For those seeking the ultimate adventure in natural surroundings, a recommended place that has captured the imagination of many travellers is the Sepik River Region, located on the north coast of Papua New Guinea.

Here you will find everything from ancient cultures and traditional arts and crafts to exotic birds and wildlife including crocodiles. A popular tourist activity is river canoeing, using motor-powered traditional canoes. The region is world-renowned for the 1,100-kilometre long Sepik River, its ancient and primitive arts and is considered Papua New Guinea’s equivalent to the Amazon and the Congo rivers.

The mere mention of the word the Sepik also conjures up images of the secret men’s house, the haus tambaran but its best-kept secret is the Sepik Blue (Dendrobium lasianthera), a species of orchid that is endemic to this region.

But the Sepik is much more than just the river, its people and arts. It’s about magnificent coastlines with white sandy beaches, beautiful volcanic islands, tropical rainforests, grassy plains, high plateaus and plenty of war history.

The region’s provincial capital and centre for commerce and an international airport is Wewak, a coastal town littered with remnants from World War 2 and the only major town in PNG with a white-sandy beachfront, perfect for swimming, light surf and as a perfect anchorage for visiting yachts.

The Sepik River region’s fame and importance is largely due its richness in art and the river itself serves as a source of inspiration and influence for its people, their lifestyle, traditional beliefs, customs and art forms, reflected in statues, masks, neck-rests, stalls, hooks, shields, baskets, pottery and skin cutting.

Sepik art is known to be richer and having more variety than any other region in the Oceania Region. The main area that is rich in art is the middle river region, a densely populated area with nearly 30 large villages of the Iatmul language group people. Tucked away in this corner of Papua New Guinea is the small river village of Aibom that has captured the attention of the ceramic world with their masterpieces of pottery. Many potters and researchers from around the world visit the Aibom pottery village every year.

From the air, the Sepik River and its many tributaries and estuaries looks more like a collection of brown snakes of numerous sizes, meandering over the forests floor for 1,100 km on its way to the Bismark Sea.

The Upper Sepik is mountainous and known for its insect cults while the Lower Sepik is primarily swampland and its people’s life and culture is based around their relationship with and reverence for the crocodile.

The Middle and Lower Sepik experience seasonal floods that come as a blessing because they sweep hard wood logs down-stream that are collected and used as material for building houses and carvings. Up and down the river, people make use of the rising river levels to move between villages, attend to their clan and tribal obligations and trade fish, sago and clay pots.

Wewak is a spread-out town and is clogged in places by swamps and mangroves and has an extensive mountain range as its backdrop. For the holidaymaker, this is a scenic town and has its fair share of war history to tell. The town and surrounding hills are littered with remnants from the war. A must-see is Mission Hill that houses Japanese AA guns, the look-out at Boys Town and Wom War Memorial Park, the site of the Japanese surrender in WWII.

Further out of town, a recommended stop is Maprik, south of Wewak and known for the haus tambaran and yam ceremonies and masks while Angoram is the best place to pick up Kambot storyboards.

For those wanting a feel of PNG’s own version of the sun, sand and the surf, there are many off-shore islands close to Wewak that are perfect for this activity, among them, Mushu Island which has some of the most pristine blue waters, high pounding waves and unexplored coral reefs in PNG.

North of Wewak, the volcanic island of Kairuru is worth exploring. The main area of focus is the Catholic mission station and school and there is enormous potential for nature-based and adventure activities. You can trek following traditional gardening routes or if you would rather stay close to the sea, there is snorkelling or you can choose to observe thermal springs or take a hike to a beautiful natural lake in the island’s mountainous interior.

The author, Steven Mago is a journalist, travel writer and tourism promoter. He was born in Papua New Guinea but for the time being is living in Sydney. Steven can be contacted on: stevenmago@hotmail.com

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PLEASE NOTE NEW LOCATION

We will meet at the VFW Hall on Peace Street instead of the library on Common St.

The hall is across from the entrance to Cypress Bend Park where the April 2002 picnic was held.

Peace Street is between the library and the river off Common St. Turn on Peace Street – the Fairgrounds are across the street so you can only turn one way. There is a sign for the VFW hall on the corner. Go to the dead end (cemeteries on both sides) and turn right into the parking lot for the VFW hall.

Mark your calendars – Dates of future meetings: April 12th,

The VFW folks will open their bar so we will not go to the Hoity Toit after the meeting. If you like, bring some nibbles to share for conversation time following the meeting – since we will miss the peanuts from the Toit.

For more information about the Texas Branch: please Contact texas@globetrotters.co.uk or register for email updates at our website (click here) or call Christina at 830-620-5482

If anybody would like to enquire about meetings or help Christina, please contact her on: texas@globetrotters.co.uk

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This is Muir’s Tours most popular volunteer placement: the Przewalski horse was almost wiped out, when horse lovers decided to start a breeding programme from the few that remained in zoos. We now need to observe their behaviour in the wild – this is where you come in. We need you to walk and ride the steppe of Mongolia – watching and noting how they cope, as they learn to live in the wild.

Interested? Look at: Muir’s Tours Mongolia Przewalski Horse Volunteers

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If you enjoy writing, enjoy travelling, then why not write for the free monthly Globetrotters e-newsletter! The Beetle would love to hear from you: your travel stories, anecdotes, jokes, questions, hints and tips, or your home town or somewhere of special interest to you. Over 7,500 people subscribe to the Globetrotter e-news.

To see your story in cyber print, e-mail the Beetle with your travel experiences, hints and tips or questions up to 750 words, together with a couple of sentences about yourself and a contact e-mail address: Beetle@globetrotters.co.uk

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“So how did you get into such a mess anyway?” We both looked down at my bandaged knees and horrendously blistered feet, clogged with shreds of zinc tape. “It’s a long story.” “Well, you can tell it to me over a beer.”

Grégoire, a log cutter from Ortù, one of Corsica’s remotest villages, had picked me up at the bottom of the Liamone valley, hobbling north towards the pale grey needle peaks in the distance. This corner of the island’s wild interior, ringed by miles of granite mountains, is renowned as a nationalist bastion (the goatherd who gunned down the French governor a few years back is believed to still be at large in the hills hereabouts), and I was surprised to be offered a lift at all, let alone one to the end of the road.

“Just don’t talk politics”, my host warned me under his breath as we stepped into the village bar. Plied with draught chestnut beer and chasers of myrtle liqueur, I spilled out my story. In two months of rough walking, I’d run into one set back after another: knee injuries, nocturnal wild boar attacks, a mouth abscess, a mad dentist who’d broken an anaesthetic needle in my gum, and, finally, a root canal filling that had cost more than my flight.

.

“No doubt about it,” he nodded, “Evil Eye. Quelqu’un t’as fait la mauvaise oeuil, mon pote.” I’d read about the Eye – l’Occhiu – in old ethnographies – how it was believed someone could cast a malevolent spell with the wrong kind of look, a jealous comment, by saying how well your children looked or praising the appearance of your horse. But I didn’t see what any of this had to do with my blisters. “Don’t worry. I know someone who can sort you out. Come.”

Draining his glass, Grégoire led me back out into the glaring light of the square and through a series of alleys to an ancient stone house with pots of geraniums growing from oil tins on its window sills. A knock at the door was answered by an elderly woman with purple-tinted hair and a gleam in her eye. Grégoire muttered something in Corsican, and I was ushered into a shuttered front room that smelt of church and wood smoke.

The woman, Grégoire explained, was a Signatora, a “Sign-Maker”. “She’s going to find out if you’ve got the Eye.” I watched as a candle was lit, a shallow bowl filled with water and drops of oil poured into it. Closing her eyes and lowering her head, the Signatora then began to murmur verses in what sounded like Latin, pausing every now and again to make the sign of the cross over the bowl. After two or three minutes, Grégoire’s eyebrows raised steadily as, on the surface of the water, the unmistakable form of an eye began to take shape. There were knowing looks and more exchanges in Corsican. “She’s going to cut some of your hair, to break the bad spell later,” he said enigmatically. “Don’t, whatever you do, thank her, ok?” So I merely smiled and waved goodbye as we stepped back into the sunlight of the street.

Now, I’m not a great one for superstitions. But I have to admit that from the time I left that old lady’s house I felt unburdened in some profound way. Suddenly life felt like a freshly oiled bicycle wheel again. Having said farewell to Grégoire (being careful not to thank him either) I flew through the forest to the top of the valley and the mountain hut I’d limped down from a week before, and polished off the rest of the infamous GR20 haute route in a week, without so much as a twinge from teeth or toes. More amazing still, waiting for me at the refuge after I’d left the Signatora, munching his way through a packet of Hobnobs and a cup of PG Tips, was my old flat-mate from college, who’d just happened to have arrived – a chance in a million.

Who says there’s no magic left in travelling?

©First Published in Wanderlust magazine, 2002. David is the author of the Rough Guide to Corsica (now in its fourth edition) and the Trailblazer Guide to Trekking in Corsica.

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