my weekend: on the trek

“Little … is a friend of mine and it will be said that I put Little up to write the letter – as a matter of fact I knew nothing whatever about it, and, had I known, would have advised against it.” (Murray)*

Monday November 07 2005

Goroka

My Dear Friends

I owe you many apologies for not writing sooner. I have just returned from observing the Markham River and Finisterre slopes from the air. Finisterre’s hills are beautiful soft ripples, peaking and flowing like crumples in your doona. At one stage we had an excellent view of the river’s course along a slightly rising plain; three extensive plateaus were visible. There is little water at the moment and rather than merging as a single course it spreads, divides and branches; it was as if we were looking a the silvery silhouettes of trees.

I arrived here this morning after a very early start: 5:15am alarm. Daylight came at last, but by then I was at Lae’s mainland airport, a nice two hours before departure. Only one fellow passenger on board, though plenty of those damnable baby chickens again. Counted over 35 of boxes of them being loaded into the back of our cabin. (A curious thing: I am rather inclined to think this airline is a chicken courier first and passenger transport second.) For my own part, I am not quite so mad about the smell.

This flight came about due to an unplanned jaunt down to Lae. A chap was driving down on Saturday and offered to take me along. I have had enough of a fixed camp myself and would sooner be on the trek again, so I accepted eagerly. He is a very good sort, and a great pal of mine ’tho I do not often see him; clever and interesting and not a bit superior.

Lae is growing to be a town and one has to wear more clothes and entertain more than in the old days of flannel shirts and tinned meat. Saturday evening we went to a farewell bash for a friend returning to Australia. It was quite fun. The chums gave us tea and offered us pumpkins and other roast veg along with great curries and plenty of other drinks. The company was good; people here are interesting and keep you going all the time. Still, it must be said that this is a curious country with queer inhabitants both brown and white: also met a middle-aged version of Napoleon Dynamite (it tested the limits of my self-control not to laugh at how totally socially inept he was. That sounds bad I know, but – this really was Napoleon).

Yesterday was a day of recovery. Best that could be said was that I remained alive and out of gaol, and not yet bankrupt. Time passed with movies and a snooze.

I hope that in my next letter I shall be able to tell you that we are en route to Capetown – though really it’s not Capetown I’d like to be journeying towards today; perhaps … Brunei.

I trust that you can read this scrawl and hope that I have not bored you to extinction over my trip. With love to Z and the children –

Believe me, yours affectionately –

L

*Bold, italics = paraphrasing J.H. Murray, colonial administrator of New Guinea 1904 – 1940ish. Selected Letters of Hubert Murray. Ed. F. West. OUP 1970.