On the Road

On June 29, between the towns of Kainantu and Goroka, there was a major hold-up on the Highlands Highway. A convoy of 4 PMVs was stopped by over 30 Rascols. They raped two women. They took everything. It was ugly. The police scattered the criminals and shot two dead. After this, security was on high-alert along the Highway.

I had traveled along this same road down to Madang but thankfully missed the disaster. I would be traveling the same road back. VSO informed us of this tragedy and gave us the option to travel back by airplane if we felt our personal security was in jeopardy. Some took the plane tickets, others braved the road. I was not going to travel back to Madang until the 11th of July so I was in a unique situation. In some respects, the absolute best time to travel on the road is immediately following a crime of this magnitude for security is at its peak. My trip was two weeks later, enough time for the hornet's nest to calm down and for the Rascols to regroup and launch another strike. I asked our country directory if he personally would feel comfortable in traveling by PMV on my departure date. He said yes.

This was good enough for me. I could still take the plane ticket but felt I would be doing it for the wrong reasons (convenience rather than safety) so on Monday morning I hit the road.

Monday - 7.11.05
7am - Bright and bushy-tailed at the Madang bus exchange. A number of PMVs roll around in circles but the navigators are all shouting 'LAE, LAE, LAE'!

Lae is an industrial harbor city, west of Madang - and the opposite direction I am going. The PMVs will continue this practice all morning until they are at capacity.

8am - Still nothing for the Highlands. I break into my food stash, which is four apples, five breakfast bars and a bag of spicy-hot cracker nuts which are outstanding. I have two bags and they are both bursting at the seams - and I packed light.

9am - 'LAE LAE LAE LAE!' Still nothing for the Highlands. I am trying to catch a ride to Goroka, where I can then grab a ride to Kundiawa. I run into a man that knows my name. I remember his face but I cannot place him.

I think I met him in Madang when I first got here in March. I'm too embarrassed to ask him how we know each other. Still, he is good people and is traveling to Hagen (the road to Hagen passes Kundiawa) so we decide to be travel buddies.

Bowie's rules for the PNG road:
- Don't look like a tourist - act like you have been on a PMV before
- Become friends with the driver
- Tell everyone in earshot that you are a volunteer* from the USA
- Bring plenty of water and snacks
- Mind your business
- Make sure your bags are touching you at all times
- If you are offered the front seat, take it - it's the most comfortable and if the police see a white man in the front, they will rarely stop the vehicle for a shake down
- Find a national you can trust that is going in your direction and latch on to him for dear life (this is THE most important rule, especially if you have to change buses and interpret confusing bus stops)

* A volunteer couple from the Netherlands was traveling by PMV when potential thieves stopped their vehicle. The driver told the robbers that the white people aboard where VSO volunteers. The men apologized for the disturbance and let the PMV pass - VSOs get a lot of respect in PNG. Also, a lot of PNG people do not like Australians and if you do not indicate otherwise, they will assume you are an Aussie.*

10am - still waiting. There is a large contingent of travelers wanting to go to the highlands and no takers. Many attempt to persuade the drivers to go to the highlands instead of Lae but are waved off. My hope for making it to Kondiu by nightfall is fading.

10:30am - I decide to join the negotiations and talk to one of the drivers. It usually costs 30 Kina for a ride from Madang to Goroka so I suggest that he demand 35 and personally guarantee that he will have a full ride. No dice. He will not drive to Goroka, because of the robbery that took place two weeks ago. He does offer to drive as far as Kainantu, 45 minutes outside of Goroka. I turn to my wise sage who nods in agreement. We have a ride and scheme to convince the driver to take us all the way to Goroka in route.

10:45am - the driver, being a kind soul, agrees to go by an office where a passenger has left his bag.

10:55am - now the same passenger, and his buddy, needs the driver to take him by his house so he can pick up some more luggage. Again, the driver agrees. I start to squirm.

11:05am - still another passenger yells from the back - he needs to be driven by his house so he can pick his watch. Incredibly, the driver agrees. I am in a rage and the other travelers grumble.

11:15am - the watch man returns to the PMV to let us know that his house is locked. I am in near hysterics and yell out 'oh hells bells, LET'S GO!' We finally hit the road. Absolutely maddening.

12:43pm - There are many one-lane bridges along the road. Basically, the first vehicle to the bridge crosses first. We approach a bridge and start to cross and are halfway there when another PMV enters the overpass and heads straight for us. Our driver stops while the other keeps coming. If he is playing chicken, we are both going to win because there is nowhere for us to go. I brace for a head-on collision when the PMV comes to a screeching halt 3 feet in front of us. All smiles from the opposing vehicle as our level-headed driver reverses off of the bridge and concedes to these fools. I am not well.

1:30pm - we begin the climb into the mountains

3:00pm - it is apparent that we are not going to convince our driver to go to Goroka. He says it is too dangerous which makes me a tad queasy. That plane ticket is looking real good right about now.

3:15pm - Kainantu. This is a road stop town, right in the middle of nowhere. Still, there are thousands of people* milling around in the streets. Just an obscure, hot place. My guide is on the ball and finds us a quick ride.

We take big gulps as we shuttle off towards Goroka. This is the stretch of road that everyone fears.

3:30pm - a caravan of PMVs, all happy and in one piece, pass us in the opposite direction. We all share a sigh of relief

4:45pm - Goroka. It is a mob scene at the bus exchange, with hundreds of people trying to make it to the Highlands. Prospects are grim and the sun is sinking fast. You just do not want to be on the road at night. Every time a van drives by, it is rushed by hopefuls yelling 'CHIMBU, CHIMBU'

(Kundiawa) or 'HAGEN, HAGEN' - the drivers all shake their heads.

6pm - My guide and road buddy gives up on making it to Hagen and decides to find a place to stay for the night. I am alone.

6:15pm - a coaster (big bus, holds 25 people) rolls by and announces in front of the crowd that it will travel to Kundiawa - but first they need to run an errand. They start to load the bus with logs and produce. I ask the driver 'can I just get on now, I'll help you'. He looks at me sternly and says 'NO!'. I was impressed with the conviction in his voice and obediently step back, nodding my head in respect.

6:30pm - surprisingly, the coaster returns and there is a surge of people moving towards the curb. It feels like a crowd of concert-goers, waiting to enter a festival-seating venue. I hold my own and am ready. As the travelers begin to squeeze into the door, the driver signals to me to come around front and get in his driver side door. I don't have to be asked twice and am giggling like a crazy person as I dive over his seat into the spacious shotgun chair. Just a wild scene.

7:30pm - the coaster is crawling threw the mountains and the trip is slow - this is compounded by a couple drunks in the back who demand stops so they can take a leak every 20 minutes. I painfully watched the sun go down some time ago and now scary darkness covers the land. I have accepted the fact that I will not make it back to Kondiu tonight.

8:45pm - Kundiawa, 45 minute drive East of Kondiu and the friendly confines of the Rosary campus. This is far as I will make it on this day. While it is only 8:45, it might as well be 3am. The streets are empty save a few random fires surrounded by shifty characters. This is not a good time to be out on the town. A few VSOs live in Kundiawa, including the couple from the Netherlands (Robert and Clarika). I know where their house is and stomp with a purpose towards their place. I pray that they are home because I am not quite sure where the other VSOs live.

8:50pm - I see my sanctuary and better yet, Robert's silhouette as he passes by the window. I am saved. I quicken my pace and notice that there are two dogs right on my heals. I shoo them hastily, assuming they are just like the cowardly dogs in Kondiu. I am wrong and one of the dogs bites me on the leg. Cursed mutt.

My day of travel ends with Clarieka tending to my fresh wound with antibacterial cream. Another scar from the road. 15 hours to travel less than 400 KMs. I wake up early the next morning and finish the trek to Kondiu without incident. Home again.

*While most of PNG is considered 'rural', that certainly does not mean 'under-populated'. The Highlands is absolutely jam-packed with people.

Every market, weigh station and road side store is overflowing at all times of the day. I routinely ask myself 'where do all these people come from?'

The answer is simple. If you squint your eyes while you look across mountain ranges and rolling landscape, you can see it dotted with tiny villages and homes. Densely populated. While walking through the bush, the land can seem devoid of all human life but I challenge anyone to try to find a spot in PNG where they can yell and not be heard.*