Notes from a Spinning Planet—Papua New Guinea (4 page)

“What?” I ask.

“See for yourself.”

I brace myself as I begin to read the computer screen. Sid s face looks dead serious, and Im wondering if she's having second thoughts about this trip. This is pretty disappointing since I've really been praying about everything, and despite the challenges I'm jazzed about what lies ahead. Like we re going to have this amazing adventure. No way do I want her to get cold feet and turn us back before we even get started.

She points to a section on the computer screen. “Read this.”

Feeling a little uneasy, I look back at Sid. “What does this really mean:

“It means that New Guinea is a dangerous place. More dangerous
than I realized. And now Fm feeling guilty that I didnt find out about this before bringing you here, Maddie. Your parents will kill me if anything happens to you.”

I sort of laugh. “Nothings going to happen, Sid.”

“Well, I just want you to be warned. We really need to be careful. Okay?”

“Yeah…and I read something about the roads not being too well maintained,” I tell her. “And then that bit about carjacking… Uh, do you still plan to rent a car?”

She frowns. “Fm not sure what I plan to do now. Well, besides giving John a big piece of my mind after we land-even if it is the middle of the night for him. He never shouldVe encouraged me to invite you on this trip.”

“We'll be okay,” I assure her. “And you should be glad that you brought me along. It sounds like you'd be even less safe if you were traveling alone.”

“Maybe…”

“And, really, Fm not scared,” I assure her. Although I do feel a litde concerned. I mean, that was an official government warning we just read. And the part about gang rape is particularly disturbing. For some reason I had assumed that New Guinea would be a lot like Hawaii, as in fun and interesting but certainly not dangerous. Now I realize this may not be the case. Fd like to ask Sid some more questions, but she already seems fairly upset. “Are you worried?” I finally ask.

“To be honest, I am, Maddie. John assured me this would be a 'great adventure,' but I left most of the basic online research to my assistant, and Fm not impressed with what I'm learning now.”

“You mean because I'm with you?”

She sighs. “I
do
feel responsible for you, Maddie. Maybe the responsible thing would be for me to change your ticket and send you home as soon as we land.”

“No,” I protest. “Please, don't even think about that, Sid. I want to do this. And, really, I'm not afraid. I think John's right-it will be a great adventure.”

She doesn't look convinced, but at least she smiles now. “Well, maybe we won't be totally on our own in the country. Yesterday the USAID director gave me the number for a certain Dr. Larson in Port Moresby. She recommended we contact him right away. She said he's lived there for years and will be glad to help us. I'll call him as soon as we land.” She glances around the plane, almost as if she's worried someone in here could be dangerous. I look around too, but the passengers seem perfectly harmless to me. They mostly look like businessmen, some Asian, some white, and some dark-skinned people who I assume are from Papua New Guinea. I also spy a young mother with two preschool-age girls who are so cute. I don't think there's anything to be concerned about here.

“Maybe they sensationalize those travel warnings,” I finally say, “just to keep the wimpy travelers out.”

She chuckles. “Meaning we're not wimps?”

I nod. “That's right.”

“Well, the USAID director gave me a couple of money belts to keep our passports and valuables in.” Sid pulls out her briefcase and fishes out a white item that sort of resembles a belt with a zipper pocket and hands it to me. “I only took them to be polite, but now
I'm thinking maybe we should use them when we get into New Guinea.”

“Okay.” I wrap the white band around my midsection and adjust the Velcro closure in front.

Sid laughs. “You're supposed to wear it
beneath
your clothes.”

“Oh yeah, right.” I discreedy make the proper adjustments, and soon we've placed our passports and other valuables safely beneath our clothes.

We land in Port Moresby just a little past noon. Sid still seems fairly agitated, and I try to maintain a calm exterior for her sake. But the truth is I'm starting to feel nervous too. I mean, sure, I can act all nonchalant, but I'm the novice traveler here. Sid's been everywhere, and she's
seen
all kinds of things. If this is bothering her…well, maybe I should be afraid too. Or maybe it's just the added concern that I'm here with her.

The openness of the airport reminds me of the one in Honolulu, only it s much smaller and appears to be not quite as efficient. There are slow-moving fans overhead, and people don't seem to be in any big hurry to get their bags as they meander down the short terminal. Of course, we soon discover why that is.

After waiting nearly an hour for our bags, Sid is getting antsy. “What could possibly take this long?” she asks. “This is a
tiny
airport.”

“It's typical,” says an Asian man who's been chain-smoking since we landed. “Island time.”

She nods. “Oh, well then.”

“Sid,” I begin carefully, “if I'm the reason you're feeling so worried, I wish you'd just relax. I totally trust your judgment. I mean,
you've traveled so much. You ve been in Iraq and Afghanistan, and I'm sure New Guinea is nothing compared to those places.”

She forces a litde smile. “Yes, you're right. Still, I can't help but feel protective of my only niece. And, trust me, I would ve
never
taken you to places like Iraq or Afghanistan. But I honestly thought this trip was relatively safe.”

“And it probably will be.”

“Probably.” Still, she doesn't look convinced.

“And you already left a message with the doctor,” I remind her. “So maybe we'll be hearing from him soon.”

“I hope so.”

“Want me to see if I can go find us something to drink?” I offer. I'm hot and thirsty, and the smell in here is starting to get to me. I'm not sure how to describe it except to say that it's sort of like dirty socks mixed with rotting fruit.

“No.” She firmly shakes her head. “Like I already said, I don't want you out of my sight just yet. And I don't want us to leave the baggage claim without picking up our bags.”

So we stand there and wait for another ten minutes. Finally a sloppy pile of luggage is rolled out on a big metal bin, and everyone rushes over at once, and it feels like a clumsy circus as we try to find our bags.

“I think someone has tampered with my bag,” Sid says in a quiet tone.

“How do you know?”

“I have a litde trick.” She glances over her shoulder. “I tie a piece of thread around the zipper pulls. If it's broken, well, you never know.”

I frown at her bag. “Is there anything valuable in it?”

“No, of course not.” She grins. “A seasoned traveler knows better than to check anything of value. That's why we have carry-on bags.”

“So can we get something to drink now?” I am so thirsty. I feel like I've been in the desert for days.

“Yes. First we'll exchange some money. You want to do that while I call for the hotel shuttle service?”

Sure.

She hands me a twenty. “Their dollars are called kinas, but I'm not sure what the exchange rate is.” Then she stands by our bags, making her phone call while keeping, her eyes on me as I head over to the exchange counter.

“United States dollars?” asks the man.

“I want kinas.”

He nods. “For United States dollars?”

“Yes.” Okay, I'm thinking that's obvious since I'm holding the bill in front of him, but whatever.

He pushes some buttons on a calculator, then takes my twenty and gives me back five bills with “10 Kina” on them and one that says “5 Kina,” along with some coins. Now I'm not really sure if this is right or not, but he also gives me a handwritten receipt that says “K57.75,” so I assume he knows what he's doing. Besides, it looks like a lot more than I gave him. Even so, I thank him.

He smiles and thanks me back as I gather up my kinas and go back to Sid, who is just finishing her phone call.

Then we go to a kiosk and buy two bottles of water, which cost ten kinas and aren't even refrigerated, but I'm so thirsty I don't really
care. We lug our bags outside, where its even hotter, and wait for the hotel shuttle. As we re standing out there, an unmarked car pulls up, claiming to be a taxi. The driver smiles and offers us a ride, and my aunt uses a polite but firm voice to refuse.

“You will wait a long time,” he says temptingly.

“We'll be fine,” she says back, waving the car away.

“Do you think he was a criminal?”

She shrugs. “Hard to say. But we're not taking chances.”

Finally a beat-up station wagon with a Port Moresby Travelodge sign painted on the side pulls up. The driver hops out with a big smile. He looks like he's not much older than I am.

“I think this is our ride,” says Sid, but I can tell she's still feeling uncertain.

“Where is the Travelodge located?” she asks the driver. I know she already has the address of our hotel, but I suspect this is her way of checking him out. Pretty smart.

“City center,” he says with an accent. Then he pulls a slightly worn business card from his shirt pocket. “Here is hotel phone number. Are you Missis Chase?”

She smiles at him, and I think he just passed her test. “Yes.”

So he loads our bags and opens the back door for us to get in. I feel myself sighing with relief as I sit down. Okay, this is probably the oldest and smelliest cab I've ever been in, but at least it seems to be legit. We leave the windows rolled down as he begins to drive, but the air is so warm and humid that it doesn't do much good in cooling things off.

One of the first things I noticed about Port Moresby, shortly after getting off the plane, was the smell. I wouldn't want to admit this, especially to anyone who lives here, but the smell reminds me of something rotten. It's sort of sweet, but not a good sweet, and at the same time it's sort of stinky. And the air is so thick with moisture, I'm surprised I can't actually see it. Still, I tell myself, I should be able to get used to this. After all, I grew up cleaning out horse and cow stalls. It's not like I'm not used to foul smells.

“Are you here for business?” asks our driver.

“Yes,” says Sid.

“Oh, good.” He nods.

“We're journalists,” she continues. “We write for a magazine.”

“You write?” he says with interest. “That's good.”

I smile to myself. It's nice that Sid's including me in this. I do plan to help her with research and writing, but I wonder if the taxi driver really believes that I could work for a big magazine like she does.

As he gets into city traffic, Sid's cell phone rings. Her side of the conversation leads me to believe it's Dr. Larson, and I feel a small wave of relief.

“We're just on our way to the hotel now,” she tells him. “As soon as we drop off our things, we'll come over to the clinic for a tour. Yes. Thank you so much. See you then.”

We pull up in front of a hotel, and the driver carries our bags into the lobby for us. Sid gives him a tip, and he responds with a bright smile, which seems more directed at me than her. She appears to notice this too and gives him a quick scowl, which I assume is some
kind of a silent warning. He backs off so quickly that I feel sorry for him. But when I see Sid s worried face, I feel even worse for her. Why cant she just chill?

“Sorry,” she tells me, “but we've just got to be really, really careful.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know.”

She checks us in, and we go up to a fifth-floor room that overlooks the city and the bay. It's actually a pretty nice view.

“Well, this is encouraging,” she admits as she looks around the neat room. “I think I was starting to expect the worst of everything.” She points to the small television. “Who knew?”

“This is going to be okay,” I tell her. “I've been praying about everything, and I really feel like God is with us, Sid.”

She nods. “I hope so.”

We change into cooler clothes, then head back downstairs for a late lunch. Just before three, Sid asks the concierge to call a taxi for us. This time the car that pulls up is clearly marked as a taxi, which is reassuring.

“Saint Luke's Clinic,” says Sid. The driver turns and glances curiously at her, then begins to drive.

The clinic is less than a mile away. I'm thinking we probably could've walked, but I suspect Sid wouldn't be comfortable doing that. Maybe I wouldn't either.

“Have you figured out the focus of your story yet?” I ask as we ride.

“That's what I'm working on. Other than the Stone Age meets the new millennium angle, John was pretty vague about this assignment. I guess I should be flattered that he trusts me so much. But I'm
starting to wonder if this was simply his attempt to get someone on the inside to uncover what s really going on here. I suspect he s heard some things that concern him, and he wants to find out if they are really true.”