Vanimo, part 2: So you’re from the yacht!

“Oh, you’re from the yacht!” It’s not a question, but a statement I hear from almost everyone with whom I have more than a simple transactional interaction. From the woman who helps point me to the consulate, walking home from church. We’d only just arrived- how did she know? And yet she did, because she asked if it was the green or white boat… and we had arrived with our friends, in their green boat.

Totem at anchor. OK, so this is actually in Rabaul...I didn't get the camera out much in Vanimo

I woke up our second morning determined to get a fresh perspective. Dawn has yet to lighten the sky, but I’m up anyway so I sit in the cockpit and watch the lights on shore. After all this time among islands lit only by fire, it’s a novelty.

Just like the prior night, a fishing boat drifts uncomfortably close. They pass a dozen yards from Totem, but are getting really close to Sea Glass. The big outboard off the back is pulled up, and the boat is being silently maneuvered with a wooden oar instead. I give a low whistle, thinking this will wake up Jamie. Instead, it gets the attention of the fishing boat. OK, here they come. Now what?

There seem to be several people aboard, most of them sleeping or resting on the bottom of the boat. As they get closer, it appears to be a family: parents, a grandmother, and two young children. I stand at the side of the boat as they come close, and offer a stem of bananas. There must be at least 50 left on the stem we were given in Ninigo, and we can’t possibly finish them before we clear into Indonesia. It seems a good peace offering. They were just curious, of course. Where are we from? Do we like Vanimo? The children immediately eat bananas, and look up with wide eyes.

Later in the morning, I go for a walk around town while waiting to pick up our visas. The public market was on, and I could get lost for hours wandering through even the smallish area it takes up. A woman with an impressive boar tusk pendant sells me a few papayas. I’m dying to talk to her and learn about the necklace, but am shy. Another woman is selling krupuk. Despite the fact that these crisp shrimp crackers bear more than a passing resemblance to Styrofoam, I’m so happy to buy a package. They are distinctly Indonesian and remind me of what’s ahead. I stop to talk with the seller. “So, you’re from the yacht!” Again, it’s not really a question.

Down the row, I play peek-a-boo with a baby, snuggled against his grandmother in a sling as she sits before her vegetable wares. The little boy gives me a wan smile; after some work, I finally get a giggle. “He’s sick,” granny tells me, and puts my hand on his back- it’s burning. What an awful feeling- what can I do? She presses a cucumber into my hand, and I walk away feeling a little dazed, not sure if I’m being thanked or sent away or a little of both. Sweet-smelling kretek smoke floats through the air. I detest cigarettes, but this smell of the Indonesian smokes throws me back to living there twenty years ago, and I am immediately nostalgic.

Back to the consulate, our paperwork is delayed again, but I am assured it will be ready after the lunch break. I stop to talk with Malaysian businessmen, hydrographers who work with the timber extraction business in New Guinea. They’re trying to get visas too. “So, you’re from the yacht?” – it’s still not really a question.

Outside the market, the roads rapidly vanish into lush mountains. The PNG border town could be called sleepy, if it weren't for the busy harbor. Trucks roared down the causeway, loaded down with massive trees. Cranes lifted the awesome trunks (easily 75’ long and a meter thick diameter, which only suggest at the ultimate size of the tree) into ships and barges, their sound of their impact below resonating even inside Totem. Tugs were jockeying barges into position for loading, spinning and manoevering at an occasionally uncomfortable proximity.

The sheer scale of the timber is impressive, but it’s depressing too. It’s just highly unlikely that any of it is from sustainable managed forests. We have heard too many stories about government corruption, and about the manipulation of the local landowners by international timber companies, to imagine anything else. It is a massive area being felled to support this constant flow.

With a few more hours to wait for paperwork, I take our laptop into a surfer’s hotel and get an internet hookup. It’s been months since we had a decent connection! This still isn't decent, by first world standards, but it gets the job done. I use my entire hour of time downloading about 300 emails, and manage to just check our bank statement before getting cut off. The staff is helpful, and I’m tempted to just sit in the air conditioning for a while- what a luxury it feels like! They ask if we’ll be back, and I hear once again- “oh, you’re from the yacht!” Yes, that’s me.

Vanimo, part 1: just a quick stopover, right?

It was with some trepidation that we pulled into the PNG border town of Vanimo early one morning. Papua New Guinea has earned a reputation as a dangerous destination for cruising sailors. It is certainly justified by the reports of attacks and theft that boats have experienced. Our research prior to coming to PNG helped us choose a safe path: one of the basic tenets was “don’t go to the mainland.” Well, we finally had to.

Tugs jockey barges around the harbor...sometimes a little too close to us

We had two simple tasks to complete in Vanimo: our visas were held at the Indonesian consulate there, and we would do our final clearance out of PNG at customs. We hoped to keep our stay as brief as possible. How hard could it be to complete two simple errands in a town of maybe a half dozen paved roads? Who knows, maybe we could do it in a day!

Oh, such sweet naivete.

We arrived at the Indonesian consulate before it opened at 9 am Monday morning, and found a small group of people already waiting. Apparently, proximity to the border makes this an active place for visa renewals for people of all nationalities working in Indonesia, who must leave periodically to reset the clock on their allowed time in the country. Immediate setback of about an hour, as we waited for our turn.

Our “social visas” for Indonesia (a class which is readily extended, unlike the visa issued upon arrival) were arranged through the agent in Bali who helped with our cruising permit. As we might have anticipated, it was not quite as simple a process as just collecting the visas at the consulate. They needed us to complete forms onsite, wanted two passport photos per person, copies of the sponsor letter from our agent, copies of our cruising permit, passports for all, and of course- hundreds of dollars in fees, payable by local currency only. So it was back to the boat to get copies of all the right papers, and ATM to have enough cash. No way were we getting out of here in 24 hours!

While filled out paperwork at the consulate, Jamie and Jon (our fellow Seattleite from Sea Glass) went down to the customs office to complete clearance formalities. It’s amazing how different this can be in different countries: in Fiji, we were given a stern lecture about the very few hours we had to be physically outside the Fijian border once their stamp was on our paper. Trust me when I tell you that you that Fijian officials are not to be toyed with! PNG officialdom has generally been… how to say it… well, less officious!

A local guy fell into step with Jon and Jamie on their way. He hoped to sell guide services, and seemed happy to just chat with visitors when that wasn't needed. But wow, did he give them an earful about violence in Vanimo. He regaled them stories of misfortunes that have befallen expats in town at the hands of less scrupulous residents: losing a finger to get a ring and much worse.

It did not make me feel better about having to extend our stay in Vanimo.

When the guys reached the customs office, it was empty. Papers and equipment sat on desks, a startling lack of security for a country that posts armed guards in front of trading stores. When the official showed up, paperwork was done quickly- then he insisted on driving them back to town. Nice!  Then it was off to the bank. There, Jamie was subjected to some very unwelcome attention. The staredown that doesn’t flinch when greeted with a smile and a wave, and follows you down the road. Really unpleasant, especially considering he’d just maxed our ATM withdrawal so we’d have enough cash for our visas.

With cash in hand and all paperwork done, we were able to get everything submitted to the consulate by 11am- but were told visas wouldn’t be ready to collect until the following day. We couldn’t depart for Indonesia in the afternoon (it’s prudent to arrive in a new country / new harbor with some daylight hours to play with), so we meant we’d need to spend three nights in Vanimo. We weren’t really excited about that.

That night, we felt uneasy. Jamie and I took turns sitting in the cockpit, keeping an eye out. Fishing boats had drifted uncomfortably close to us the night before, and we had reports of petty theft off cruising boats in the anchorage- probably from similar vessels. We really didn’t want to end what had been a lovely stretch of time in PNG on a sour note.

- To be continued -

Pit stop at Wuvulu’s spectacular reef

The route from Ninigo to Vanimo, our next port of call, is a slightly awkward distance that can be stretched a few different ways for passage timing. We decided to build in a stopover at Wuvulu Island. Roughly halfway to Vanimo, we don’t have a lot of information about the island except that it was one of Jean-Michel Couseau’s favorite diving spots, and the site of a failed resort he hoped to establish.

A slightly intimidating "welcoming committee." Note traditional weapons spiked with shark teeth and bone. Uhhhhh huh.

We slow motored into the south-facing bay, wondering if we’d find a place to drop the hook. It wasn’t long before Wuvulu’s version of the welcoming committee was paddling like crazy in our direction.

The dugout reaches Totem, and after a quick chat, we invite the crew on board. They say there’s a spot where we can anchor off the other side of the bay, and pilot us across to find it.

Along the way, we learn about each other. The first question that Hari, the leader (or at least the guy with the best English) asks us is if we know Ben and Lucy. Ben and Lucy? It seems this German cruising couple visited Wuvulu. They were here… five years ago. No, we haven’t met them! It seems Wuvulu doesn’t get many visitors.

We answer the usual questions about where we’re from, how long we’ve been traveling, what the children do about school. They tell us about the size of the island, their language, their crafts and professions. Despite their somewhat intimidating outward appearance, it’s a friendly bunch of guys.

The anchorage spot is an area just off the village where the fringing reef was dynamited to allow for boat access. It turns out to have just enough depth (we draw 6’), but not quite enough swing room for the two of us (we’re in company with our friends on sv Sea Glass). We won’t be able to stop overnight. As a consolation, we decide to just drift in the area off the anchorage. Jamie stays on board alternately drifting and motoring to stay in the area, while the children and I pull on our gear and jump in the water.

It is beyond spectacular. Among all the places we have been snorkeling- and there are some amazing spots- this easily ranks among the best. The fringing reef is only a few dozen meters, then drops nearly straight down. Totem’s depth sounder measures up to the low 1,000 feet level, but just a few boat lengths from the wall we aren’t able to sound the bottom. The clarity is stunning: looking down the wall, one peers through layers of reef life. Oh, to be here with scuba gear, a safe anchorage, and time! We count more turtles and sharks in 30 minutes than we’ve seen in almost three months. The size, varity, and sheer numbers of fish and corals are amazing.

Back on Totem, we trade for some beautiful (and terrifying) crafts. They’re weapons, made from a hardwood called Gah which they say is grown on Wuvulu, adorned with sharp shark teeth and pointy bones in all the right places to really do damage. They’re morbidly fascinating and I can’t resist making a trade. John Robin is the carver, and proud of his work. We start trading for one, but John says we should have two. OK! One snorkeling mask and a bag each of rice (2kg), sugar (1kg), flour (1kg) and salt (500g), and a happy agreement is reached.

Asking the guys about the reef, we’re told that the community restricts where spearfishing is allowed: because it is banned from this reef in front of the village, marine life thrives. We recall a similar experience in Vanuatu. When snorkeling in an area where the locals were restricted from fishing, we saw the largest examples of many species we’d seen across the Pacific. It seems like a simple practice to keep a healthy balance in the reef: why is it so hard to put in place? How much of the problem is education, and how much is limited resources? It’s not something we can know from our perch.

Reluctantly, we leave Wuvulu behind for our overnight run to Vanimo. Cleaning up the cockpit, we realize John has left us a third carving- and left behind the mask we offered. Wuvulu is facing on the horizon, so we hope these were both intentional. Later conversations between cruising boats suggest some reputation for troubles on the island: the vicious looking weapons offer some contrast with the peaceful experience of swimming among creatures in a thriving reef, but perhaps some insight into facets of the island as well.

Ninigo: photographs and memories

Hopefully, a few photos and anecdotes can help communicate the good memories we have of our time in Ninigo.

Our children were a little shy at first, but there's nothing like getting to hold a shy, docile pet cuscus (tree kangaroo) to help them loosen up. We're told these are food for islanders, but "Boiman" was doted on. In a culture where animals don't get this kind of gentle treatment, we doubt he'll ever end up in a cooking pot.

The kids tried paddling the smaller dugouts on the beach. I suppose these are the sub-compact cars of Ninigo. With no outrigger, these boats are extremely tippy to the unpracticed, as they soon found out! I have newfound respect for the careful balance of visitors to Totem, who lift themselves carefully up to our deck from these wobbly boats.

The day after we arrived, we brought in the treasures from Anui. Lots of excitement, lots of fun opening gifts. Sarah knew exactly what people would want or need, and had thoughtful gifts that were both practical (cotton fabric yardage, elastic bands for making clothes) and sweet (prepared photo albums with pictures of the families from Mal and from Anui during their stay in 2011).

Fidelma is the daughter of Thomas' brother Joseph. She was my escort on a few occasions. I thought it was a little funny, but  mostly very charming, that I wasn't allowed to walk anywhere alone. Although there is ONE footpath that connects the smaller villages with the main village running the length of this long, skinny island- so basically, no possibility of getting lost- I always had a guide. "There could be dogs that bite!" No, not these skittish creatures.

One day, Fidelma came with me so I could bring a letter to one of the teachers down in the village. As we were there, her parents sailed in- they'd been at an island a full day/night sail south of the atoll and were just returning. Joseph and Mariann caught some lovely tuna on the way, and insisted on sharing a portion with us (actually, they tried to give us a whole fish- we allowed a tail chunk, more than enough, knowing they'll use the head and better than we will).

Rather than walk a couple of km back around the crescent curve of the island, Fidelma and I sailed back with her parents. They were concerned that I understand it could be a wet- was that OK? (was that OK?! Heck yes!)  I've been reading David Lewis' "We, the Navigators" about the remarkable traditional navigation  skills of Pacific islanders. He writes about Ninigo, and their long distance forays to micronesian islands. Look on a map, and it's really like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack. I wish I could have spent enough time in Ninigo to somehow earned the right to hear from Joseph about navigation. There wasn't exactly a GPS on board.

Sitting with Thomas on a new canoe he's building, we had a long talk about finning one afternoon. It's something they've done, like pretty much every islander we have met in PNG, but it's not what they want to do. Fraught with danger (poor weather and navigation tools, not to mention, can YOU imagine landing a thrashing shark in one of these dugouts?), it's still a good source of kina. "Money makes men brave," Thomas tells us.

Trochus shell collection on the atoll's reefs is becoming a popular alternative, but it's not regulated. I know we have been in areas (French Polynesia comes to mind) where collecting these was forbidden- presumably, it will be overfished next.

Meanwhile, the fishing on the reef was pretty good- we saw a number of sizeable fish, something that hasn't happened a lot in PNG. But the local guys were really willing to take fish of all sizes, and there was no clear plan for managing the fishery.

But we did get some pretty great fish on our trip to the outer reef. these were good, but even better are those homemade spear guns- seriously impressive gear. It was tempting to swap!

More photos on Flickr at http://www.flickr.com/photos/giffordclan/tags/ninigo.

Citizens of Ninigo

“You must change your citizenship,” Thomas tells us. “You are from Ninigo now!”

Ninigo sailing canoe: these islanders are famous for their navigators

Thomas is our host, the elder on shore from our anchorage at Mal Island in Ninigo atoll. After nearly a week on Ninigo, this sums up how we feel: a member of the family, newly christened citizens.

We’ve been anticipating coming to Ninigo for months. Back in August, while researching destinations in PNG, I came across the blog of the boat Anui. Sarah raved about their family’s experiences in Ninigo, as Anui returned to Australia from Thailand via Malaysia, Indonesia, and PNG. We were following a route similar to the path we were considering- just in the reverse, so I sent an email to Sarah. I know what it’s like to form a strong bond with people you meet while cruising, and could see how remote the Ninigo islands are, so asked her if we could bring anything from her family.

I suppose it is a testament to the spirit of trust and help between cruisers that Sarah readily sent us a box full of gifts for her PNG family on Ninigo. Not just a box, but a guitar too- to the crew on Totem, who she had never met or heard of until getting that email. We were so happy to help them with this delivery, carrying the goods for two months and many miles from our departure port of Bundaberg until we arrived at Ninigo in December.

Thomas and family knew, roughly (give or take a few weeks!) when we’d be arriving- his son in law on Manus has email contact with Sarah, and word had come through that we were coming with gifts from the Anui family. So perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise that as we entered the lagoon, a boat motored up to see if we were Sarah’s friends. Yes!  We invited Thomas on board, and he helped pilot us to a secure anchorage near his family’s village, while his son brought the boat (and occupants- this was the largest welcoming committee yet) back alongside Totem.

Our days flew by: playing on the beach in front of Thomas or Wesley’s villages. Holding baby Finn, named for Anui’s son Finn- hoping he’d lose his fear of my pale face. Sailing across the lagoon in an outrigger with Fidelma and family. Sitting under a palm tree while Wesley’s auntie weaves us a basket, braiding the girls’ hair with my new sister Mollina. Going to the garden with Thomas’ wife Elizabeth, learning about the different varieties of bananas, coconut, sweet potato and other vegetables they grow. Sharing recipes for eggplant, which they have grown from donated seeds but had no experience cooking. Sitting in the shade on a Sunday afternoon, watching soccer teams from around the atoll compete in a semi-weekly tournament. Going toward the outer reef with a boatful of our new friends for spearfishing adventures and a little snorkeling. Evenings hosted on Totem: eating the juicy fruit we brought from the lush Hermits that can’t grow in the atoll’s thin soil, counting the stars, watching the bioluminescence swirl in current around the boat.

It’s hard to explain how the welcome here felt, but it was as if we already knew them, and they already knew us. We were old friends, meeting again after time and space intervened. It was amazing. This will go down as one of our favorite places (the favorite?) in a country that we have found the most fascinating by far of our cruising adventures to date.

I am so grateful to Sarah and her family, giving us the awesome gift of getting to know these special people - for letting us be the ambassadors who turned citizens.

Making friends in the Louisiades: learning Misima dialect

Connecting with people in the places we visit, learning about our similarities and differences, is something I truly enjoy. Demonstrating interest by knowing some of their language is a great way to start.



This is complicated by the vast number of languages we faced, first in Papua New Guinea and now here in Indonesia. Tok Pisin (pidgin) and English are actually the two official PNG languages, but everyone speaks a local dialect (and often several other neighboring dialects). The range of that dialect may be limited to a speck of an island, a valley, or even a village. They are strikingly different- truly mutually unintelligible, as opposed to tweaks on a single language. Seems daunting!

It turns out that there is a dominant local dialect in much of the Louisiades that simplifies the process- Misima, the largest island, covers many of the islands at the eastern end. Tok Pisin isn’t used much in this area- unless they’ve had education beyond primary years, most people aren’t exposed to it much. But many people speak Misima dialect, even if they aren’t in the relatively large area it encompasses.



I had excellent tutors when we arrived in Papua New Guinea: Bela and Derek on s/v Pandana have spent years cruising the area, and Bela is enthusiastically conversant in Misima dialect. Thanks to her enthusiasm and the smiling help of Rubin and his fishermen brothers, I had a few basic words and phrases to grow over the coming weeks.

I believe taking the time is really, really worthwhile. Here’s a collection of what I learned and found helpful. It’s not based on anything but my own pathetic transliteration. There is probably pidgin mixed in. But for making friends in the Louisiades, it will help to crack smiles, open doors, and put you on trusted ground.

Misima Dialect words and phrases
good morning	melaluga waiwaisana	from dawn to midmorning
good day (really, 10-3)	alalati waiwasana	this is used during the hot part of the day
good afternoon	kokoyave waiwaisana	from about 3pm until nightfall
good evening	bulin waiwai sana	bulin literally means 'star'
goodbye	kai yun
thank you	ateu owa	literally, heart person. Sweet.
what's your name?	halam ek?	both the 'h' and the 'k' are nearly silent
my name is (name)	alau (name)
his/ner name is (name)	alula na (name)
what are you doing?	hau na ku gigi nor?	use this when speaking to several people
what are you doing?	hau na u gigi nor?	use this when speaking to just one person
just living	hau minamina	this is the common response
how are you?	ham nam gai wa?
I'm good	am nam wai si	this is the common response
where are you going?	gao na na?
I'll be back	a na ki te wa	this is the common response
good	wai si	also, i wai si: it's good.
very good	wai si hot	also used for delicious
bad	inak
bad man	inak kina
trading	pem penpewa
you give	u pem
I give	ya pewa
sister/brother	taliu	not literally a relative- common reference
sister/brother	gan	for an elder/respectful
what do you want?	hau na nu wam?
I want (item)	nu wam (item)
do you have…	tab…
Do you have bananas?	tab suva?
he/she/it	he
they	i
sail / sailing	kuki
sail to Misima	kuki Misima
let's sail	ta kuki
cooking	liga liga
washing (body)	hig hig
washing (dishes)	ul ul
don't!	bahi wa!
don't do it	bahi wa nu gi nor.
come here	unem
get down	ulau
swim	gayu
building a house	himi tao tao
sit down	mi si yo
garden	eyowa
basket	eyoga
knife	kai ni	give me the knife: kai ni pem. VERY useful, see prior post!
water	wara
rain	ke he i lau
water	wara
baby	wawaya
old man	tonowak
man	tau
woman	yova
people	gamagal
canoe	waga	this generically refers to different boat types
medicine	sawa sawal
modern medicine	dim dim wali sawa sawal
drinking coconut	matu
coconut	bwaku
betelnut	lele
clothes	kaliko
banana	suva

Papua New Guinea: kids and knives

It’s daunting the first time you see a grown man walking down a path with a large machete swinging at his side. In PNG, one quickly becomes inured to this sight. Sharp knives as common an accessory as the mobile phone at home. Everyone- and I mean, everyone- carries a knife. How else to you open a coconut, whack down coconut palms, sever a banana stem, trim a pandanus frond, cut open a fish… etc., etc., etc.! What really caught my attention is how children are quite adept and comfortable with knives. Big knives. Sharp knives. It startled me at first, but nobody is terribly concerned about this…and it seems, they don’t need to be.

This little guy was helping his grandfather crack coconuts for copra. Grandpa husked them nearby, and tossed the shells to the boy to crack, drain, and set aside for drying.

   

I loved this little girl in the Kavieng market. She was hanging out with her mom, who was selling a small selection of vegetables on a mat at one end of the covered stalls, just picking at random stuff with her knife. Her mom said she was 3, then corrected herself and said she was 2. Hmm.

Alithy here, on the right, designated herself my handler during much of our stay at Brooker. She and her friend Elizabeth need that handy knife to deal with the fish they’re catching, of course. 

This cutie was just hanging out with a knife, following his mom and aunties to the sewing machine repair station that was set up for Jamie at the Hermits. No worries.

 

When we sit down with new friends, we are often offered a drinking coconut. Seems it’s handy to have a four year old with a knife around to open the coconuts for one’s guests. 

Papua New Guinea. No helicopter parents here, but lots of happy kids with mad knife skills.

Oh, we had plenty of fun, too

From the posts about the Hermit islands earlier this week, it might seem that we didn’t get to play very much while we were there. Hardly true!

It wasn't all about the awesome whales, either. Photo by Nalukai.

We spent a lot of time in the water. There was the unforgettable experience of swimming with whales in the lagoon, something we’ll never forget. Snorkeling even right off the boat was fantastic. Hermit Islanders are Seventh Day Adventists, so they don’t eat shellfish. This means that live giant clams dot the bottom of the reef, even right in front of the village. It was easy to spot the large painted crayfish- strikingly colored lobsters- poking their long antennae out of holes in the coral. Normally we’d never be able to find these creatures right in front of a village, as they’d have all been taken for food.

One morning, when Siobhan and I were out for a little paddle on the coral heads behind Totem, we drifted over the top only to surprise a dozing turtle just a few meters below. We’ve seen quite a few, but not always so close or so… well, so still. Turtles in the Pacific have pretty good instincts with regard to human invaders (protected or not, they are actively hunted) so our most common view is of the back half of their shell as they jet away. This guy was happy to just check us out, then languidly move out from under his coral head hideaway before slowly drifting away to deeper water. Siobhan was beside herself with excitement and had trouble containing her enthusiasm until the giant was out of sight.

Another day, we piled on Sea Glass and Bob guided us to an anchorage to the south. There, where water funneled through a pass, was the nutrient rich brew that giant mantas feed upon. They’re resident here, but the likelihood of seeing them varies with the moon phase- and unfortunately for us, we were there at the full moon, the lowest probability of spotting mantas. There weren’t any that afternoon, but Sea Glass saw several on their morning snorkel with the incoming tide- and we had a beautiful afternoon adventure regardless, with more turtles, fish, and the company of dolphins along the way.

We really didn’t scratch the surface of experiences at the Hermits. Bob is an adept diver, and if we had the gear, could have taken us to walls on the outer reef. There’s a spot where sharks gather outside the reef, if we want to see them en masse. We know from our friends who came through here last year- Endless Summer, Elena, Sea Level- that the snorkeling outside the reef is truly spectacular. But we’re unlucky with our conditions. A nasty system north of us is too distant to kick up high winds, but it sends surf from afar that makes these exposed outside walls of the reef untenable to visit.

In truth, however, some of the most fun I have is just sitting around with people we meet in the village. Being Jamie’s sidekick on the sewing machine expedition. Playing with children as we linger at Bob’s home over computer lessons. Squatting in a kitchen hut, listening to women gossip while stirring sago. Sitting on a log talking to Chief Joseph, hearing the elder statesman’s stories of his childhood and WWII. We’ll see a lot of pretty fish down the line, but these are unique memories I’ll always carry.

The exotic cruising life: a wild day of… fixing sewing machines

Another day at the Hermits: Jamie learns that there’s a broken sewing machine ashore. Having worked for years as a sailmaker, he’s well versed in the mechanics of machines and has the  skills to help. OK, no problem, we set a time for 8am the next day to go in and meet with the woman who needs her machine fixed.

The sewing machine fix-it station – Hermit Islands

When we go ashore the following morning for Jamie’s sewing machine date, it becomes apparent it’s not just one. A small group has gathered and there are a half dozen manual Singer machines in various states of repair arranged on a large table outside. More machines turn up over the course of the morning. This is rapidly shaping into an all-day event.

No problem!

There are trees to climb.

Dogs to cuddle.

Pictures to draw.

Friends to make.

Many of the machines looked like they hadn't been oiled in a long time, and simply needed routine maintenance. One had been dropped and required a little forceful tweaking to become operational. Two of them hosted colonies of cockroaches. We just hustled the chickens over to grab what they could and left those for later!

Meta designates himself as the point person for repairs later, and sits with Jamie to learn about the various issues. Smoothing burrs that chafe thread, learning mechanics for fixing the timing, locating the dozen points that need oiling- often- to keep the machine running smoothly.

Jamie and Meta work on a machine

Gifts of fruit, vegetables, and beautiful shells start accumulating. By the end of the afternoon, it takes the help of two other people to carry the edible expressions of thanks back to Totem. The final tally was Sewing Machines, 2: Jamie, 7.

I think we can declare victory!

Helping out in the Hermit Islands: it takes a (global) village

Even without the incredible experience of swimming with whales, the Hermit Islands are indelibly impressed in our memory bank. We had a lot of fun in Bob’s company. His English is very good, and he’s happy to spend time talking- so we are able to learn a lot about the islands and the people who live there.

Group computer lessons at Bob’s house

One of the first things Bob mentioned to us is that visitors from a small cruise ships that called into the Hermits earlier in 2012 gave them a laptop computer. He was away at the time, and his wife Evelyn kept it safely stashed for his return, but nobody knew how to use it. Could we help? Of course! It’s so nice to be asked for assistance that we can readily provide. Jamie spends a few days installing programs like Microsoft Office, Acrobat Reader, freeware photo editors, OpenCPN (the open source tool we use for chartplotting) and more. Then, it’s a few long sessions of Computing 101 (and 102, and 103)– first with Bob, then with other members of his family.

We run into a few hiccups getting the machine set up. First, we can’t get OpenCPN to install correctly. The route planning aspect of this tool is going to be very useful to the islanders, who routinely make extended journeys in open boats: months being away of fishing to earn kina, or multi-day trips to the provincial capital for anything they can’t grow, build, or trade for in their remote location. The loss of life at sea is a sad reality. They are gradually getting tools such as handheld GPS units and this is one more tool to help.

The problem is, despite having what we’re sure are all the right components, Jamie can’t get it to work. There’s no internet access, only text-based email through our radio. It feels frustrating, the end of a string of activities in setting up the computer that remind us how many companies presume always-on internet. Forget always-on. We don’t have anything!

Jamie thinks to get in touch with a cruising-savvy friend stateside, and ask him to tap into resources we can’t access. Tim immediately jumps in. He’s dialed into a number of cruising forums and message boards, so able to get the questions out to a relevant and interested group, and then digest and funnel information back to us. Jamie and Tim go back and forth over a few days with troubleshooting: we can usually only connect in the early morning, and then gain in the evening, so we can’t just “check email” anytime for a rapid dialogue on progress. But with Tim’s help from across the ocean, bringing forward into the ideas of other sailors and even getting in touch with the developers, the problem is successfully resolved. Hermit Island seafarers now have access to great routing and planning tool, and we have a great experience of the broad net of mutual aid.

Other problems crop up related to the lack of internet access. Most software manufacturers presume always-on internet, or at least on demand access. That’s not possible here, of course.  But this means we’re struggling to get a basic document and spreadsheet capabilities. These are both key, because Jamie has been working with Bob on putting information together to help islanders interact with visiting boats (to share their amenities and sights, and also ensure visitors know their guidelines) and a spreadsheet to help with community finances. There’s a copy of Office installed, but we don’t have the license key. We actually have an older, never used copy of Office on Totem- with the key- but internet access is required to activate the program. Otherwise, it will lock up after a limited number of times it’s opened.  And of course, we can’t just go download freeware.  It’s frustrating and gives a sense for some of the hurdles that exist for the people who don’t have what we consider basic digital utilities in the first world.

The arrival of our friends on sv Sea Glass is timely. They’ve got a sat phone, something that hasn’t fit into the budget on Totem. We outline the problem with Jon, and he’s happy to give sat phone data to enable the connection and get the license key registered. A short time later- success! The laptop for the Hermits is ready to go.

This is just one little peek into how disconnected life in the islands can be. Life looks idyllic, tropical-island-paradise on the surface. But people want to participate in the modern world, to have access to information and choices for their lives, and it’s not easy.

Arriving in the Hermit Islands: typical of our PNG experience

Our arrival at the Hermit Islands was hardly auspicious. After two nights at sea with all the squall dodging fun the convergence zone has to offer, our morning arrival is darkened by thundercloud formations on several sides.

Looking down at the main village: Luf Island, in better weather

The Hermits are a group of volcanic islands, inside a lagoon roughly 10 miles across and surrounded by a barrier reef: much like the Bora Bora and other Leeward / Society Islands of French Polynesia. We hope to enter on the northeast side, but it’s a narrow entry and we don’t have good enough light to discern the reef from the passage. So we continue to the west side, where the entrance yawns to nearly a mile wide. Even with the latest squall dumping rain in near zero visibility, we can see well enough to make through that large opening. There’s none of the crazy current or wave action we found in Pacific lagoons so it’s an easier call to make in these conditions.

The Navionics charts we’re using turn out to be pretty accurate, but we don’t know that yet, so although Totem is safely inside the lagoon (and enjoying a much more comfortable sea state) we make slow work of picking our way through islands and reefs to the anchorage off the main village. Adding a minor bit of drama, both of the meat lines behind Totem pick up beautiful fish: a bigeye trevally, and a nice Spanish mackerel. So with one eye on the reefs, another on the squalls, and then juggling landing two fish- things get a little busy for a while.

As Totem nears Luf’s main village, we circle the bay to suss out a suitable spot to anchor. It’s tricky, because depths of 135’ and above are adjacent to coral heads that nearly break the surface. Then, as so often happens in PNG, a villager paddles out and offers local knowledge to the bumbling visitors. We have a standing joke about “the welcoming committees” who greet us, but it’s a lovely gesture that has been the norm here. We’re welcomed, aided in safely anchoring, and have a chance to ask questions- so we can work out who the chief/elder is (to bring a gift and formally ask permission to be there) and any guidelines locals have for us- as well as any requests we want to make. It’s a friendly exchange.

This time, our welcoming committee turns out to be the Hermit’s elected government representative, Bob Poplis. We invite him aboard, and give him one of the fish we caught on the way in.  At times like that, it seems ironic that so many cruisers choose not to come to PNG because of safety concerns. To be sure- there are very dangerous parts of PNG- but our experience in these outer islands is typified by this kind of friendly aid. With assurance that a particular mooring is secured to a large anchor (and some chain which probably wraps around a chunk of old coral rock), we tie up and relax.

We learn that the Hermits don’t receive many visitors (the registry book ashore indicates that as 2012 draws to a close we are the 15th boat in for the year), so we represent both a curiosity and an opportunity. Bob is eager to help us learn more about their islands and is attuned to things we’ll probably be interested in: the narrow pass where giant mantas feed, anchorage views from the top of their volcanic peak, islets with seabird rookeries, and more. He shares their guidelines: that we check in with him on the things we want to do and places we want to go. We share ours, which is simply that we’re tired from the passage, and a little unwell, and would like to have a few days of quiet.

And so Bob paddles back. We put the boat away from our passage, retreat to rest and recover, and barely move for a few days of drizzle, movies, books, and sleep!

Reader questions: fair trading

When we were in Jayapura this past week, we were able to get online in a meaningful way for the first time in months. It was fun going through blog comments- some great questions that come through the here and on our Facebook page. Here's an excerpt from one:

"Being both a person who'd "give the shirt off his back"...and extremely frugal (my wife might agree with the word "cheap")...I've often struggled with the concept of trading when there is no set 'price' - or haggling for that matter. How do you come to a "price" that is "fair" so that by the time you are sailing away you haven't traded $100 worth of batteries/shirts for a bunch of bananas and coconuts? A few islands of that and our cruising kitty would quickly run dry."

How to handle trading was probably one of the top ten questions I had before we went cruising. Even having the experience of living overseas in places where prices are always negotiable, haggling isn't something that comes naturally to me- as I suspect it doesn't for a lot of Americans; it's not part of our culture. Trading as a cruiser was a mystery.

It turned out that trading was not necessary or routine in most of the places we visited on the path to Mexico and then the coconut milk run to Australia: the countries we went through had cash economies, and provide even remote islands with access to goods. The notable exception where trading opened doors was in the Tuamotues for pearls... stash some rum for that!

As soon as we started down the less traveled path through Papua New Guinea, everything changed. But the trading we did in PNG's islands was not about hard bargaining. We had things people wanted, they had things we wanted, and it was a matter of putting those things forward until an agreement is reached. There is no haggling, really: this is very low stress compared to, say, a handicraft market in South Africa.

In a typical scenario, someone would arrive at Totem with fresh fruit or vegetables, or maybe eggs, or the offer to catch lobster. I'd find out what they want- food? clothing? fishing hooks? Then, offer what feels right from our stores based on their interests. For a basket gorgeous papayas, a kilo bag of sugar? For a half dozen carefully peeled drinking coconuts, a handful of small hooks? OK. Or, not OK. If the person you're trading with wants something different, or wants more, they'll tell you. Maybe they need a new band for a spear gun, maybe they need nails. For the most part, people were very reasonable- not trying to work us over for the best possible deal, just trying to work something out.

Where trading was sometimes less enjoyable was with people who would come asking for things, over and over, and have little to offer. Well, there's no obligation to trade at all- so just say no thanks, and be done. There were a few anchorages where we were bothered by people who seemed to think that if they just kept asking, eventually we'd be worn down and submit. I'm sure that's worked before, but we try to avoid setting or reinforcing that kind of precedent.

Trading for the beautiful model of the outrigger sailing canoe was more involved than the usual boatside veggie exchange. The artist wanted kina, PNG's currency, but we didn't have any (this was weeks before we cleared into the country, and hadn't seen a paved road or stores yet...but that's another story!). So Jamie spent about two hours sitting in the cockpit one morning, offering things to the Rubin, until he'd reached a level of goods that represented an acceptable trade. Jamie would keep going through things we had available to trade, or Rubin would ask for something he wanted, and eventually a deal was struck. It was a pile of stuff, from a snorkeling mask to line and tools and more, but we didn't exceed what felt like a fair threshold for the time and effort that went into creating this beautiful model. Everybody was happy.

If benchmarks help, think about what you'd pay to buy something if you could- and what it cost you to get what you're offering. Is that pineapple, which might be $5, a fair trade for the 1 kg bag of sugar that might have cost you $1.50? Yet while you can think about it in terms of the value of the items being exchanged, but think of it this way, too: when the ONLY way for you to get a fresh pineapple, and the ONLY way for them to get a bag of sugar, is to trade- so that isn't necessarily a great benchmark, but maybe a way of estimating how close or far you are from what's reasonable. We really found people to be very fair. I remember giving a guy in Kavieng a two kg bag of rice for a couple of lobsters one day. He was thrilled and insisted it was too much, then showed up the next day to give us three huge, beautiful papayas from his garden. Wow!

Oh, there were times when we made deliberately unbalanced trades. When a child has paddled miles with a handful of tiny tomatoes, or a pretty shell, and asked for things that represent basic needs for food and clothing- I'm happy to give. We didn't need another pretty shell, and those tiny green tomatoes weren't going to be any good, but we kept a stash of baggies that could be quickly filled with a small amount of rice or sugar or whatever was requested. How can you turn down a kid in rags who wants a t-shirt, and has paddled from a neighboring island with something they hoped you would want, when they saw your boat from afar?

Ultimately, if you're going to an area where you anticipate trading, research a little to find out what people will want. We raised the waterline with the volume of stuff brought on board in anticipation of trading. Most of it wasn't costly: staple foods, boxes of fishhooks. Clothes which we mostly expected to give away, and got both by purchasing from thrift stores, taking donations at the kids' schools, and paring down our own wardrobe. These things are then sunk costs to you, and you're not going to run down your kitty trading them...or worry to much about whether the bargain your striking is a fair one. It's going to work, or it's not!

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Evening discussions at Tunung Island

We were grateful for Paul’s help finding the shipwreck in Three Island Harbour  and enjoyed his company, so invited he and his family out in the evening.

Beautiful sunsets near New Hanover Island

Paul paddled out to Totem after sunset; sitting in the evening breeze and eating dinner together, we talk about his home. He grew up on the adjacent island, attending school until he was a teenager and his father told him to fail the test to pass to the next grade. He was needed at home to help with the family’s fishing. Piloting the boat for years evolved to work at the small resort on Tunung, helping drive tourists around to dive or surf sites. It’s closed temporarily, but it’s given him a good living: the owner helps support his employees with not just cash but goods and materials they can’t easily access otherwise, such as lumber and nails for their homes.

Like a lot of people we've met in PNG, Paul is smart and frustrated. Tourism gives him the exposure to how much he’s missing, and the near impossibility for people to get ahead. He wants to save for his children’s future, but can’t use a bank – there isn't one that’s practically accessible (the only transportation, private boat, translates to a fuel cost that’s too high for a casual visit- probably a month’s earnings- and fees charged for small accounts only deplete meager savings). He sees the ripple effect of logging on adjacent New Hanover. Elders sign away rights to their people’s land for grossly undervalued payment and without understanding the consequences of clear cutting. We hear that often, the land is appropriated without consent- that the power of money shifted to the right hands overcomes obstacles, and put signatures on documents from people who may not even be alive. Workers brought in from outside the local social structure introduce alcohol and violence to communities that can’t sanction them through traditional means, and don’t have the public services to handle the fallout. Fish are getting harder to find, as massive ships take everything from the waters when they pass through, making subsistence living that much more difficult. The wealth being extracted is massive, yet he has no opportunity to participate, and none of it goes to basic public services or improvements. For all the money being earned by a precious few, there is still not a road to connect the coastline of New Hanover, the schools are under-served, there is no public transportation or regular boat services connecting communities, and meager health “clinics” sprinkled through islands are under equipped and staffed.

Paul has every right to be extremely angry. To be sure, he’s frustrated: with the foreign companies that take blindly, with the government chooses to be bought instead of supporting the people they are supposed to represent. But he’s not an angry person. He doesn't accept it, but he doesn't know what to do. How can people organize, when they don’t have communication or transportation, much less running water, electricity, or other basic public services?

Talking into the night, feeling the pain of his helplessness, we try to think about the possibilities. Why does PNG seem so far off the radar of environmental and social justice organizations, or NGOs who can support better lives? The only imported goodwill seems to be missionaries, but spiritual fulfilment doesn't feed your family or send your kids to school. There are opportunities for tourism, but the cost, corruption, and  infrastructure get in the way.

Schoolroom poster about modes of communication in PNG

The local ‘wantok’ system factors meaningfully here too. Wantok, a tok pisin word that comes from “one talk,” refers to the circle of a greater extended family (it can also include friends). In PNG, the wantok system obligates members of an extended family to help each other out. This is a subject for much more detailed explanation, but suffice to say here that this works well in a lot of ways- strong family ties mean that children are raised by a village, food is available for the hungry, elders are cared for by their grown children. But it’s also a limitation to progress. There is little motivation to achieve success for many when it means all their wantoks will come to them with their hands out: they cannot be refused. The wantok system also means that jobs are handed out based on relationships, and not merit. Money and opportunity go to those who have family connections.

It’s a complex problem, and one we’re not going to solve with our late night cockpit discussions. But as Paul paddles away, it’s impossible not to dwell on the big changes needed for people in PNG.

Working around New Hanover, PNG

En route to the Hermits, we spent more time than we originally planned at Ungalik. But we feel the need to keep moving west, to try and get as far as we can towards Indonesia’s Raja Ampat before the seasonal northwesterlies set in. Still, we couldn't resist the lure to linger a bit longer near New Hanover.

Visitors come to Totem in all manner of flotation devices

Tunung (erroneously labeled “Dunung” on our charts) has a large WWII ship and the wreck of a submarine to find, and a great position to jump off for the ~320 nm trip to the Hermits- so off we go.

Working between New Hanover and the fringing islands, we see one sweet spot after another. Islets that look to too perfect to be real pass in our wake: white sand, palm trees, pods of dolphins. Beautiful swells curl great stretches into sandy shores; I suspect we are passing world class, barely touched surfing spots. Not to mention, the waves look less lethal than most of the dumps into the coral reefs we've seen. But it’s not all rosy behind the lush scenery, since we've been warned about theft and danger around the logging camps along the larger island, and want to pick our anchorage with care.

With the anchor down at the Three Islands Harbour island of Tunung, we dinghy in loops around the area where we believe the wrecks to be located. If there was ever a time I really wanted a fish finder or depth sounder in our dink, this would be it! We know we’re in the right place, but the ship eludes us. It doesn't help that we've started out with poor light in the back half of the afternoon, with high tide, and poor viz in the water. Just as we've pointed back towards Totem, a dugout is launched and begins paddling towards us. We motor over for hellos and meet Paul. He knows exactly where the wreck is, and takes us to the spot.

It’s magical, and somber. A large ship lying on one side, a few meters below the surface. Knowing we're over the sunken tomb of the crew feels heavy. The sides are surprisingly clean, but the biggest coral fans I've ever seen wave gently in the current. A school of large sweetlips hide inside, in the shadows of the hull. We drift silently with the current, awed on different fronts by the beauty of the marine life the knowledge of the real people who died beneath us. Back in the dinghy, we marvel over the size of the fish. I joke with Jamie about going back to catch dinner, but it doesn't feel right.

Only a handful of families live on Tunung. Many work at the small resort on shore, but it’s closed temporarily. Most of the island's children seem to be on Totem at one point in the afternoon, and they’re the quietest bunch we've met. We invite them aboard and sit in the cockpit, drinking cold juice and snacking on watermelon together. Old enough to attend school, we know they can understand some English, but they don't speak much- mostly just reacting to questions with quiet giggles and wide eyes. The junior crew on Totem is swimming around the boat, jumping off and climbing back up again like a big floating jungle gym, but they aren't able to lure the other kids into their fun.

Paddling to school on the mainland

School is across on the “mainland”, as they refer to the island of New Hanover (only 20 miles across, but the main island from their perspective). Children paddle their dugouts daily to attend school- older children helping to ferry the youngest. There are no helicopter parents here! I look at the stretch of water, and marvel that they even make it on a regular basis. But then I think of the kids back on Panapompom, who have a long barefoot walk over a coral path (trust me, this hurts even if you have toughened feet) and then get to cross a river with crocs so that they can have the privilege of schooling. The boy paddling ahead of us has a cracker tin which probably keeps his notebook dry, and parcel woven from coconut fronds that probably holds lunch.

How soft we are.

And then there were three

Two days after we swam with whales in the lagoon here in PNG's Hermit Islands, we were told one of the whales had died. At this point, the pod had been inside for eight days. This sad news didn't resolve questions about whether they would be able to leave, or if we could have a group stranding.



We gathered input from from a number of sources, thanks to help from friends and a network of forwarded messages to seek expertise. Contacts filter into our radio-based email account to offer assistance and help evaluate the situation. A group PNG fisheries department visited for several days, but they were focused on their task of surveying the beche de mer (sea cucumber) population and didn't have any input to offer. With all of us on site unfamiliar with the scenario, these expert opinions from afar feel like a lifeline.



Our fuel supply for the outboard is limited, so we don't have the luxury of regular runs out to the reef. But men in the village pass by in dugouts as they paddle several miles to gather trochus shells or fish on the outer reef, and bring back news.



The day after the fatality was reported, we planned to make another trip. Our friends from sv SeaGlass had arrived, with more fuel and more suitable cameras (our ruggedized point-n-shoot camera died, and I'm a little protective of my nice DSLR). We hoped to get a sense for whether the whales were in distress and the nature of any injuries. Not long before we headed out, an update came back to the village: after nine days in the small inner reef, all but three of the whales had left! What a relief.



We've learned that these whales are highly social. Researchers had suggested to us already that they may have come into the lagoon to allow a sick member of the pod to heal. We'll never know, but the fact that the pod left within a day of a single death lends credence to the theory. Visitors and villagers alike, we were all just glad the whales could get out! We were told situations like this can be the precursors to mass strandings, when the strong bond shared between the whales works against them.



When we got out to the reef, the remaining three were as curious about us as the pod had been previously. We moved in their direction, and they came cruising by to check us out. It was certainly a lot less intimidating to be in the water now, compared to the pod we had estimated to be at least 20. This time, all the children got in the water to share the magic: listening to the chirps and whistles, watching and being watched.



Two of them stick very closely together, nearly close enough to touch; the third is always close by. Is the whale unwell? Or is a juvenile just being given a little helicopter parenting? Either way, it's sweet to watch knowing how tight social and family bonds are in the species. We're hopeful that these whales will also leave when they're ready.



Our pictures are- well, they're OK. We'll get more posted when we have internet access, but that's still going to be some number of weeks. For now, I'm so grateful to have good news, and for the support from the folks at ORRCA, Whalesalive, Whale Rescue, and Sharksavers.



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Oh yes, whales in the lagoon! Oh no, whales in the lagoon...

On our second morning at the Hermit Islands, Jamie went ashore to meet with Bob, the village elder who is shepherding us during our visit. He came back to Totem bubbling with information, and after reeling through what he learned, saved the most interesting for last: a pod of whales was in the lagoon! Not only that, but the villagers were eager to take us to see them. Wow- and, yes!

And yet- "oh, no." The flip side of this exciting news is that the whales appear to be stuck. They are inside a small circular reef, maybe a half mile across, which is then inside the larger lagoon of the Hermit islands' barrier reef. They'd been there for a number days.

The villagers haven't seen this happen before: they are concerned for the whale's welfare, and have already tried to get them out. They have more than the usual lineup of dugout outriggers at their disposal, since a fleet of small fishing boats was provided to them by the Chinese fishing company they supply with live fish (the boats have a well, so line caught fish can be kept alive and transported to a trap until the mother ship pays a visit to the lagoon). But despite attempts to both lead, and to herd, they haven't been successful at getting the whales out of the lagoon.

The villagers wanted to know if we could help, but how can we possibly help?

Thanks to our friend Emmanuelle on s/v Merlin, we've been connected with a cetacean research & rescue organization in Australia (quick plug: Emmanuelle's gorgeous Dean 44 catamaran is for sale & ready to go in Brisbane! I think the details are at merlinsvoyage.com... someone please correct the address in the comments if needed). We can't get online from here, but we knew Emmanuelle- who has a doctorate in marine biology- could help hook us up with the right people. Check! And so we have traded email with ORRCA, and hope to have some guidance for the best path to take soon.

While we share info on the scene here and wait for feedback, it's impossible not to be wowed by what we experienced this afternoon. With Bob and Mata on board, we navigated out to the small circular reef. Almost as soon as we entered, the whales approached us directly. Groups of two or more would pass by the dinghy, while others stood off together- almost as if they were waiting their turn. A cacophony of chirps called out. After some thin jokes about becoming whale snacks, it was too exciting not to get in!

It's hard to explain what it's like to look at a whale, and have that whale look straight back at you. It is both exhilarating and a wee bit terrifying. To feel keenly observed, and to feel very, very small in their presence. These aren't the giants of the cetacean world, but they're no shrimp, and it's impossible not to feel a little intimidated when they hurtle by and check *you* out from just a few feet away.

Looking at our references on board, we're pretty sure they're false killer whales. False killer whales are actually ocean dolphins, not whales- like orcas, minkes, pilots, and other dolphins commonly referred to as whales. Whatever. It is a mindblowing, and will probably be one of our most memorable experiences from this journey.

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Kicking around in Kavieng

Kavieng doesn't disappoint for a cruising trifecta of greats: surfing, diving, and resort-style relaxing. Couple that with a town has all the basics to top up provisions, and a resort that offers passive security while welcoming cruisers to enjoy the vibe and refreshments. It's no wonder people rave about this place!

Yet somehow, we didn't get quite as warm and fuzzy feeling here that we've had so far in PNG. Partly because it just wasn't as friendly... the betelnut juice stream that gets a little too close to be accidental, the kid on the wharf in town who needed a staredown from Jamie not to spit at our dinghy. Partly because during our stay, it was gray and squally: so the things that should be fun about being here were just a little harder to get out and enjoy, and the boat gets stuffy when we have to keep it closed up for tropical downpours. And partly because we were waiting for wind to continue west, but the wind never came, and the weather put a damper on finding fun as we played the waiting game.

That's not to say it was all gloomy. Hardly. I love poking around towns. With Emily in company, I tracked down the hidden customs office and second hand shops. The wax and wane of the public market through the week was always a feast for the eyes, and getting stuck in a thunderstorm just meant striking up conversation and making a friend. For snorkeling adventures in bay are a Japanese torpedo bomber and a sweet little reef with incredibly colorful, diverse fish and corals. Iona from Nalukai and I went to a special Thanksgiving service on Sunday, when congregations from around the area came into their "parent" church for annual giving... an event which pitted their choirs against each other (such sweet harmony!) and ended in a fantastic feast (best. fish. curry. evah.).

The resort on Nusa Lik is part aviary, and we never got tired of visiting. There's the old cockatoo, "Kaki", who is lame (broken legs, doesn't fly) but chipper and friendly and will talk to anyone in range. The hornbills, who are gorgeous and cheeky and will steal french fries off your plate if you give them a chance. The gorgeous parrots and birds of prey, and... the pigeon. Among these amazing, exotic birds- which are everyday features of this amazing country- the presence of what looked like nothing more than your average urban American rat bird was the truly exotic creature.

Giving up on waiting for wind, we topped up our diesel and then broke away a couple of days ago to begin working our way around the top of New Hanover under power. We will have to come to terms at some point that we are in the doldrums and between the change of seasons, and so there is probably a lot of motoring in our near future! Catching several Spanish mackerel softens the blow, and we hosted dinner on Totem for our friends from Nalukai and Muscat with a smorgasboard of fish dishes: sushi and poisson cru, and Jamie's special, pan friend with a butter/caper sauce. Another sweet reef, one we dubbed "the theme park" for the incredible variety offered in sample sizes. A lionfish, a sea snake, a pair of immense batfish, a seahorse, a lobster. It also had more anemones and clownfish species than I've ever seen in one place, and several massive schools of fish you could literally lose yourself in- all in 6 to 12 feet of incredibly warm water.

We're at Ungalik now, a little island near the top of New Hanover. On our own again, we were ushered in by a stream of dugouts as children came back from the "mainland" from school. We joke about how There is often a welcoming committee, and this time it's Lawrence. Giving him a fish we caught on our way in, he led us into a good anchoring spot. Later we were given a tour around the island, with an entourage of children that grew to something over 70 (who could count?). In the evening, a suprise boatside delivery of a mumu dinner of yams, cassava and smoked fish (looking a lot like the fish we'd brought in earlier!).

We really need to get west. I'd like to have time to spend at Ninigo, and we know we're on the wrong side of the season now. But it's OK: we'll get there. And while Ungalik was intended as a brief stopover, I can see our visit stretching through the soccer games tomorrow, and can imagine the hymns at church on Sunday...

Trading in the Louisiades: what will you get?

What you should bring to trade was covered in the last post; We knew we’d do a lot of trading, but we weren’t entirely clear on either side of the equation. Here’s a rundown of some of the things we traded for during our weeks in the Milne Bay Province of Papua New Guinea.

Lots of fresh food.




You can cover a wide range of seafood, fresh fruit and vegetables through trading. Unless personal or dietary constraints limit what you eat, this is worth considering when provisioning. We've been offered:

• Starchy tubers: more of the yam/cassava/potato/sweet potato assortment than we can eat
• Vegetables: pumpkin, ibecca (a slightly bitter green), cherry tomatoes, hot chilis, long beans, green beans
• Seafood: reef fish (no ciguatera!), mud crabs, crayfish/lobster, and squid
• Fruit: limes, green-skinned oranges, passion fruit, bananas (many varieties and SO good), papayas, and other fruits we'd never even seen before – like the soksok on Budi Budi
• ...as well as eggs, coconut crabs, and even a prepared dinner of whole chicken cooked in coconut milk showed up (it was just this side of shoe leather)

Gorgeous shells.

After a few years of picking up the odd shell on the beach, we have more than we should already- but we have been stunned at the beautiful shells brought to us for trade. Large tritons, helmet “conch” shells as big as your head, beautiful nautilus and cowries. We hardly needed to expand our collection but have trouble resisting some of the lovely shells brought to us.


Carvings and Crafts.

The wood and style will vary with the island, but the carvings are lovely. We had nice pieces made by Ishmael on Panapompom, and gotten a beautiful ebony seahorse on Budi Budi. Also on Panapompom, we acquired a beautiful scale model sailing outrigger from Rubin. This is just the beginning! There are also bagi, the shell necklaces which are historical (and current) forms of currency. Women do lovely weaving: we have beautiful baskets holding our fruit, and a soft pandanus mat on the floor of the main cabin.


Knowledge.

We found it was really worthwhile to get our trading partners to look beyond "stuff." People have generally wanted to trade in concrete items with us, and I've tried to show that we are also very happy to trade for a service or knowledge transfer…especially when we really didn’t want our 45th lime or 253rd banana (that stem had well over 200 on it!).

• On Panapompom, I spent a memorable afternoon having cooking lessons from a woman so I could better understand how local foods were prepared. Wendy was pleased to get flour and yeast to make bread to sell a visiting rally; I didn’t just learn a skill, I made a friend and gained cultural insights.
• On Budi Budi atoll, we got together with a few boats and organized a lesson in weaving pandanus mats. The church women's fellowship group was happy to share their knowledge and very pleased to get a stack of exercise books, pens and highlighters.
• On Panasia, we traded for help to guide us to the spectacular limestone caves. We might have found them on our own, but I doubt it, and it wouldn’t have come with the history and personal experiences that our guide could share.

We didn't need the things we traded for, but had fun with the process. Oh, it was a great way to supply fresh produce. I'm having fun collecting souvenirs of crafts and shells, something we really haven’t done much before. And the learning has been among my favorite experiences. I can imagine looking at the triton years from now, or attempting to bugle from the conch, and picturing the idyllic atolls where they came into our lives.

Trading in the Louisiades: what to bring

We knew trading would be part of the experience of cruising in Papua New Guinea, but failed to appreciate just how much. For trading in the Louisiades, here's what I would like to have seen gathered in one place before we left. This is based on our admittedly limited experience, through the western islands in the Louisiades- from Panasia through the Deboyne group- and Budi Budi atoll.


First, understand that trading is deeply ingrained as part of the culture: it is expected. Where there are no stores, and effectively no cash economy, trading is how many needs are satisfied. At the same time, there is a great deal of need. It's tempting just to give a pair of shorts to the naked kid that paddles out to your boat. We think that even when we are basically giving charity here, the formality of making a trade is still important...so while we didn’t try to drive hard bargains, we did stick to trading. When a dugout with three children come out with a pretty shell, a few green cherry tomatoes, and big smiles- some might call me a sucker, but if they want clothes- they all get clothes. They want rice? They get rice. But when the young fellow with a mobile phone and a watch shows up and presents a list of the things he would like visiting boats to give him, we wonder about the precedents that have been set, and just ask what he has to offer in trade.

So, what do people ask for? What do they need? Here’s what we heard the most.



Food staples: flour, sugar, and rice are the most common requests; also, yeast, onions and powdered milk.



Clothing: smaller children's clothing especially, but shirts (nothing sleeveless!) for all, longer shorts for boys, skirts to knee length for girls, and mid-calf for women. I did not consider or realize how conservative and modest the norm for dress would be, and many items in my stash to give or trade aren't useful except for the cloth they are made from. We took donations from friends and our children's classmates in Australia and have given away a large portion of our own wardrobes. For boats coming from Australia, ask at Salvos, Vinnies and Lifeline about bulk purchases. Many op-shops will sell clothing at a very low price-per-bag or price-per-kilo if you explain why you are collecting it.


Cotton cloth, elastic bands, needles and thread (aka "cotton"): a great deal of clothing is made by hand. Yardage of cotton cloth would have been a really great thing to bring. A dozen meters of elastic- so cheap at Lincraft!- would be gold. Most skirts/shorts for children and women, and many tops, are made by hand with these basic materials. I really wish I had appreciated this before we left.



School supplies for schools- dictionaries and books were especially appreciated, and the supplies mentioned below were all gratefully received. Our early reader books were a bit hit, since most instruction puts the kids into a crash course in English: teachers are often from different islands and don’t teach in the local dialect. Schools are reasonably supplied with exercise books and writing instruments, all things considered, but still strikingly sparse compared to what we expect.



School supplies for everyone else- exercise books / workbooks, biros (pens), pencils and erasers were often requested in trade. The schools themselves are often reasonably supplied with these, but it is a limited part of the population that actually attends school. Many children drop out very young: schooling beyond year 2 in many islands often means living for the duration of the term on another island, and fees are hard to meet for people who don’t live in a cash economy- both hardships for a family. But the pastor may need a notebook to help plan their Sunday school program. A carver wants a notebook to use for basic correspondence and to keep a record of his work and sales. A child who isn’t able to attend school still wants to practice writing. None of these people have ready access to writing tools.



Fish hooks and fishing line. Different places sought different size hooks; hooks are asked for more than line.

Hand tools for woodworking: large planes, chisels, metal files, handsaws, drill bits, clamps, axes, adz... a hand drill would be invaluable. I keep thinking of the men I met selling old hand tools on the sidewalk south of Kangaroo Point for just a few dollars, and wish I'd picked up a boxful. These are high value trade items.



Batteries: primarily D-cells. Only a few people asked about any other size. D-cells are used to power radios for news, and lanterns for evening light. We brought too many AA and AAAs, which hardly anyone wants, and not enough Ds, which we are consistently asked about.



Solar or manually powered lights, radios, etc. Devices that can be powered by an integral solar panel or manual crank is highly valued. You can get cheap garden solar lights to bring, but many of them are pretty light duty for “outdoor” gear- try to get something that will last.



Magazines. Magazines offer a glimpse into the outside world for people without regular external media. I really wish I’d gotten that stack of cheap National Geographic magazines spotted in a thrift store before we left Australia; they would have been gold.



Flashlights and headlamps. After lollies and balloons, a torch is the first thing children ask for- coached by their parents on that count I’m pretty sure! In a place where darkness falls early, anything that helps extend usable hours of the day is valuable.

We were asked a couple of times for Bibles, especially the NIV (New International Version). Carrying Bibles isn’t really our gig, but that might be helpful for others to know.

Boat gear. The following may be particularly valued in Panapompom and Brooker, as canoes are made in the Deboyne group, but the waga / solaus are used all over. We were asked for:

• Marine paint – not necessarily bottom paint; anything for the sailing canoes
• Nails
• Retired sails, or plastic tarp to use for outrigger sails and for shelters
• Hand sewing needles for sails, and 1/2mm nylon or synthetic twine to use
• We think a quality synthetic small diameter line (like Robline) would be very valuable for the lashing in outriggers
• "Silicone"- really, sikaflex 395, 3M 4200, or similar stuff for joined hulls. Many of the outriggers leak like sieves and there’s often at least one person on board who is continuously bailing
• Line- this fisherman below on Brooker, Frank, was seriously jazzed to trade a couple of bagi for a strand of new polypro line. Rubin so happy to get one of our old halyards and immediately put it into service as a mainsheet on his family’s canoe (their old poly line was hardened and cut into the fishermen’s hands)

Other things we've been asked for:

• printing or copying photographs, sending email. It's such an easy thing for us to do with what we have on board, but can be so helpful to someone without these capabilities
• baby bottles. I am a deep believer in extended nursing, so I cringe to say suggest a bottle. But the practical reality is that sometimes it's not possible, and mixed with the plump cherubs there are some very skinny babies here who might be helped by a bottle- they’re drinking water from coconuts. Another mother I spoke to tended her gardens on a very steep hillside, without any shelter; a bottle made it easier for her to leave baby with father/sibling/aunties for a few hours to work growing yams
• bedding. Most bedding is just a pandanus mat to lie on. we were asked a couple of times for a sheet or a baby blanket

One thing we haven’t been asked for directly, but which would be a great aid, is mosquito netting. Treated nets can be readily acquired at low cost through charity organizations (skip the camping stores, they are outrageous!), and would be a great thing to have for gift/trade. On Budi Budi, malaria is endemic but there is no health facility and many people do not have mosquito nets. Getting medical care means going to Woodlark Island, which in their sailing canoes takes one full day/night IF you have the right wind...and several days if you don't. This all means that people here, and children in particular, die unnecessarily from malaria for want of a cheap bit of netting.

Next post… what you’ll be getting for your trades!