KarKar Island

For the term break, I took a trip to KarKar Island with my two dear Dutch friends, Marleen and Jolanda.

At sea.
Our trip started with an hour drive up the north coast road to catch a boat at the wharf. We waded knee deep in the sea against the crashing waves to sling ourselves into the dingy. Soon the refreshing wind was in our face and the energizing sun kissed our cheeks. The boat soared over the waves as we aimed towards the white fluffy clouds hanging over the island in the distance. I spotted flying fish, as fast as the dingy boat, speeding atop the water. Little did I know these fast as a speeding bullet fish have been known to pierce through a man's body and exit the opposite side! I didnt' know which was more dangerous, the flying fish or the skipper and his mates smoking cigarettes while sitting atop opened containers of fuel. I kept my gaze toward the island to avoid the fear of either being blown to pieces by a careless boat crew or being pierced by a flying fish!

The sea was calm and shifted through various hues of blue. As we neared the island the sun reflected off the turquoise waves as they came to a white crest and crashed over the black sand. Pure bliss! The skipper lead us towards a cave and began a story about how the cave leads to the crater of the volcano and is home of a two-headed creature. My pidgin has improved but I always have difficulty understanding when ones mouth is filled with buai (which is the case most of the time). There was something about darkness and a spirit with a head of a man and of a snake. I asked if he had ever gone into the cave and he was quick to retell his story about the spirit-creature!

Garamut Welcome.
An hour after we left the wharf our boat slid onto KarKar's black sand beach and we climbed into one of the island's few flat bed trucks. As we rode along the single paved road circling the island, our gaze was drawn upward following the long, slim trunks of the coconut trees. There were coconut trees as far as the eyes could see. Some were straight, some leaning towards the sea, the occasional twisted like a cork screw. When we arrived at the guest house in a local village we were traditionally welcomed with the beating of the garamut drum. It was all very nostalgic!

Gial Village.
The village was filled with botanical gardens, tropical trees and vibrant flowers. Everything was so green and so lush. With each gust of wind you could smell the sweet nectar of the flowers and the juice of the ripe fruits dangling from the trees. We were surrounded by nature in its purest form. Bathing under the stars again reminded me of my time in Zambia. As did the fear of things crawling out of the pit latrine. There was as much fresh papaya as one could ever dream and the largest grasshopper I have ever seen. We experienced the simple village living. Washing was on the line, the dirt yards- compacted from years of pounding feet-were swept clean, and fires were constantly smoking in the kitchens. Women were carrying water from the wells, firewood from the bush and sitting with their legs extended in front of them chopping vegetables in their laps. Men were playing guitars and resting under mango trees chewing buai. Children were rolling old bicycle rims with sticks and playing chase. For me, it brought a spirit alive in my heart again, something I haven't felt since I left Zambia.

The Cone.

Walking along the lava river flowing down the cone had to be one of the highlights of my trip. We came upon it after climbing through the densest rainforest I have seen, denser than the rainforests in Indonesia or Malaysia. The earth was moist beneath my feet, the moss thickly covered the trees and rocks, and the vines tickled my arms and neck. The singing birds of paradise echoed in my ears. The view from the top was of a crater within another, more immense crater. Smoke still rises from the smaller of the two craters; however, lush greenery has managed to grow around its sides. After over 7 hours of climbing, I was exhausted. The heat here is like no other. We were given fresh kulau, coconut juice, to quench our thirst as we reached the village at the base of the cone.

The Beach.
I had so much fun swimming in the sea with over 20 children. I hope to forever hold in my memory the image of the drops of water that seem to remain in their thick lashes and curly hair for eternity. Their playfulness and fearlessness of the sea was inspiring. They wanted to take me to the caves along the rocky beach where their villages collect the warm water heated from the volcanic energy within. But, I have to admit I was timid to swim amongst the enormous black rocks and the powerful, white waves crashing over them. The scene was unforgettable. The children, the caves, the lava rocks. The porpoise frolicking in the sea, throwing their young in the air creating perfect triple axle twists. The turquoise sea against the black sand beaches. After a long afternoon at the beach, we walked three hours in bouts of rain and intense sun through villages, past the airstrip, through the coconut plantation, and across black sand beaches. Finally at the point of desperation, with my blisters and bloody toes, Jolanda's sunburned face and blown out flip flop, and Marleen's blown out knee, the island's flat bed truck came to our rescue. Back to Gial Village for a warm South Pacific beer!

The Refugee Exit.
I am never surprised by the manner in which events occur here in Papua New Guinea, the Land of the Unexpected. The rains began pouring down when we arrived at the wharf to return to Madang's mainland. Regardless, we piled in the dingy, this time with a few added passengers.. or 7.. and two guinea pigs ( and, no, I am not making this up for an interesting blog). Although the rains were pelting down the sea was calm. And with the rain I had the relief that the skipper and his crew wouldn't be smoking near flammable liquids! Now I only had to worry about capsizing due to the boat being overloaded with people, cargo and guinea pigs! The crew covered us in thick, blue tarp. The smell was intense, a mixture of sea, fish, and feet. I would rather have been soaked, not to mention that without a view of the horizon my chances of sea sickness were pretty much 100%. We felt like refugees hidden under cover with all the sweaty, crowded people carrying their food and animals, risking our lives trying to make it to freedom. Endings are never anticlimactic here in PNG. The rains were too heavy and the sea rough so we sought shelter on a nearby beach. We hid under the trees breathing in the fresh air and allowing our nausea to lessen. This time when we piled back in the refugee boat I found myself next to the guinea pigs while Jolanda was high from her motion sickness pills (why didn't she share!?!?!). An hour later, we arrived soaking wet and climbed onto an open-bed truck to Madang!