Finding my feet
It didn't last very long. I have sustained a rather innocent injury and shed my first drop of blood in PNG. And it wasn't at another fighting-for-cattle-stations game of Netball either. I got head-butted. By a three year-old. And now have a nice fat (and sore) lip to vouch for it. Serves Aunty Liz right for tickling me to a point where I have giggled all the air possible from my lungs...
After a wonderful day meandering through Port Moresby (or rather violently zigzagging across streets avoiding pot-holes you could hide in - literally!), enjoying a latte and a pizza (yet again) down at Ela Beach, visiting local fruit and veg markets (clasping onto everything you own that has any value) then heading to one of PNG's top resorts for ice cream, you'd think my somewhat succulent Sunday would've liked to end without bloodshed. But hey, the price you pay for being the novelty children's playground. Tsk. Tsk.
Lesson 6: When packing for an adventure in PNG, yes don't forget your mozzie net, tube of Vegemite and cotton underwear, but most importantly don't forget your head-butt proof mouth guard or helmet - personal preference applies.
(I continue ignoring chronological design) Many of my waking hours last week were spent at the TPA office reading, editing and re-reading which in hindsight doesn't seem worthy of my considerable exhaustion levels by Friday, but all the same I was dog-tired. Friday evening at Geoff's (a welcome habit) brought little relief as partying was on the cards. My polite refusal (does falling asleep at the dinner table count as polite?) to head out to Lamana again aided in my swift lift back to my compound which has now become a semi-home of sorts. The combination of setting up camp in a new country and continual broken sleep 'forced' me to go against my rather ingrained grain and take it easy this weekend.
A sleep-in Saturday morning (with no a tsunami warning in sight or echo) was very, very welcome. The maid coming in to change my sheets, not so much. But, she does look after my Teddy-bird and puts him back on my bed everyday after making up my bed, so she is forgiven. A 'lazy' walk to the shops (never really lazy - vigilant and a donkey on edge all the time - as if I need Morseby to assist with this!) and a look around the markets dissolved the majority of my morning. Chickpeas, tuna, carrots and beetroot from the store and a shell necklace for 1 kina (~50 cents) lined my bilum but all bargains were eclipsed when I literally stumbled upon these pikinini (children) selling mangoes for 60 toea each. THAT'S 30 CENTS!! And they're out of season! In season, I'm told, they will be much cheaper.
Lesson 7: Don't message your boyfriend and tell him that you just ate the sweetest, juiciest mango EVER, especially when you're in a foreign country for two years by yourself. If the time frame and distance won't kill him, the thought that the mango itself cost less than the cost of the text message to communicate this, will...
Meanwhile, back on level 5 in the MMI Building Moresby-town, I continue to wait for my departing flight to my island (and ultimate) destination. Unfortunately my employer is yet to find an appropriate home for me so I sit, wait and watch. At this stage Friday looks like a winner and if all else fails I'll be having to sweat it out in one of the resorts in Kokopo... Damn!
Without ignoring the appropriate use of a pun, I have found my feet... again. Coming to terms with this place, which undoubtedly has it's sharp edges, has been one hell of ride thus far. Having found my feet enough to walk by myself through the streets of Moresby has not only lead me to discover a beautiful green frog but a hidden confidence within myself.
And if the green frog wasn't enough, upon return of this self-reflective walk through town, I found my feet! Confused? Well, with this humidity and near-paranoid consumption of water, my feet had swollen almost beyond recognition.
Lesson 8: When you need to 'find your feet' take yourself on a walk. Upon reflection the answer lies within - metaphorically, and literally.
After a wonderful day meandering through Port Moresby (or rather violently zigzagging across streets avoiding pot-holes you could hide in - literally!), enjoying a latte and a pizza (yet again) down at Ela Beach, visiting local fruit and veg markets (clasping onto everything you own that has any value) then heading to one of PNG's top resorts for ice cream, you'd think my somewhat succulent Sunday would've liked to end without bloodshed. But hey, the price you pay for being the novelty children's playground. Tsk. Tsk.
Lesson 6: When packing for an adventure in PNG, yes don't forget your mozzie net, tube of Vegemite and cotton underwear, but most importantly don't forget your head-butt proof mouth guard or helmet - personal preference applies.
(I continue ignoring chronological design) Many of my waking hours last week were spent at the TPA office reading, editing and re-reading which in hindsight doesn't seem worthy of my considerable exhaustion levels by Friday, but all the same I was dog-tired. Friday evening at Geoff's (a welcome habit) brought little relief as partying was on the cards. My polite refusal (does falling asleep at the dinner table count as polite?) to head out to Lamana again aided in my swift lift back to my compound which has now become a semi-home of sorts. The combination of setting up camp in a new country and continual broken sleep 'forced' me to go against my rather ingrained grain and take it easy this weekend.
A sleep-in Saturday morning (with no a tsunami warning in sight or echo) was very, very welcome. The maid coming in to change my sheets, not so much. But, she does look after my Teddy-bird and puts him back on my bed everyday after making up my bed, so she is forgiven. A 'lazy' walk to the shops (never really lazy - vigilant and a donkey on edge all the time - as if I need Morseby to assist with this!) and a look around the markets dissolved the majority of my morning. Chickpeas, tuna, carrots and beetroot from the store and a shell necklace for 1 kina (~50 cents) lined my bilum but all bargains were eclipsed when I literally stumbled upon these pikinini (children) selling mangoes for 60 toea each. THAT'S 30 CENTS!! And they're out of season! In season, I'm told, they will be much cheaper.
Lesson 7: Don't message your boyfriend and tell him that you just ate the sweetest, juiciest mango EVER, especially when you're in a foreign country for two years by yourself. If the time frame and distance won't kill him, the thought that the mango itself cost less than the cost of the text message to communicate this, will...
Meanwhile, back on level 5 in the MMI Building Moresby-town, I continue to wait for my departing flight to my island (and ultimate) destination. Unfortunately my employer is yet to find an appropriate home for me so I sit, wait and watch. At this stage Friday looks like a winner and if all else fails I'll be having to sweat it out in one of the resorts in Kokopo... Damn!
Without ignoring the appropriate use of a pun, I have found my feet... again. Coming to terms with this place, which undoubtedly has it's sharp edges, has been one hell of ride thus far. Having found my feet enough to walk by myself through the streets of Moresby has not only lead me to discover a beautiful green frog but a hidden confidence within myself.
And if the green frog wasn't enough, upon return of this self-reflective walk through town, I found my feet! Confused? Well, with this humidity and near-paranoid consumption of water, my feet had swollen almost beyond recognition.
Lesson 8: When you need to 'find your feet' take yourself on a walk. Upon reflection the answer lies within - metaphorically, and literally.
Great post Eab!! :)
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