Lakarol

They used to give out oranges as presents for Christmas in Victorian times, didn’t they? As I handed around oranges to people around me where we had become stranded. “Woo-hoo, we’re leaving Kavieng!” Off on a really fun trip, down the coast for several days of surf and beach and cool, clear river and just being among the rainforest-cloaked limestone cliffs. Or not. I noticed the truck had suddenly lost power, then more, then pulled it over to the side of the road. Overheated, water all gone. People emerged from the sides of the road. The truck needed more than just water. It was…fucked. I…we…felt deflated. I realised how truly truly I had been looking forward to this trip. I had been all excited talking on the phone at Christmas time to mum and J as we packed up and drove off on our adventure. I had a bag full of books. We had the surfboards. We had the tent. We had a car that was not in good shape and we hadn’t known that; it was my first PNG breakdown (of the car mechanical kind). But….there were worse places to be stranded. Food soon arrived for us. We decided to stay for the night. We really didn’t want to go back to Kavieng. Of course we didn’t…We went for a walk through the coconut plantation, along the beach at high tide, a brisk wind off the ocean, roaring (non-surfable) waves. We were the village Christmas entertainment. It felt peaceful and friendly and bright and open. We went for a swim in the jacuzzi lagoon. We did everything with a crowd of observers/helpers. We put our tent up. What an incredible spot. I sat there as dusk enveloped us and the stars came out. M talked about fish. We were fed again. We released our stash of stale Gold Nuggets into a frenzy of grabbing people. I read my Buddhist guide to a more compassionate existence as the waves roared. The moon came up over the water. Our guardians slept next to our tent to watch over us. We woke up to the beauty of the beach. John brought his precious small breeding pig for a saltwater bath and kept throwing the squealing animal into the air and…splash and…no mercy. He had just decided to call it “Tourist,” to also show how valuable it was. We were their whitie tourist pets for 24 hours. They showed us kindness, which we tried to show back; exchanges of food. And I kept dreaming of a bush house by the beach in a place like this, to escape from Kavieng, or just a place to camp, a beach getaway. The tow truck from T’s family close by came too soon, as I was lying in the shade on the beach reading, really not ready to leave. And we began our slow journey back to town. And I really didn’t want to be back there. It had been lovely in the village and I find it harder and harder to be in Kavieng; that isolated buai-splattered urban dead-endedness. And to face thoughts of being here alone again. And to try not to feel disappointed that we are not on our trip. We will try to get to the little paradise island and camp there alone. If we can get there I am sure it will be wonderful.