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Michael Moran - Beyond the Coral Sea: Travels in the Old Empires of the South-West Pacific

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Michael Moran Beyond the Coral Sea: Travels in the Old Empires of the South-West Pacific
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East of Java, west of Tahiti and north of the Cape York peninsula of Australia lie the unknown paradise islands of the Coral, Solomon and Bismarck Seas. They were perhaps the last inhabited place on earth to be explored by Europeans, and even today many remain largely unspoilt, despite the former presence of German, British and even Australian colonial rulers. Michael Moran, a veteran traveller, begins his journey on the island of Samarai, historic gateway to the old British Protectorate, as the guest of the benign grandson of a cannibal. He explores the former capitals of German New Guinea and headquarters of the disastrous New Guinea Compagnie, its administrators decimated by malaria and murder. He travels along the inaccessible Rai Coast through the Archipelago of Contented Men, following in the footsteps of the great Russian explorer Baron Nikolai Miklouho-Maclay. The historic anthropological work of Bronislaw Malinowski guides him through the seductive labyrinth of the Trobriand Islands of Love and the erotic dances of the yam festival. Darkly humorous characters, both historical and contemporary, spring vividly to life as the author steers the reader through the richly fascinating cultures of Melanesia. Beyond the Coral Sea is a captivating voyage of unusual brilliance and a memorable evocation of a region which has been little written about during the past century.

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For my mother who saw this voyage begin but not end and the children of Papua - photo 1

For my mother who saw this voyage begin but not end and the children of Papua New Guinea so full of energy and eternal delight

I have always thought the situation of a Traveller singularly hard. If he tells nothing that is uncommon he must be a stupid fellow to have gone so far, and brought home so little; and if he does, why it is hum aya a tap of the Chin; and Hes a Traveller.

WILLIAM WALES

Astronomer and Meteorologist

Captain Cooks Second Voyage in the Resolution

Journal 13 May, 1774

If you dress well they wont eat you Wallace said - photo 2

If you dress well they wont eat you Wallace said He shuffled the cards - photo 3

If you dress well they wont eat you Wallace said He shuffled the cards - photo 4

If you dress well they wont eat you Wallace said He shuffled the cards - photo 5

If you dress well, they wont eat you! Wallace said.

He shuffled the cards with the stump of his right arm, beginning another interminable game of patience. The light was failing, the atmosphere oppressively hot and humid as the cards flapped on the bare table. Local boys glanced in darkly as they passed the flyblown screens covering the louvred windows. They were interested in the visitor and craned for a better view. A wretched poster of Bill Clinton greeting King Harald V of Norway hung at a crazy angle from the flaking wall.

We thought you were Gods.

His rippling, grey hair caught the sun and he smiled, teeth showing the past ravages of chewing betel nut. Wallace Andrew was a distinguished personage with a heart of gold. This virtue had brought him many misfortunes in life. He began to hum the hymn All Things Bright and Beautiful.

Such a lovely tune, dont you think? Young people today have abandoned proper hymns.

The ceiling fan was motionless, the air thick and still. A pretty village woman with an ancient profile began to hurriedly set the table for dinner, laying out cutlery, bananas, pineapple and some lurid green cordial in a glass jug. She covered it with mesh. Malarial mosquitoes had already begun to ride the last shafts of sunlight in the dusk. Napoleon will be here at seven. They will come directly from the chamber and then go out again, she said in excellent English, clearly for my benefit. They generally spoke the Suau language in the islands around Milne Bay in Eastern Papua New Guinea.

Fine men. Like my grandfather, a fine man, Wallace noted sadly, another fast game of patience in progress in the gloom. He adopted a consistently high moral tone in all his conversations and talked often of selfless Christians.

Charles Abel, one of the first English missionaries, always wore a bow tie, white shoes, starched shirt and trousers. He was never kai kaid because they respected him. His wife came from England too. She delivered a village baby after they landed and her white dress was soon covered in blood. They didnt eat her. She helped them.

Wallace was, after all, the grandson of a cannibal and an expert on matters of cannibal etiquette.

Two men carrying folders dragged open the grill on the front door and entered the main room. They glanced quickly and expectantly at the deserted bar but it had been some time since any festivities of an alcoholic or social kind had taken place there. They greeted Wallace. He stood up full of respect and pleasure that government ministers had chosen to be guests at his establishment.

We go up, then come down to eat, then go out.

The brevity of their speech was almost aggressive as they noticed the white stranger in their midst. The assertive masculinity of Melanesian culture. Their dark features could scarcely be seen as they climbed the central flight of a once-grand staircase that branched into two wings of remarkable austerity and dilapidation. Their bare feet made only the slightest sound like large cats padding about. Floorboards creaked overhead and doors slammed. Silence apart from the worn cards softly slapping one over the other. Wallace scarcely glanced at the deck as he deftly adjusted his amputated arm, leaning slightly to one side, gathering them in.

You can walk around the whole island in the moonlight. Its beautiful. Even if you are drunk nothing will happen to you here not like the hell of Alotau!

Wallace was full of trust in his fellow man yet he had suffered many betrayals. Tropical foliage spun by the moon appealed to my sense of romance, but this particular night was pitch black.

Fluorescent lights cruelly illuminated the dining room. The Kinanale Guesthouse was in desperate need of refurbishment. During colonial days it had been the single accommodation for white employees of the Steamships Trading Company. Paintings of sailing ships and bush huts with strange watchtowers covered the larger cracks. A small lounge opened off the main room like a builders afterthought. Geckos darted in erratic motion across the stained walls. Dinah removed the mesh from the table. She laid out fish and taro on platters together with a jug of crystalclear iced water. A solitary bell sounded the hour over the football pitch, former cricket ground, former malarial swamp that lay before this once select building in the centre of the island. An air of abandonment and futility gave rise to a curious sense of threat and lethargy.

The government officials had changed into crisp shirts for the evening session and padded over to the table. Wallace, perhaps sensing their shyness, decided to introduce me.

This is Mr Michael from England. He is a famous man and wrote me a letter, searching the while in a battered briefcase. He produced the creased relic and began to read out loud, to my acute embarrassment. Dear Mr Andrew, your name was given to me by Sir Kina Bona, the High Commissioner in London and I

Their fierce expressions changed at once to broad smiles of extreme friendliness. But the visitors must always make the first move.

Wallace has been telling me all about your important government work. What are you doing on the island? I was tactfully pouring a glass of the luminous cordial so as to avoid appearing overly inquisitive. Wallace beamed from his proprietors perch.

Im Napoleon, Assembly Clerk for the Milne Bay Province and this is the Principal Adviser to the Provincial Government. Hes from Morobe Province. We are running a seminar for local councillors. Welcome to our difficult and beautiful country. The introductions seemed overly formal, even odd, in this place that had clearly seen better days.

I was on Samarai, a tiny island in China Strait that lies off the southeastern tip of Papua New Guinea, described before the Great War as the jewel of the Pacific. It was the original port of entry to British New Guinea and had been the provincial headquarters before Port Moresby. This gem lay on the sea route between China and Australia. The tropical enchantment cast by Samarai was loved by all who visited it. Destroyed by the Australian administration in anticipation of a Japanese invasion that never happened, it was now more like the discarded shell of the pink pearls still harvested nearby.

Having dinner with the descendant of a cannibal, a man who spoke reverentially and compulsively of the shedding of the blood of Christ whilst humming All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, was just the beginning of a cultural adventure through the largely unknown islands of Eastern Papua New Guinea.

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