with beautiful coloured fish swimming amongst them.

The Smuggler's Inn, my favourite motel in New Guinea

Phil and I move into our rooms and go to the bar for a couple of drinks. The barmaid is gorgeous and we are both drooling. We meet John and Marcia and have a drink with them. They tell us where to go to hire a car.

Next day, we head for the wharf to pick up our motor bearings. Our paperwork says we should pick up a small wooden box about the size of a suitcase. At the wharf, we advise them of the consignment note and they look around everywhere for this crate. After some considerable time, we are advised the crate is not in Madang. We go back to the motel. Several phone calls to Carriers in Port Moresby and the shipping agency in Port Moresby we are told the crate should definitely be on the wharf in Madang.  Back to the wharf with our confirmation that the crate must be there. They look again and insist it is not on this wharf. They however suggest they will look into the matter.

Without motor bearings, we can’t do any work. Each day we phone and each day we are told, no news yet. We’re on holidays again. The Smugglers Inn is the best place for it.

The Flight from Hell

The Piaggio comes back two days later to pick us up to fly back to Wewak. This time I sit next to the pilot and Phil is at the back. We take off and about a half hour into the flight, there is a solid black cloud wall directly ahead of us. The pilot is on his radio talking to Wewak and starts banking out to the sea, trying to get around this black wall. We fly parallel to the wall for some time out over the ocean but can’t see an end to this wall. The pilot is constantly talking to Wewak. He turns to me and says, it’s no use, the storm is right into Wewak and we can’t get through. Then he adds, but we’re too far out of Vanimo and haven’t got enough fuel to get back there, we’ll have to try to land here someplace.

Great. I think. We’re going to crash and die horribly amongst the dense bush in New Guinea. The pilot turns around and heads towards land, getting closed and closer to the ground. From the altimeter I can see, we’re now about one hundred metres above sea level. He is trying to fly below the storm to Wewak, but it’s no use, the storm is too dense and the trip is now quite rough, bumping and weaving through the air and still the pilot is talking to the control tower in Wewak. He is told to land at a private air strip belonging to a copra plantation about half way between Vanimo and Wewak.

Pilots in Papua New Guinea are great aviators. They know their stuff. This one is no exception. He gets us safely onto land and taxis towards a bush hut at the end of the air strip. We get out and go into the hut, just as the deluge comes down. The pilot jumps back onto the plane and taxis the plane off the grassy runway and up a grassy knoll opposite the hut. He secures the plane with ropes and runs over towards us. He is soaked. He tells us that the runway can get flooded and he had to bring the plane to higher ground to safe it.

Copra Plantation

A landrover drives up to the hut. It’s an employee of the plantation who has been told by Wewak that one of their planes would be landing on the airstrip. He takes us to the plantation about twenty minutes away where we are greeted by the plantation manager, his wife and children. They have prepared rooms for us and we settle down for a nice meal.

One thing about the Territory, a deluge comes quickly and stops quickly and by the time we go to bed the rain has stopped.

In the morning, we are driven back to the airstrip, the pilot hoping all the way, the plane is ok and the strip dry. He tells us that another pilot had to do the same and couldn't take off for a week as the runway was flooded. But in our case, all is well and we climb back onto the Piaggio for our return to Wewak.

Next Stop Vanimo

I organise a flight from Wewak to Vanimo which is an outpost to the north-east on the Irian Jaya border. To get there, we have to board a Piaggio, an Italian made airplane that has the propeller at the back, pushing the plane trough the air, rather than pulling it like conventional airplanes. It seats about eight people and takes about an hour and a half to get to Vanimo. Phil and I are the only two passengers and Phil sits up front next to the pilot. I stretch out at the back.

Ansett Piaggio takes us to Vanimo

  Vanimo has an Australian Army Base, a pub, a gaol. and a timber logging company. The only air conditioning is in the army base. We book into the pub, next to the gaol not far from the beach. Vanimo is a pretty place especially at sunset, when the sun shines low on the horizon through the coconut palms  near the beach. I take lots of photos.

We only stay a couple of days in Vanimo changing the motor bearings of the air conditioning unit at the army base. Our spare time is occupied drinking on the verandah of the pub, watching the prisoners next door working in the yard of the jail. It’s the only jail I have ever seen, where there are no walls just huts. The prisoners all wear blue overalls with strange markings on them.. I ask the publican why they are not escaping. They’re too well fed, he says and in any case, where would they go? Very strange that.

Paradise accommodation in Wewak

In Wewak, I had noticed a motel on the way into town from the airport when I was here with Ted Stuyvender. So this time I decide we might give this a go. So we take a cab from the airport and the motel looks great. It’s right on the beach and the verandah outside the dining room is joining the sandy beach. We book our rooms, pick up a hire car in town and spend the rest of the day at the beach outside the motel which is called 'Windjammer'.

I know Wewak, having been here before and after we serviced the units at the army base, we drive to the hospital where we are told we can only switch the air conditioning off on a Sunday. It’s used every other day of the week, so we have to wait a few days for Sunday. We spend most days sight seeing in Wewak and on the beach outside the motel. It’s just like being on holidays, but we're getting paid.

Windjammer Motel in Wewak - Sepik District

We meet some interesting people in the Territory. Here in Wewak we meet a Belgian chap who is here buying artefacts at the Catholic Mission. He tells me he comes to the Territory twice a year, ships the stuff to Paris and makes a great living selling the artefacts there. He always flies first class. So there is  good money in artifacts. He also buys mounted butterflies and tells us he can get up to $500 for a good species. And there are lots of rare and beautiful butterflies in Papua New Guinea.


He asks us if we're interested in supplying him with butterflies for which we will pay top dollars. He shows us on paper what we would have to do, how to kill them and mount them so they're not damaged.

My mind starts thinking. Here I am in the Territory, getting paid to travel around and have great opportunities to buy artefacts which I could easily ship to Europe, and catch butterflies for him to collect once a year. I too could make a great living. We exchange names and addresses. I'll think about it.

Ken takes us to a Sing Sing

Jap cemetery Rabaul

        Walking back to the car, we see a side track leading off to the left. I wonder where that goes, says Ken. We explore and come to what looks like a Japanese cemetery. It has three white concrete posts all marked with Japanese writing down the sides.

        The following week, Ken’s mate Emile invites us to a Sing-Sing up the mountain from his village. As we’re invited, the three of us drive back to Kurutegete  on Saturday night. The entire village is dressed for a night out and we walk on a track up the hill. First we come to an open field and there is a church. It’s made in a traditional Native style, with grass roof and walls open windows. Ken’s mate explains that’s where everyone comes tomorrow morning for the service. It’s a catholic church but we don’t see a priest.

        We continue up the hill on a track through dense jungle for some time when we get to a clearing in the jungle. There are lots of tables and benches and a lot of Natives from other villages already there. We are introduced and greeted by the other people. There is a beer tent next to the tables, with lots of bottles of beer.

          We sit down at a table and are each given a bottle of beer. More people arrive from other villages and before long singers and dancers assemble on the side and start their performances. It’s great to watch them. We are very privileged indeed to be here.

           The singers and performers wear traditional grass skirts and use original Native drums and sticks to assist their singing. The performers change frequently while others sit down for a beer themselves.

           We’re there a few hours and into our fourth or fifth bottle of beer when the rain starts. Not hard, just light drizzle, not enough to stop the performances, but we feel a strange atmosphere in the crowd. The natives look at the three of us in a strange way.

          Ken’s mate whispers to Ken, they think you white fellows brought the rain. It’s better if you disappear. Ken passes the message on. As the rain increases, we are now being openly abused by some of the other villagers. It’s time for a retreat. Ken’s mate points in the direction we came and the three of us make our way down the path we came on.

         It’s now raining quite heavily, it’s after midnight and pitch black. The path is hard to see. We hear the noise of the villagers in the background still singing and boozing.

          Even though, we almost run through the jungle, it takes over an hour for us to reach the village near the coast road where our vehicles are. We’re totally relieved when we get there, and soaking wet, but unharmed. I’ve been blamed for a lot of things in my life before, but never for making it rain. I guess there is a first for everything.

    

We climb the Matupit Volcano

Ken asks us if we would like to climb the volcano we flew over before landing in Rabaul. We agree and on Saturday, the three of us drive to the foot of the Matupit volcano. We have to drive on very narrow roads until we come to what looks like a bush track virtually overgrown. We have difficulties driving the car and have to get out of the car frequently to remove branches so we can pass.

Matupit vulcano in Rabaul

When it becomes impossible to drive any further, we abandon the hire car and walk the rest of the track until we’re at the foot of the mountain. There is no foliage on the mountain and we start to climb up. It is fairly steep and littered with brimstone from old eruptions of the volcano.

It takes at least an hour before we reach the top and are able to look down into the crater. There is smoke coming up through the far end of the crater about 30 metres away from where we are. Ken suggests we climb down into the crater but I’m not so sure. What if the volcano erupts while we’re in the crater. Ken assures us the volcano is quite save.

Ken on the rim of Mutupit vulcano

We climb down into the crater. There are lots of rocks everywhere, and as we look around the crater, a Qantas Fokker Friendship comes overhead, so low, you could almost touch it. We actually see the passengers looking at us through the windows as the plane banks overhead to get into position to land in Rabaul. I’ve never been so close to an airplane in flight without actually being in it. It’s strange. But I remember having looked into the crater a previous time when I landed at Rabaul.

What a great place to welcome people to Rabaul. So we gather enough rocks to write welcoming messages on the floor of the crater in big letters about 3 meters tall. No one will miss those messages. Afterwards we settle down for a few smokes and a break.

We settle down for a break and a few smokes.

We walk over to the smoking hole in the crater floor but the sulfur smell is overpowering and the heat coming out of the hole drives us back. We’ve seen enough and it’s getting late, we still have to descend the mountain and find the hire car. As we are near the foot of the mountain, we see native lakatoi boats being paddled on the lagoon, a very pretty sight.

Ken shows us more of Rabaul

Over the next few weeks, we continue with our job, changing motor bearings and one morning Ken comes over while are having breakfast he says his Native offsider has invited him to his village along the coast road for the weekend. He asks if we’re interested. Of course we are. I’ve never been to a genuine New Guinea Native village.

Saturday morning, we drive down the coast on the road to Kokopo.  Ken leads on his motor bike. We just follow him. A few kilometres out of Rabaul, he turns right up the hill on a dirt road, Phil and I follow in the hire car. We come to Kurutegete, a village with straw huts and lots of children and pigs. The women are dressed in colourful dresses and the men in shorts and bare tops. Ken introduces us to Emile, his work mate, Iapin his wife and Tatabu his seven year old son.

Tatabu on Ken's bike

We are made very welcome. Tatabu, the little boy is fascinated with Ken’s motorbike and when Ken puts his helmet and goggles on him and lifts him up he is very excited. Everyone is happy.

The village is amongst a lot of coconut trees and very soon some of the younger boys climb the trees to fetch some coconuts. They make it look so easy. They carry large knives and chop the coconuts from the trees and watch them fall to the ground. We too watch them but mainly to save our heads.

Back on the ground they rip the outer husk (mesocarp) from the coconuts and open the nuts by smashing them onto a metal rod sticking out from the ground.

The fresh coconut milk tastes good and refreshing. Even the flesh of the coconut tastes very good. The villagers show us around the village, explain this and that. I’m glad I came. We have a great day in this village, playing with the children, listening to the adults, observing them in their village life.


Tatabu is very interested in everything we have and do. I have my 8mm movie camera with me and the boy wants me to show him what it does and how I use it.

Tatabu is very interested in everything

I take lots of footage of the village and the people. Especially the men climbing the coconut palms, they make it look so easy. The milk from the coconuts they offer us tastes very good and refreshing in the heat of the day.


We spend a very pleasant day with Emile and his family. I am so glad Ken brought us here. These people live simple but happy lives in these villages.