The heart can not taste what the eyes have not seen. — Brazilian proverb
Up and at it early. No time to enjoy the extra hour of sleep provided by setting our clocks back an hour. Attended my home church, Sonrise church in Auburn. Was blessed by one of the members and church leaders, Paul Harman, graciously loaning me one of his Canon lenses to take as a worst-case backup in case something happens to my lenses and primary camera. Hopefully his lens will stay safely sealed in a zip lock bag wherever my accommodations happen to be, but I came home and promptly added his lens to my existing insurance rider with State Farm.
Despite all of my planning and preparation, I ended up staying up all night to complete my packing and do a bunch of "paper work" -- paying bills, writing checks, sending emails, etc. My big, main bag is bulging with gifts for missionaries and other stuff that I will (fortunately) not have to bring home! The bag is 11 pounds overweight according to my understanding and I'm concerned that the bag, purchased largely because it was light for its size, won't stand up to the task before it. Likewise my specially modified carry-on "briefcase" containing project-critical equipment (camera, lenses, flash, computer, AC adapter, portable back-up hard disk, etc.) weighs in at ~24 lbs - seriously over the Air New Zealand 15 lb combined max for both allowed carry-on items. I'm very concerned and in fact embarrassed by the serious overweight.
Jeff, my landlord, was crazy enough to agree to take me to the train, so off we went at 0550 to get me to the first train (6:35AM) leaving Auburn for the San Francisco Bay Area. Before I jumped on the train, it was a special blessing when Jeff took the time to pray with me for this trip and to begin it "on the right foot."
During the train trip, I completed more paperwork and a couple small tasks, but it was already becoming evident that sleep deprivation was going to seriously impact my big plans to use the travel time efficiently. My functionality was pretty much reduced to physical tasks: as long as I was moving or vertical I was OK, but anything sedentary quickly deteriorated into dozing off or re-reading the same paragraph multiple times to try to learn whatever I was reading about.
In Richmond I transferred from the train to BART. The overweight baggage was already becoming unwieldy to move on/off transportation, up/down stairs, etc.
My total travel time from Auburn to San Francisco International was only about 5 hours and relatively inexpensive. I found it a great alternative to driving and the whopping parking fees which await your return.
Arriving early at San Francisco airport -- one of my least favorite airports mainly because of its size and expense -- I discovered a much improved and expanded terminal since my last flight several years ago. It's so huge it seems to be a city unto itself. I had plenty of time to list and register all of my equipment (and Paul's lens) with US Customs to ease customs issues throughout my trip, mail some stuff, and call and say good bye to several people, though I was bummed by not being able to reach Stephen.
Nearing the 4PM check-in time, I locked myself in a men's room stall and put on quite a show ... if only you could have seen me. According to a carefully devised plan, and under everything but my T-shirt, I placed my notebook in a thin red backpack, the straps carefully adjusted to avoid being seen. Over that I wore a long-sleeved shirt with large cargo pockets stuffed with equipment from my "briefcase." I also crammed two months worth of medications in zip-lock bags into a "game pouch" across the back of the shirt. Then I donned a VietNam era olive drab military field shirt with 4 huge bellows-type cargo pockets -- contrary to considerable previous advice to avoid military-style and color clothing (primarily for Latin American and African destinations). I proceeded to distribute almost the entire balance of the contents of my "briefcase" in those pockets and the 4 additional cargo pockets in my pants. I was hot and looked lumpily-pecular, but I now technically met Air New Zealand's carry-on restrictions -- they don't care (within some sort of reason) how much you wear on as long as it's in clothing, not in a backpack or some such.
I waddled to the Air New Zealand check-in line fearing that my pants would fall down before I got there; waited, sweated, and prayed through it; and was almost disappointed that they didn't even weigh either of my carry-on bags. They didn't even charge me for excess weight for my checked piece, though they certainly knew. Despite weighing the bag and nearly tipping over when he picked it up, all the agent did was put a "heavy" tag on it -- you'd better believe it!
Next stop, the infamous security check point. It seemed to take an eternity as I removed layers of clothing, emptying pockets of my photo and computer equipment as I peeled. I think I filled something like five of those bins with clothing and equipment as I waived passenger after passenger past me, but I finally went through that checkpoint without incident.
Finally aboard the Air New Zealand Boeing 777, I was privileged to enjoy both the airline and the aircraft for the next 13+ hours enroute from San Francisco to Auckland. Air New Zealand far exceeds any American airline on which I've flown. The plane was immaculately clean; their seats are comfortable with plenty of leg room; and they serve meals, not just peanuts or trail mix. I thought the dinner and breakfast they served were excellent -- especially because I didn't have to cook them myself! And despite my problem sleeping on planes, I even managed to grab a few winks.
In the course of those 13+ hours we crossed the equator and the dateline, skipping Tuesday. We arrived before dawn in an overcast Auckland where I had a 4-hour layover. A captive in the security-screened transit area, I bought a few outrageously priced post cards and, after picking myself up off the floor, also bought a few stamps to let a few back home know that I had made it safely this far on my journey. By the time I boarded the next Air New Zealand Boeing 777, it had begun to sprinkle.
The flight to Brisbane Australia was short (only 3.5 hours), pleasant, and Air New Zealand served yet another delightful meal. Because of the time difference we appeared to have arrived under cloudy morning skies in Brisbane only a half hour after we had left.
Then the fun started.
As some know, I have had bad experiences with several customs/immigration authorities around the world, Australia being one of the worst (even compared to the former Soviet Union). I even had people praying for my attitude this time. Nevertheless, and despite all of my research, the Aussie customs agents confiscated two mini screwdrivers, claiming that absolutely no tools were allowed in carry-on baggage. (Screwdrivers with shafts up to 7 inches long are allowed by TSA so I had no problem with the inspections departing San Francisco.) However, they could not tell me where those regulations were spelled out; I was just supposed to know. I managed to hold my tongue, but it took awhile to get my blood pressure back to normal. (Around the dinner table at the missionary guest house in Port Moresby, I heard similar stories about Australian customs from multiple missionaries from different countries.)
No sooner had I exited customs/immigration than I learned that the Air Niugini (New Guinea) flight from Brisbane to Port Moresby was delayed 4.5 hours.
I spent the next 8.5 hours confined in the security-screened transit area -- I wasn't about to face those security dudes again. Now severely sleep-deprived, I couldn't do anything productive, but struggled to stay awake for fear that I'd fall into such a deep sleep I'd miss my plane to Moresby. While waiting, I should have, but didn't exchange any money into New Guinea kina (paper money) nor buy a telephone calling card. I did try to call the Mapang Missionary Home in Port Moresby to tell them I'd be late and to get directions for getting there and a late arrival, but had to leave a message. I also sent them an email message from an internet kiosk advising them that I'd be late.
At the boarding gate, I met a cute little 2-year-old girl from New Guinea bubbling with energy, joy, and probably not a little mischief. We talked a bit and she even serenaded me with a verse of "Old McDonald." But about 15 minutes prior to boarding, I finally fell asleep, so soundly in fact that I didn't even hear the boarding announcement from the desk only a few feet my chair. Fortunately, the little girl's mother awakened me or I might still be sleeping in that chair -- the 2007 version of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.
Suffice to say that I did make the plane -- an Oz Air (apparently a small Australian airline) 737 -- and after a bumpy flight, with dinner mind you, arrived in Port Moresby about 5 hours late. ... so late in fact that customs and immigration had to stay late just for our flight. I arrived without any New Guinea money or a calling card required to operate most of the phones in the country. Even then, I believe that God was looking out for me:
I only had to wait about 10 minutes for my cab. Interestingly, a driver and a "shotgun" minus the shotgun, seem to be in every Port Moresby cab, at least after dark. Apparently there's substance to Port Moresby's reputation for being a dangerous place. At long last I arrive at the Mapang Missionary Guest House in Boroko, a suburb of Port Moresby about 11PM.
Where am I?
I hate arriving at a new place in the dark. I lose my sense of direction and have no idea where anything is relative to anything else. Fortunately, the cab driver knew right where to go.
I woke up much refreshed. I think I'm alive! :-) Then I got my first look at the Mapang Missionary Guest House managed and hosted by New Zealand missionaries Wally and Jeannette Hagoort. It's a well-maintained rambling single story building built about four feet off the ground on stilts. The grounds include a children's play area and are covered with a variety of tropical plants. A decidedly unfriendly high fence surrounds the entire compound and a locked gate with a 24-7 guard greets each visitor.
I met and had breakfast (provided as part of the room fee) with a Japanese missionary named Motu Nagura. He is in the middle of a 3-year mission term with the Salvation Army, working on numerous community improvement projects (drilling a community well, developing a water pipeline, installing a community septic system, etc.) in a small, remote town in PNG.
Motu severely injured his back (they think it's a herniated disk) and is staying in Port Moresby while being treated at local medical facilities. The poor man hobbles around, nearly bent in half by the pain. He had already scheduled a "furlough" return to Japan on 24 November, prior to this injury and will probably have to wait that long to get any concrete treatment. It sounds like they're mostly treating the symptom with pain killers here.
I was privileged to pray for the Salvation Army's worldwide ministry, Motu, and his quick recovery. Will you join me in praying for his healing?
Then I met Nick, an Australian house painter, who visits PNG about two times per year, and stays for about a week or two while he preaches on the beaches, in the markets, or anywhere else the Lord leads him.
For my first outing into Port Moresby, I accompany the hostess to the bank to exchange some money and to the grocery store to help her shop for the next week's worth of groceries for the continuing stream of guests. Let's see, I think it was 18 loaves of bread...
Despite my pleas and whines, she warns me quite sternly that I must not go into the markets, or numerous other places I'd identified, with my cameras unless accompanied by at least one burly, mean-looking body guard. BIG BUMMER.
That afternoon I met my new roommate, Jamie. He's a young, single SIL pilot/mechanic who graduated from the same missionary aviation program I was enrolled in at Moody Bible Institute. Jamie has served for nearly two years here as a mechanic. He was headed home to Wisconsin for a short vacation and plans to return before I leave PNG, so I hope we'll meet while I'm at the SIL headquarters in Ukarumpa during my last week in PNG.
We walked past one of the markets -- me, naked and whining without my camera -- to do an errand for Jamie. Along the way I noticed and asked Jamie about the numerous red splatters along the sidewalks. It was my first exposure to the wide-spread use of, and addiction to, betel nut, called buai in Pidgin. The nut of the areca palm is chewed with lime and produces large volumes of bright red saliva to produce a mild narcotic and digestive stimulant. The lime is highly caustic and can cause ulcerated cheeks and mouth and throat cancers. In addition, long-time users get badly stained teeth -- first red and then black. Sounds really great, huh?
At dinner I got to meet Jim, a strong Christian politician (yes, they do exist) from Goroka, and Ann, a British accountant with MAF (Missionary Aviation Fellowship) Australia.
Jamie leaves for the US at 0430. I think he was so excited he hardly slept last night.
I'm fortunate that I seem to be very mildly affected by jet lag; my body clock seems to have adjusted quickly to the new time.
I'm having difficulty making contacts and getting transportation here in Moresby to get the photos I need. Without a bodyguard, I'm basically confined to the fenced compound and beginning to feel more like a prisoner than a photographer. All I've done is sit around -- not what I came here for.
It takes me two phone cards, but I finally make contact with Pastor Garona, the local pastor I'm to photograph for ABWE, and arrange to take photos of him and his church on Sunday morning before departing for Goroka.
I also make arrangements with a Christian tour guide to take me around the city Saturday. Most of the areas are safe, but I'll enlist the aid of Pastor Garona's 25-year-old son as a body guard. It's gonna cost way more than I had budgeted, but my time here is basically wasted photographically otherwise.
One positive aspect of being stranded though, is that missionaries from several mission agencies continue to stream through Mapang. So far I've met missionaries from MAF, New Tribes, SIL, and The Salvation Army, as well as churches and individuals. I try to meet and talk to each one and really enjoy getting to hear their stories, their ministries, their hearts, their dreams. It's truly inspiring.
This afternoon I met Tom Palmer and his wife, Corrine, missionaries with New Tribes. I asked Tom how long they'd been in PNG.
He replied, "We've been here for awhile."
Pressed for specifics, he admitted to 50+ years. The Palmers met and married in PNG and have raised their children here. Two of their children are now missionaries -- one in PNG and the other in Russia. Tom is headed to Australia for cataract surgery and then plans to return to Lae where he and his wife are working on an update to the New Testament they translated into a PNG dialect early in their career.
It's almost dinner time so I'm looking forward to meeting some of the new guests who have slipped in this afternoon.
Finally get out of "jail" to take photos! Hire local Christian tour guide Fabian Ninik and Pastor Garona's son Baker to take me on a tour of the Port Moresby and to be my body guards.