woo hoo. the gecko painting got auctioned off last weekend. Some art connoisseur (or blind philanthropist) was lucky enough to win the auction, at the price of 3100 kina. That's over $1500. Lucky Dr Barry.
Saturday 24 August 2013
Riding the island.....
Road bikes are out (or kept inside on their wind trainers). It's all about fatter tyres and suspension here. Gravel predominates over asphalt (although pot holes don't discriminate). But the riding here is GREAT! Plenty of hills to go up and down. Plenty of scenery. You just have to go out with a willingness to say 'morning' or 'apinoon' at least a hundred times as you pass the villages and people strolling home along the roads.
I've been getting out with some of the similarly minded girls on the weekend for a ride, in preparation for our goal of riding around the island soon. This will be a feat that will involve negotiating the day's humid heat (alleviated by the fine invention of the camelback) and a stop in the middle of the ride at the resort on the other side of the island for lunch.
Apart from the multiple hill climbs to plug away on, the current challenges to accomplish are 'the goat track', a steep short cut that gets you up from town to townsite (where our houses are) at the end of the ride, and managing to cross the creeks without falling in. Neither of which I've come close to achieving just yet.
It's not Beach Road, but the views are pretty good. And the road rage is non-existant. Or traffic lights (that could be because there aren't any on the island!).
On yesterday's ride we passed a big 'mumu' in full swing, involving the cooking of a very large pig. Here's one that was prepared earlier.
More stories of riding adventures to come soon.....
Sunday 18 August 2013
Saturday morning stroll......... (or acquisition of mud on clothes)
A few weekends ago a group of us started the weekend with a hike up a hill. To the 'comms tower', a shed on the top of a big hill with a big aerial that you can see in the night time down at townsite.
I think the previous Saturday night, at around about midnight there had been a towards-the-end-of-a-big-night request about whether I could hitch onto someone's walk up the hill the next time they did it. As luck would have it, the decision had been made during the following week to head up the hill that saturday. So the group of keen hikers expanded until we consisted of a couple of full families, a half a family, myself and another lady setting out down the road to the beginning of the walk.
It was a gorgeous morning, plenty of sun. Although it had been raining quite a bit the week before (muddy!!).
So we set out up the hill. It was nice and shady, so the increasingly powerful heat of the day wasn't too oppressive.
We passed a couple of vegetable gardens, a lot of bamboo and a few creeks on our way upwards. Really beautiful and rain-foresty. Pretty muddy and slippery though. I think a lot of us were wondering 'hmm, will coming down be interesting?'. So we all tried to find ourselves personalised adventure/walking sticks.
After a while we left the canopy of the jungle behind and followed the power lines upwards still. Through some very overgrown scrub, some of which was almost reaching the lines themselves. It's just so fertile here (the ground, that is).
And then after about an hour we made it to the tower. It was a bit of a surprise to find that the shed was in a bit of a state of disrepair, unlocked with all the computers and stuff (very technical explanation) exposed to the elements and open to the wild pigs. Maybe that explains why our internet and phone isn't always so reliable?
Anyway the view was absolutely worth the walk.
In one direction we could see across to townsite and out towards the islands in the distance.
And then in the other direction a view of the mine and beyond.
And then down. In a few more ways than one. Somewhat challenging. Fun if you like slip and slide.
Here are a couple of the many dirty bums that headed back to town.
And my sock-dirt mark when I got my boots off.
But definately worth it and looking forward to another Saturday morning stroll soon.
And here's a little guy who is now crawling and working his way towards coming along on a hike real soon (albeit in the backpack).
Thursday 15 August 2013
Wednesday 14 August 2013
The chicken wars (otherwise known as 'chickengate')
One thing about living in a very small town (where excitement is sometimes defined by whether there is a new type of vegetable for sale at the deli) is that there's always some kind of contentious topic that people seem to become preoccupied with. And if you're not really involved or don't have an opinion either way then it's a good source of amusement and an excellent macroscopic study in people relating (or not) to each other.
One current subject of suspicion seems to be the keeping of chickens in townsite. For a few different reasons it's apparently very controversial. One reason is that sometimes baby chickens become roosters and wake up very early in a loud and obnoxious way, if you're inclined to be woken up at that hour. This leads to tension amongst some neighbours and the occassional untowards threat of a violent nature directed towards the said young cocks. So then said roosters invariably need to be returned to the village where they were sourced from, probably to end up in a large pot. Another reason is that if you let your chickens be free range then that means your neighbours can't let their dogs be free range. And something else about certain plants being eaten in a garden (I didn't pay enough attention to find out the specifics about that one). I have to admit, I love looking off the deck along the escarpment at the chickens who have their freedom scratching around under the paw paw and banana trees. I accidently voiced that opinion to someone in the anti free range alliance, and unbeknownst to myself at the time ruffled a few feathers (excuse the bad poultry pun and any others that I feel the need to use in this story).
But if it's not 'chickengate' then it's probably some other 'gate' that's the talk around town. Legendary in townsite folklore is the tale of 'strawberrygate' and the ladies who used to hide fresh punnets of (hard-to-come-by) strawberries in the back of the deli freezer whenever they made a rare appearance, leading to much strawberry-less angst amongst those who missed out on their rare berry fix. Apparently the culprits were shamed and their names were forever covered in mud for their fruity faux pas. This and other island tales sometimes lead one to wonder what will be the next 'gate' that is hatched.
Notice chickens under paw paw trees, making the view from our deck more visually appealing (disclaimer- in my opinion).
View of prime chicken scratching real estate looking towards our place (under large palm tree).
Chickens (or roosters) attempting to camoflage selves (unsuccesfully) in attempt to escape threats to have their necks broken after particularly early wake-up session.
Sunday 11 August 2013
Wednesday 7 August 2013
Dr Barry......
Next week is the townsite's night-of-nights. It's the Lihir International Primary School ball (LIPS- pretty funny acronym for a school). A Beauty and the Geek theme. Anyway I got roped into helping with one of the fundraisers. Painting up a canvas with the year 2/3 class to raise money for 'Dr Barry', a local living legend who works as an obstetrician in Milne Bay (one of the provinces of PNG). Dr Barry is an absolute champion. Read this link for some more information
Basically he was a carpenter who was doing aid work in PNG and decided at the age of 52 to go to university for the first time, become a doctor, and devote his days to setting up obstetric clinics across the country due to the pitiful child-maternal mortality rate that exists here. All with his own money and funds he manages to raise when he isn't working.
Barry used to work at the Lihir haus sik (hospital)in his earlier days of practising, saving up his earnings to put towards his later humanitarian work. The people who remember him can't speak highly enough of him. They try and keep the funds coming, and this canvas painting is the latest caper to try and contribute to Dr Barry's amazing work.
Here's the photos of class 2/3's finished product. To be silent auctioned next week. Try not to go too crazy with your bids, blog readers.
Rooster. The red dog of Lihir townsite.
This is rooster, the most well fed dog on the island. He 's like the red dog of the island, fed by everyone and owned by no one. Well he has a couple of feeding families at the moment, following the departure of his master at the end of last year, but really he answers to no one. One of his current feeders is working on making his coat shiny, feeding him raw eggs. She's having a bit of trouble getting him to stay off her outside lounge, which is now permanently covered in sand and dog fur.
If anyone is ever having a bbq, lunch, morning tea, whatever, then Rooster is sure to turn up on your deck for a tasting. He doesn't really announce his arrival, he just quietly invites himself up and saunters towards the barbie or the table, with an entitled air about him as if he should really be afforded a plate full of meat treats. At the school athletics carnival a couple of months back (which he turned up to around about the time the sausage sizzle started), he gained himself some red fur paint. He wasn't too phased though, just happy to be fed by half the primary school. He's the nonchalant type.
I didn't think i'd be feeding Ed in front of a hundred women at the local maternal child health clinic in aid of promoting breastfeeding ('look at the white mari feeding her baby'). but why not, if it's helping with promoting the breastfeeding cause over bottle feeding in a community where water isn't always safe in the villages, formula costs an arm and a leg, and generally women have already been exposed to family and friends feeding infants through their life (unlike Western societies where some mums have never seen babies being breastfed close up until it's their turn to learn).
here's Ed doing his usual performing, being passed around amongst the locals, and generally making a spectacle of himself.
'Princess Kate is learning how to breast feed her baby'
And Ed getting a cuddle from the co-ordinator of the clinic.
Tuesday 6 August 2013
How (not) to get your car registered in PNG...... a simple 20 step guide
Please note- this could possibly be infuriating to read.
1. Get your 12 year old car out of the shipping container with customs and quarantine. Allow at least an hour for the friends of the customs and quarantine guys to come and view the island's first 'sports car'.
2. Contemplate the process of getting your car registered. Ask around town about how to go about this. Get a multitude of different answers, some of which are downright nihilistic. Select the explanation that seems the most simple and positive. Three simple steps, it seems, consisting of getting plates, a safety check and insurance.
3. First step is to go to the 'waiting window' in town, where all things official and governmental can be achieved, to buy number plates. Drive into town, negotiating the pot-holed road that is particularly bad at the moment after lots of wet weather. Get to the waiting window at 12:10pm to find that opening hours are 9am-12pm and 1pm-3pm. Go home until tomorrow.
4. Come back to the waiting window the next day at 2:15pm. Unfortunately it's Friday, so the window closes at 2pm. Aim to try again next week.
5. Third time lucky. For the window to be open, that is. Meet Alice, the face of the waiting window, who proceeds to inform me that she is out of plates until next week, but she'll put my name down when some come in and give me a call.
6. Wait a week without hearing from Alice, so head back to the window to see if those plates have come in. Alice informs me that unfortunately she had a big lot of plates come in this morning, only to all be bought up by one of the contracting companies. She says to try again next week.
7. Week three of the process. We're in luck on Monday morning. Alice has rung to say she has some plates available. Quickly head down into town at 10am. The window is closed though. Alice has gone to the bank. Wait an hour in the heat for Alice to return from the bank. Worth the wait to acquire a set of PNG number plates. Feels like we're in business.
8. Next step is to get a 'safety sticker' at the local car dealers/mechanics. Make a booking for the next day to get this done.
9. Take the car back down for this safety check. Hand over the service history, and get given a safety sticker. Get home and realise my victorian plate numbers have been written on the sticker.
10. Go back the next day to get the right numbers on the sticker. Bonus points though, because in their state of apologies, the mechanics give me a number plate box and install them while I wait. This is somewhat of a production though. I am made to go into a waiting room and read old editions of Air Nuigini's in flight magazine. Forty minutes later the newly installed (but yet unregistered) plates are ready.
11. Next step is to go and buy insurance at the local Tyre shop. Negotiate a price for the insurance, because the man at the tyre shop isn't sure what category the car fits into since he's never seen a subaru impreza before. He decides it's a station wagon. Go to pay in cash, only to be told the shop only accept cheque or direct bank deposit.
12. Go to the ANZ bank to make the insurance payment. Look at how much cash I have and realise I am one kina (fifity cents) short of the 520 kina insurance fee. Go home via the markets for Lihirian version of retail therapy. A 2 kina bag of lau lau fruit. Put some in a G&T as soon as I arrive home.
13. Go back to the bank the following Monday (week four). Whilst waiting in line for what seems like half an hour, witness a massive fight between two ladies in the supermarket car park across the road, which everyone within a two hundred metre radius sprints towards, so suddenly there is a gathering of hundreds of people to cheer on the opposing parties. Get to the front of the line at the bank to find their system is down, but it should be up next week.
14. Return to the bank the following week. Wait in line for a while watching a PNG reggae band 'album launch' in the car park in the adjacent block of land. Get to the front of the line to be told the system will still be 'down' this week, and someone should be in to fix it over the weekend.
15. Decide to try the other bank across the road, BSP (Bank South Pacific). I'm not sure why I didn't think of this two weeks ago. Presto! A cheque in hand.
16. Payment of insurance and insurance certificate given over.
17. No back to the waiting window........ waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Decide that two steps in one day is too overwhelming anyway, and that I'll try again sometime soon.
18. Lose the will to continue the process for a while. Continue to drive around without anyone having the faintest I haven't achieved the elusive last step, given I've got the plates, stickers, insurance on the car.
19. Finally complete the process with a suprisingly painless and short wait at the window.
20. Contemplate the previous four weeks' shennanigans and the efficiency of VicRoads for the first time ever. I won't be complaining again about getting my car registered after this experience.
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