Notes from a Spinning Planet—Papua New Guinea

by Melody Carlson

  We drive on around the north side of the island, taking a nice break at Sunset Beach, where we watch some surfers doing their thing. We cool off in the water, then catch some sun and a little rest.

  “So how are things with Ian?” I ask Sid as wè relax on the beach. I've been dying to ask her this since yesterday but didn't want to appear overly eager. Ian McMahan was my aunt s “true love” when she was about my age. They parted ways back in the seventies but then met up again just a couple of months ago while we were visiting Ireland. I had a little something to do with it, so naturally I'm interested in hearing how it s going.

  “We're staying in touch,” she tells me as she turns over onto her stomach.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “We e-mail pretty regularly…”

  “And?”

  “And…we'll see…”

  Okay, I'm thinking if I'm going to become a good journalist, I'll have to improve my investigative reporting skills. Still, there's time. I remind myself that Sid and I are spending two and a half weeks together.

  “And how's Ryan?” my aunt asks as she rolls over and peers at me from beneath her oversize dark glasses.

  I just shrug. “You should know,” I say offhandedly. “You've practically adopted him as your surrogate son, haven't you?”

  She laughs. “Of course. But how are things between you and Ryan from your perspective, Maddie? I got the distinct impression that you were interested in him just as we were leaving Ireland. Was there anything to that?”

  I shrug again. “I don't know.”

  “He told me you guys have been e-mailing each other too.”

  “Yeah. He's been encouraging me to transfer to the University of Washington. For journalism.”

  She chuckles. “Sounds like a great idea to me.”

  “I figured you'd think so since its your alma mater.”

  “It's a good school, Maddie. And, as I've said before, if you need to pinch pennies, you could stay with me in Seattle.”

  “Well, I've been seriously thinking about it, Sid.”

  “About ready to get off the farm?”

  I sigh. “Yeah. Ever since we went to Ireland, I've been thinking it's time for me to step out and try something new.”

  “How do your parents feel about it? Wasn't the plan for you to move on after finishing your sophomore year?”

  “Yeah, but I think they understand. Community college might be good for saving money, but the classes aren't all that challenging. I've already looked into transferring to the university for winter or spring semester.”

  “Cool.”

  “I heard it's easier to get in then since fall is when everyone else is trying to enroll.”

  “Makes sense.”

  After a litde snooze, we pile our stuff back into the car and head on around to Makaha Beach Park, where I snorkel for the first time. Sid gives me some lessons, reminding me again and again to “just relax.”

  “Focus on breathing through your mouth and relaxing,” she says. “And don't think about it too much, or you'll psych yourself out.”

  We go out a ways, and I do see a few fish, which are amazing, but the waves are pushing me around, and I manage to gulp down enough seawater to take the fun out of it.

  “We'll have to find a calmer spot,” she tells me after I fall down in the surf several times while trying to remove my flippers and extract myself from the waves. I'm ??? no one has a camera, since I must look like a total dork. Im sure I have about a pound of sand in my swimsuit too.

  “It was actually kind of cool for a little while,” I tell her, “but kind of overwhelming too.”

  “We'll go to Hanauma Bay tomorrow,” she says. “Its close to Honolulu, and it s supposed to be spectacular. Plus there's not much wave action.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We drive on around the island, finally stopping at Pearl Harbor and going onto the USS Arizona Memorial, which is sort of eerie and fascinating, % ghostly white structure that hovers over the place where the USS Arizona was sunk. Its hard to believe that eleven hundred young men about my age were killed here-or that their bodies are entombed in the sunken ship, which was attacked by Japan during World War II. There are a couple dozen other people at the memorial, but I notice one elderly woman in particular. Her hair is snowy white, and she's hunched over. She uses her walker to slowly navigate her way to a place where she can stand by herself. There she removes a lei of purple orchids from around her neck, then drops it over the side. She leans over and watches as it tumbles down and lands in the water. I can't help but wonder if her sweetheart was lost here. Was it a husband, boyfriend, nance? Obviously it was someone dear to her. I can see it in her face.

  Sid and I don't say anything as we leave the memorial. But I suspect she was just as touched as I was by the elderly lady.

  “We better get a move on,” she says as she starts the car.

  “What's the hurry?” I ask.

  “We have dinner plans,” she says with a mysterious grin. “Remember, it is your birthday, Maddie.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  So we go back to the hotel, and after a shower and short nap, Sid tells me to put on something nice but comfortable. Then we head downstairs and outside to where the sun is jüst going down and tiki torches are being lit. Music is playing, and something smells delicious.

  “It's a luau,” Sid tells me, “for your birthday.”

  “They're having a luau for my birthday?” I say in astonishment.

  She laughs. “Actually, they were already having a luau, but it was sold out. Then when I told them it was your birthday, they decided to make room for two more.”

  “Cool!”

  The food is incredible. The fruit is awesome-I've never tasted things like papaya or mango, but I totally love them. And the pineapple is amazing. But it's the kahuaptuia that really knocks my socks off. Basically it's pork that's cooked in a pit with seasonings, and it's fantastic. I wish my dad, the barbecue king, could learn to do pork like this. But there's more going on than just food. The music is great, and the fire dancing is spectacular, although this old dude at our table, who seems to know everything, explains that the whole fire thing isn't an authentic Hawaiian tradition but something they only do for tourists. Whatever. I think it's cool. Then I'm invited up to the front for hula lessons, which I'm not half bad at, and I'm only slightly embarrassed when everyone sings “Happy Birthday” to me.

  “Isn't this a little better than losing August 9 as we cross the International Date Line?” Sid asks as they bring the dessert.

  “Thanks so much,” I tell her. “This is a birthday I'll never forget!”

  The next morning we get up early to go snorkeling at Hanauma Bay, which is totally awesome. It s like swimming in a giant saltwater aquarium. Without the wave action knocking me around, I get the hang of snorkeling fairly easily this time. I never knew there were so many different kinds of fish (they say there are more than four hundred species here!), and we even follow a great big green sea turtle for a while. Very cool.

  Okay, there is one gloomy part of this day, at least for me, but I don't mention it to Sid. There's this guy hanging by the bathrooms who is obviously homeless and not well. He has on more clothing than a person needs on a warm day like this and open sores on his face, but what really gets me is the empty expression in his eyes. He looks totally hopeless. Sid manages to ignore him as she walks past, but I cant bear it. While I'm in the bathroom, I get a ten-dollar bill out of my purse and then, while Sid's still washing her hands, I slip out and give it to the man. He thanks me several times, and I say, “God bless you.” It is such a small gesture, and I don't know how ten bucks will help him much, except maybe to buy him a couple of cheap meals at McDonald's. I wonder what his story is. Maybe it's drugs or maybe something more. But I do know this: God loves that man, and even if he uses the money for the wrong thing, it wasn't wrong for me to give it to him. I think he just needed to see that someone cared, someone noticed him, he wasn't invisible. I
feel my eyes tearing up as I walk to the car.

  I pray for the homeless man as we drive to Iolani Palace, the only royal residence in the United States. Of course, no royalty has lived there since the island monarchy was overthrown, long before Hawaii joined the States, but you can see that this amazing home was filled with every modern comfort way ahead of its time. I think about the king and queen who once lived here and the wealthy-looking tourists who are visiting the beautiful palace today. What a contrast between them and the man back at the bathrooms. It's hard to grasp the whole haves-and-have-nots thing. But it makes me sad.

  All too soon it's time to say aloha to Oahu, and we head to the airport for our two fifteen flight.

  “That was so great,” I tell her after we make our way through security. “The best birthday present ever. Thanks, Sid.”

  “Good. I was ready for a little R and R myself.”

  Then I slap my forehead. “But I totally forgot to send postcards.”

  “Its not too late.” She points to a newsstand with a large selection of Hawaiian postcards, and I pick out several and buy stamps as well. Before we board our flight, I drop my quick notes into a mailbox.

  “Did you send one to Ryan?” Sid asks after we re seated in the plane.

  I give her a smirky litde smile. “Yeah. Just so happens I did.” Then I nod to her laptop, which she was using at the airport. “Did you e-mail Ian?”

  She gives me the same smirky smile back. And despite the fact that she's like thirty years older than me, I think we're a lot alike.

  “Next stop: Sydney, Australia,” says my aunt. Then she takes out a prescription bottle. “We don't want to forget our Makrone.”

  “Is that the malaria medicine?”

  She nods. “We'll wait until they bring us dinner. Its best to take it with food.”

  “How long do we take it?”

  “Two days before we get to New Guinea, which means we start today, and then every day we're there and for a whole week once we're back in the States.”

  “And that's it?”

  “That's it.”

  So we take our Malarone with our evening meal, and the flight is, thankfully, uneventful. But the weird part is that, despite losing one whole day (August 11) when we crossed the International Date Line, and despite the fact that this is considered an overnight flight and we all pull the shades down and tty to sleep, the sun never goes down. It's like the plane is chasing it around the world. So when we land in Sydney, it's eight in the morning, and there's the sun, still shining bigger than life. Bright and happy and ready for the “new” day.

  “Man, this has gotta be the longest day ever,” I tell Sid as we leave the plane.

  “And it's only going to get longer,” she points out.

  The plan is to spend one night in Sydney. Originally that was simply a convenient travel arrangement. But while we were in Hawaii, Sid had her assistant set up an appointment with someone. I know she's trying to figure out the direction her article will take. Like she says, it's one of those “flying by the seat of one's pants” articles. And I'm getting the impression that if John, her editor, weren't so emotionally attached to the country, she wouldn't have taken this assignment at all. Still, I think its exciting, and the idea of being in an exotic place like Papua New Guinea is fascinating. I can't wait to see what's ahead.

  “I'm meeting with the local director of USAID today,” she tells me as we stand on the airport sidewalk waiting for a taxi.

  “What exactly is that?”

  “It's an agency that works with developing countries like Papua New Guinea,” she says as she waves down a cab. “The director will fill me in on what's being done to slow down the AIDS epidemic there. Right now that seems to be the biggest story in that country. You're welcome to come along if you like. I have a feeling it'll be mostly facts and figures and probably a little on the boring side. So I'll understand if you want to skip it. Besides, I'm sure you're worn out from the flight.”

  “I didn't sleep too well,” I admit.

  “Well, let's get checked into the hotel first,” she says as we climb into the cab. “It's downtown and supposed to be very swanky.”

  I laugh, and the taxi driver says something to us, but I can't understand a word of it. I look at Sid, curious as to whether she can interpret this language, which I'm guessing is English, but his Aussie accent is so thick that it could be Swahili.

  “The Radisson Plaza Hotel,” she says to him.

  He says something back to her, and I still don't get it. But she seems to be doing just fine. “Downtown,” she tells him. And then he begins to drive.

  “How can you understand him?” I say quietly.

  “Yanks, are ya?” says the driver.

  “Yes,” says Sid. “Were Americans.”

  Then he says something that must mean “Where are you going?” And she says, “Papua New Guinea.”

  He makes a sour face. “Why d'ya wanna go thar?”

  Okay, I got that.

  She gives a quick explanation, and he makes some other comments that I cant completely get. But I can tell by his expression that he thinks were crazy. Oh well.

  After a while we're in the thick of downtown traffic, and finally he delivers us to a huge building, which Sid says is the Radisson. She pays him, and we get out.

  “This hotel used to be an important Australian company,” she informs me. “Its built like the Flatiron Building in New York. But now its a hotel and a very nice one at that.”

  I have to agree with her when wè enter the lobby. “This really is swanky,” I tell her as we walk over to the concierges desk.

  We get checked in and take showers, and then it's time for Sid to go to her appointment at the USAID place. “Here's a walking map,” she tells me. “There's a lot to see right near the hotel.”

  “Have you stayed here before?” I ask.

  “Sure, a couple of times. They have a great pool and spa, if you're interested. I should be back around two.” She sighs. “And then I might have to crash for a while myself.”

  I go back down with her, and then we part ways. She heads out in a taxi, and I, with walking map in hand, strike out to see a bit of Sydney. To stretch my legs a litde, I head out to the Sydney Opera House for starters. I've seen photos of it, but it's even better up close. It took seventeen years to build, but those huge white arches that resemble enormous seashells are well worth seeing in person. Then I walk through the Royal Botanic Gardens and past some historical buildings, although I'm not sure which is what, until I end up in a waterfront district called Woolloomooloo-I'm not making this up. Actually this area is very picturesque and has lots of unique little shops and galleries that I'm sure a person could spend days exploring. But I'm hungry, so I find a café and stop for some lunch.

  Eventually my feet start moving more slowly, and I'm feeling exhausted. I head up Art Gallery Road, which leads past some more famous sites on the way back, but I'm too tired to care. Fortunately, my walking map finally takes me back to the hotel, where I go up to our room and instantly sack out.

  Sid must've sneaked in while I was sleeping, and we both wake up around four in the afternoon. I'm wondering what time it is back in Washington. The chickens probably aren't even awake. But then I tell myself to just forget about it. There's no sense bothering yourself over time changes when you're away from home.

  “I think I'll check out that pool,” I tell Sid. “Maybe it'll help wake me up.”

  “I might join you,” she says, “after I do some more research and write some notes before I forget.”

  “Was it a good meeting?”

  She sighs. “I'm not sure. When it comes to the subject of the AIDS epidemic in Papua New Guinea, people seem to just throw up their hands and shake their heads like it's hopeless. It makes me wonder why John sent me over here. Well, except that he has such compassion for New Guinea. Did I mention that he spent a couple of years there with the Peace Corps during the sixties?”

  “I'm surprised h
e didn't want to come himself.”

  She makes a face. “I think he knew it was going to be a great big bummer.”

  “Well, maybe we'll be able to figure things out better once we get over there,” I say to reassure her.

  “I hope so. At least I have some connections when we get to Port Moresby. The woman I met with recommended a certain AIDS clinic that's supposedly making progress.” She sort of laughs. “Although the way the woman said it, I can't be too sure what she meant. I hope we're not gping on a fool's errand, Maddie.” She flops into a chair and lets out a dejected sigh.

  I feel a sense of heaviness as I go down to the pool. I can tell that Sid's discouraged, and suddenly I'm beginning to wonder just why we are going to Papua New Guinea. I mean, if the place is so hopeless that the experts are throwing up their hands and shaking their heads, well, what difference will it make whether Sid writes a great story or not? And that makes me wonder what difference it will make that I'm here with her. I hope she doesn't regret bringing me along now.

  And so as I swim some laps in the pool, I start praying. With each stroke, I ask God to do something miraculous for both of us in Papua New Guinea. I ask him to use me in a special way for Sid's sake. Maybe I'm just here to encourage her, or perhaps I really can help with her research. Or maybe I'll just carry her bags if she gets tired or even wash her feet if she needs it. I just want to do what! can to help her, and I pray that God will help me.

  THREE

  Iborrow Sid s computer to check my e-mail the next morning. To my dismay there is nothing from Ryan. In fact, I haven't received anything from him since we left home. I've only e-mailed him once these past few days-a sign of self-control since I don't like to come across as overly eager when it comes to guys-and I repress the urge to e-mail him again now. Still, it worries me a little that he hasn't written. And it bugs rne that it worries me. But I won't mention this to Sid.