NORTHERN EXPEDITION
Northern Expedition - Luxury Travel Magazine
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Northern Expedition | |||||
| By: Maria Visconti, Issue 36 – Spring 2008 | |||||
| (Orion Expedition Cruises) | |||||
| VISIT PAPUA NEW GUINEA ABOARD ORION EXPEDITION CRUISES AND EXPECT TO BE BLOWN AWAY BY THE COLOURFUL LOCAL EXPERIENCE. | |||||
| A bush witch in a tall hat shuffles in a trance around a bonfire that crackles and spits, illuminating the heavy night air. A group of seated men hit the ground rhythmically with decorated wooden poles while singing. Swish-swish goes the bush witch, glassy eyed, swaying hypnotically. The spell is broken when a human form – save for the enormous extra-terrestrial mask he wears over his head – jumps from the shadows into the fire. Out and in, in and out, he scatters the embers with bare feet. Then he just stays put in the middle of the inferno, his silhouette the inner core of a glowing column. He’s got to come out. But he doesn’t. The crowd holds their communal breath while the bird/man roasts until, after an eternity, he jumps out to the audience’s audible gasp. More extra-terrestrial beings clad in nothing but giant beaked masks, vegetable g-strings and leafy fronds join the queue of fire-defiers. A pre-historic figure swings a club urging them on. Suddenly he hands over his decorated baton to a woman in the crowd. He tells her it’s a gift. She hesitates. He turns on his heels and disappears into the conflagration. These extraordinary dancers have come down from the mountains surrounding Rabaul to meet our ship, the Orion. But this is no show. It’s an ancient ceremony brought down to be shared with Orion’s passengers. Rabaul is a ghostly place dominated by the volcano that in 1994 suffocated the entire town under tonnes of ash. “Here is the main street,” says my guide, “and these are the steps of the theatre.” What I see is a path made by a bulldozer through volcanic ash forming banks at either side over 3 metres high. When we get near the volcano, its drone is that of a jet engine punctuated by swooshes and spews. The colossus periodically coughs up slabs of molten rock the size of mattresses. The landing thuds are terrifying. In this scorched landscape humans are scarce but for a group of dancers on a black lava dune being filmed for a promotional DVD. Not far away, a network of underground tunnels (that served as bunkers and hospitals for the invading Japanese during WW2) still keeps their musty secrets. Rabaul seems to be on fire as our ship pulls away. The 100 passengers onboard raise their champagne flutes to the smoky plumes against the setting sun. Retreating to the luxury of the staterooms to unpack for the duration of the trip in the comfort of air conditioning brings forward the bleak reality of thousands of displaced people. After a full day at sea, the flotilla of Zodiacs released from the Orion towards the Sepik River area is intercepted by crafts replete with well-wishers. One of the Orion’s expedition team has worked hard for their welfare and has been made a chief by the elders. We are ushered into Watam village by a millipede dragon powered by no less than 30 men. A carved blonde mermaid rides on its back representing the Orion benefactors. Villagers have thought hard about which dances to offer, as most are related to war preparations. What is produced, led by a bespectacled gentleman with the ubiquitous PNG betel-stained grin, is a grand display of feathers, rasta plaits, beads, shells, boar tusks and complex rhythms. The wilting sun makes the dancers’ red paint and coconut oil mix release a pleasant smell. Women carrying babies in multi-purpose billums (string bags) set up a cornucopia of artefacts (from wood carvings to penis gourds) which are quickly snatched by savvy travellers. A short flight from Madang deposits us in Goroka, deep in the Highlands. From there we are driven to the Asaro Valley, home of the Mudmen. Their stunning display used to instil the fear of the supernatural into their enemies. Clad in not much more than heavy clay masks (resembling old diving helmets), their bodies smeared in whitish mud, they silently emerge from the bush, gliding eerily through dappled light, bows and arrows at the ready. David Nokondi, a mission educated young man, as articulate as an old barrister, exposes the plight of the Highlanders, “In the old days, men knew what was expected of them in their universe. There was only one religion, one set of rules and a way of acquiring prestige and dignity within the tribe. Now there is not one but many religions, all claiming to be the only true one. There are many cultures, laws and more people than they ever imagined. There no longer is a way of being master of one’s world.” Our driver, a Chimbu man from the next valley, is married to a Japanese girl he met while enrolled in an agricultural development project in Japan. They live in Goroka. Their world’s have changed beyond their imagination. At the tiny airstrip shed, three wizened grandparents bawl their eyes out in grief. Their granddaughter has married an Australian and will make a home in Cairns. A visit to Tami Island showcases cultural cross-pollination between islands: carvings with Trobriand influences and masked dancers with a touch of Polynesian. Coral atolls abound in the area so armed with snorkelling gear we set out to find Nemo. Outrigger canoes transport the adventurous deep into the Oro Province (Oro means gold in Spanish, a reminder of their gold-rush era) to be welcomed by the Tufi villagers who create beautiful tapa cloth and weave pandanus bark ropes. The Orion glides into stunning orchid studded fjords. Further south, Fergusson Island is home to hot springs, bubbling mud and geysers while tiny Samarai Island, a spectre of her former self, still dreams of pearls and swift commerce. The nearby China Strait continues to haunt the locals with sightings of ghost ships and phantom lights. Onboard, signature degustation menus by Serge Danserau continue to defeat any plans for restraint while the Orion’s Plimsoll line sinks a little deeper at each port-of-call, after rolls of tapa cloth and giant wood carvings are carted onboard by happy hunters. Emerald green Alotau is where we sail away from the land of fires, sing sings and betel nut smiles, but not before paying respect to Australian War Memorials and casting a last underwater glimpse at coral colonised shipwrecks and rusty war barges barely surviving the ever powerful jungle stranglehold. | |||||
| Details: | |||||
| Orion Expedition Cruises | |||||
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