After freshening up I went back to the dining room. Our hostess carried what appeared to be a frozen chicken, casually tossing it over the balustrade into the pit. “Snap, crack, smack, chomp,” came the sound of jaws competing for the kilogram fowl. My, this was impressive, indeed. I wondered if the pit was an instrument for offenders, but I didn’t ask, as we settled into a very tasty evening meal; the sun setting over the most beautiful view. That is if you didn’t look down.

Wonderful Wuvalu and the Other Side

There is nothing like a decent night’s rest. Breakfast the next day was really delicious with fresh papaya, the most aromatic coffee (coffee in PNG is fantastic) and cereals and juice. Refreshed, we were to go to Wuvalu Beach, near the Hotel. Richard and I boarded the bus and in ten minutes we were there. Never in your wildest imagination have you seen such a beach. Before us lay three kilometers of clean, sheet-white sand, lapped by tiny, whitecaps that kissed the loveliest shore in the world. A bright blue sky against stands of flowing coconut palms, lining the vista with zero tourists except us, left both of us utterly breathless. My only hope is that no-one has ever yet discovered this place, for it could be the target of a Club Med, for certain.

After returning to the hotel, Richard and I then boarded a utility truck, to go to the other side of the island. This trip takes about an hour and a half. You then arrive in a pretty village.

Now we were to stay in the town guesthouse. In the truck there I was presented some betel nut to chew. It’s a local narcotic which one of the prettiest young girls I have ever seen gave me. She said it would make the trip a lot easier.

What fun! Within minutes I was overcome with the most glorious sensation, similar to cocaine, but far stronger. Richard shot me a baleful stare. How was I to know how good this was going to be? I do recall I started singing, “My Darling Clementine,” which had the party screaming with laughter. PNG is a land of laughter and I was the butt of their joke.

The guesthouse on the other side of the island was simple, clean and nice. The Chief invited us to dinner, which I thought was just great, but Richard wasn’t too keen on the fish head stew we were served.

Image via Wikipedia

Traditions Plus and a Walk to another Village

In the morrow we took a morning walk on yet another astonishing beach. As the morning formed what unfolded before us left us both in silent awe. From the village, in the fresh morning light, men in traditional outfits – nothing more than palm loincloths – started casting nets into the mirror clear sea.

 Not a shred of western garb did they don. I was startled that tradition lived vividly in this remote place. We both realised what we were watching was the last time to see a living native culture. The men spent a good hour fishing the way their ancestors had for eons. Richard and I sure were two privileged men.

The rest of the day saw us walk to another village, which again was just the way the Trobriand islanders had lived, since time began.

Returning to the Capital

There were other adventures that Richard and I shared in the Trobriands. When we returned to Port Moresby I knew both of us had seen something that could never again be seen. I hope the people of the Trobriands are still like that. Its one place that still holds magic, tradition and a purity you may never see another time. 

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