Travels in New Guinea

The plan was to get up early and go birdwatching in the forest near the village. Perhaps we'd see Victoria's Astrapia, a rare bird of paradise known to frequent the Papuan Highlands at this altitude. The getting up early bit went according to plan. As I relieve myself in the outhouse, a square hole in the ground with a ten-foot pit beneath, my wallet (containing my passport, credit cards, cash in several currencies, travel insurance, and flight tickets) slides off my belt. I hear a resounding plop, then silence. Rapidly buckling up my shorts, I turn around, drop to my knees, and thrust my head into the hole. By the light of my head-lamp, I can see my wallet, floating like a baby turtle in a pond of slurry ten feet down. Shit. I get to my feet and scramble back up the mud steps to the hut where we're staying and hunt for a stick. There are sugar canes of suitable length, but these are bendy. I find a four-foot stick and reject that, too. I need two long, sturdy sticks. My

We stop dead in our tracks. Two men are sprinting towards us, one priming an arrow on his bow, the other brandishing a spear. They are splashed from head to foot in white war-paint and are naked but for the leaves covering their genitals. They brake in front of us, and, scowling and hissing, start lunging with their weapons. Nadya and I take a step backwards. Two women, one wearing a parrot-feather coronet and waving a bunch of marigolds, are hard on their heels. As the scouts retreat, we advance tentatively down the path to the village and hear singing voices. Some fifty people have gathered at the gate, a temporary construction of bamboo decorated with flowers, and they are of all ages and also plastered in white. A little boy takes two steps forward and holds up a sign. "Welcome to Maikmol." This is the fourth day of our first hike in the Highlands of Papua New Guinea. Our party is larger than expected. Paul Riss, the guide I communicated with via email from Australia