Across the top of Papua: Jayapura to Biak

We had been anticipating a challenging journey across the top of Papua. It is the “wrong” season. Wind and current are likely to be adverse. Because of the logging in Papua, there are many trees and logs reported in the water- so many that boats were required to slow their speed. It was impossible to see every log in the water and hitting at least a few was inevitable, and best not done while screaming along. They stopped all night travel because it was impossible to see logs in the water. This is further complicated by the fact that it’s a rough coast of roadstead anchorages. It is expected that you will get permission from the adjacent village ashore, and some have not been terribly friendly (such as requesting exorbitant fees for anchoring). Rather than set the precedent of paying a ransom to anchor, boats simply move on. But this takes time, since it’s a bad practice to anchor in the dark.

Totem at rest off Mios Mangwandi, in the Padaido Islands

Our first goal is to get from Jayapura to the Padaido Islands, just southeast of Biak. We know our speed will be slow, whether as a result of the wind/current or a deliberate action based on logs, so expect it will take a few days if we can press straight through- but easily more than a week if we determine we can move during daylight hours only.

After the bright lights, floating garbage, and mosque megaphones of Jayapura- the coastline to the west is almost eerily wild. Once again, there are no lights- just the occasional firelight flickering, although soon enough we're not close enough to see even those. In fading evening light, the coastline screams upward into mountains, lush and densely green. Clouds obscure the top, reaching with misty fingers towards the sea. We crack bad jokes about returning to Jurassic Park, but still half expect to see a pterodactyl overhead.

Most of our worries do not play out. We bump into three logs in the first hours out of Jayapura, where a relatively confused sea state makes it difficult to see and anticipate any impact. But conditions soon mellow out, fewer logs are seen, and ultimately we decide we feel entirely comfortable continuing overnight. Every day we watch conditions and re-evaluate.  The current is generally neutral, with periods of a slightly foul flow. The debris in the water isn’t significant, even as we cross in front of rivers. There’s a considerable amount of large boat traffic, but it’s all four to five miles offshore- we stay about eight miles out and have a clear path. Unfortunately there’s no wind for sailing, and the passage is almost entirely a motorboat ride. We get just enough to motorsail a few times. It’s a big help for fuel efficiency, but we’d rather just be sailing.

We experience an anomaly: at one point, our transducer reads a water temperature that suddenly dips from around 90 degrees down to a cool 68. It lingers there for a few minutes, then pops back up to near 90 again. We’re near a trench and assume it’s part of an upwelling. Ideally this would translate into a great place for fishing, but our lines are empty.

It’s not until the last morning- our fourth calendar day out- that we get some truly snotty weather. Ironically it is just as we in the final 15 or so miles coming into the islands where we hope to anchor. This has been something of a theme for us in recent months: squalls that hit just as we are in the home stretch or entering a harbor. Not the best timing, but it’s all fine, and Totem soon rests peacefully in the lee of a sweet looking island.

Making friends in Jayapura

Jayapura was supposed to be all about clearing the official hurdles, then getting west- but we had a great time making new friends.

Totem anchored in deep water right off the city center in a spot recommended by Anui, who stopped here last year. The police dock adjacent to a small neighborhood makes for a safe place to leave the dink, and the friendly residents next door offer us a warm welcome.

After days of going back and forth through their neighborhood, we feel like we know them. Selfi has plied us with treats from street vendors in the laneway. We’ve invited the families who live at the waterfront end of the laneway out to Totem, and they descent in masse one afternoon. It’s hysterical. These families- and most of the neighborhood- is associated with the adjacent intelligence police presence…we are assured it is a very safe place for us to be.

We had an afternoon of silly fun with the laneway moms and kids

Our first night, we go ashore in search of dinner. We would never have dreamed of setting foot in an PNG town after dark, but here it’s no problem. Not that we make it far- it’s only a few yards past the laneway before a group of stalls lure us with delicious aromas and the promise of noodles. We end up talking to an official from the naval department that manages navigation aids, located next door. After chatting over dinner, he invites us to his office Christmas party the following evening. OK!

The party turns out to be mostly a long ceremony of speeches and skits (with senior officials in costume replaying, but livens up at the end with song and dance performances. It has a surprisingly Christian bent, from the nativity scene at the front of the room to a sermon delivered by a Christian pastor. There is a huge buffet, and the children make me proud by tackling all manner of unidentifiable food. It is delicious, when it isn’t too spicy for them. Their highlight was when the big boss walked around and handed each child a 50,000 Rupiah note. It’s only about US$5, but that’s a pretty big deal here, where a “taksi” ride is $0.20 and dinner out at a Warung is about $2.50. Windfall for the Totem kids!

There were lots of photos. Generallly, the kids looked happy about it. Really.

Heading back to the laneway, we find the tide has gone out, and the dinghy is aground. This normally wouldn’t seem like such a big deal, but the stilt houses at the waters edge are basically floating over the worst filth of the harbor. Dirty diapers and other delights make this a haven for rats. Lots of rats. Glorious rats, all around the dinghy and under the house, surfing garbage piles. Jamie rescues us all by retrieving the dinghy to a distance that minimizes our exposure. We all want to shower when we get back to Totem.

The next day, I’m eager to get some exercise. It’s been a lot of days either cooped up on the boat or tramping between official offices- I want to get out and stretch my legs, see a little. There’s a temple perched temptingly up the hillside behind the anchorage, so I make it my goal.

I set off in the general direction and hope for the best. Jumping under a shelter to wait for a squall to pass through, I talk to the others doing the same. By the time the rain stops five minutes later, two boys are insisting they will take me to the temple.

Following them turns out to be an excellent idea, because I could never have found it on my own. We wind through alleyways with walls I can touch on either side. Several times it feels more like I’m stepping into someone’s home, when it’s really a path farther along the mountainside!

Nicest guys. I would definitely have gotten lost without them.

But the view is worth it.  

We change anchorages to be closer to Hamadi, where we hope to find fuel and where a large fresh produce market is located. Many curious boats stop by. Some are a little too friendly. One kid decides to let himself on board Sea Glass, and is hustled off. This turns out to mostly be a communication problem. When the boy and his friends come over to Totem, it resolves that they are trying to give us fish and offer a few words of welcome! 

Papuan family we befriended near Hamadi

I end up jumping in their boat and following them around the big open air market in Hamadi, where I'm treated to an excellent tour and given advice on what I should be paying for everything. It is a huge help to be able to speak some Indonesian! I’m so grateful that rusty bahasa, learned 20+ years ago on Bali, is all sliding back into my head.

He comes back again, with his family.

Jayapura’s sharp contrast to PNG

Jayapura is just a few hours sail (or motor) from Vanimo, PNG, but it’s a world apart.  We are clearly in a new country, a new culture- and although the delineation seems arbitrary, a new continent as well.

Oh tempeh. it's been a while, and I've missed you.

There’s infrastructure. From no utilities of any kind in PNG, radio towers and power poles now sprout everywhere, and there’s a dramatic increase in houses and buildings- built from durable materials, even. The harbor is dotted with large fishing platforms. The roads are paved, and most even have sidewalks, although they are frequently missing slabs make it more treacherous than La Paz (our last winner for the Most Dangerous Sidewalk award). Looking up is risky!

The harbor is filthy. In Papua New Guinea, there was little in the way of plastic goods sold- things are reused to an extreme degree, and any garbage usually washed up from somewhere else. Here, there is a ton of cheap plastic junk for sale, and no system to collect garbage other than chucking it outside. Raw sewage flows into the bay. We ask someone where to take our bag of garbage, and they actually recommend we throw it over the side of the boat into the bay.

The military presence is palpable. It’s a dramatic contrast to PNG, where official encounters were rare. Here, there are so many branches of the military I cannot keep count. We see armored cars, uniforms of every color, busses decked out for riot gear, transport wagons with caged enclosures. We seemed to see police of one stripe or another on every block.

It’s noisy. In the early morning hours, we listen to the calls to prayer float over the water as dawn breaks across the sky. Every neighborhood has a mosque, and each one has a different voice. It’s not too loud, though. The more irritating sound is the power station alongside the bay that drones over everything. In the evening, churches get in on the broadcasting action- and the sheer noise competition is a little too much.

It’s a little overwhelming, but I cannot wipe the smile off my face. It is still feels so good to be back in Indonesia, and I love every minute of the new assault on the senses.

Welcome to Indonesia – big bureaucracy and big brother

Looking down- way, way down- at Totem. Jayapura, Papua, Indonesia

We arrive in Jayapura at midday (is 12 pm on 12/12/12 auspicious?) and go through the motions of checking in with immigration, customs, and quarantine. This eventually takes two days, but considering the amount of bureaucracy involved this ends up feeling fairly efficient (typical of the experience at any of the official offices: “take this paper, go down the street, make 5 copies and come back”). Naturally, these offices are also in different parts of town. At least the “taksi” service (actually a shared minivan used for public transportation) is cheap- about US$0.20 for a ride across town.

I make the fatal error of leaving our ship’s stamp on board. Until now, this has been a novelty- something we use to stamp the inside of our books or imprint for fun on notepaper. Now, the immigration official gives me a look that can only be described as aghast when I tell her I don’t have a ships stamp to put on that piece of paper she’s holding. She allows the process to continue with just my signature, but clearly isn’t happy about it. OK, note to self, bring stamp next time!

What we don’t realize initially is we’ve missed two critical stops: the harbormaster, who it turns out is rather offended that we did not visit him first, and the military police, who issue permits specific to travel in Papua (the surat jalan).

The harbormaster is readily resolved once we realize our error. It turns out we’ve been using his dock as a dropoff for the dinghy shuttle for some time– although we were clearly from new yachts in the harbor, it was days before any the guys who waved us ashore thought to mention that possibly we should step inside instead of walk around the side to the main road. Oops!

Getting the surat jalan was another experience altogether. The Indonesian half of New Guinea is currently divided into two provinces, Papua and West Papua. Independence movements have rumbled here for years. The indigenous Melanesian people from New Guinea are culturally vastly different from the Asiatic Indonesians. In many places, indigenous people have been forced off their land to make way for extraction- and, big surprise, they receive little to no benefit. In some cases are literally kept outside the high fences from their traditional lands. This independence movement has had increased activity in recent years, making the surat jalan a tool for the Indonesian government to watch and monitor foreigners in the area.

A visit to the anchorage by police kicks off the process. We are told to report into the intelligence police, and show up as quickly as we can- I was ashore and had to scramble back. What followed was entirely unexpected. It soon becomes apparent that we are being interrogated. Respectfully, yes, but definitely interrogated.

We are shuffled through a couple of different rooms, with a couple of different people questioning us. There is the Lt Col with a very large quantity of gold stitching and various metal insignias of rank hanging off his uniform. Later was the intelligence colonel, in a tailored version of the Indonesian suit (leisure suits never went out of style here) but specifically unmarked uniform- no name, no gold, no medals, nothing. Another round of interrogation ensues. I’m sure he was very good at getting information from us, although we couldn’t tell him much about things that we didn’t know about!

A few stories dribble out. We are told that visitors, westerners in particular, have been smuggling things in to support the Papuan freedom movement. This was not idle threat: in the last few months, there have been arrests, deaths, and extraditions for people involved with smuggling arms or knowledge or other undesirables to the rebels. It took up all of an afternoon, but eventually we were given our paper and sent off with a “we’re watching you” smile. OK. Whew. Can we go now?

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.