62 Papua New Guinea
With a cheer from the crowd surrounding a hut nearly buried in palm fronds, a precaution against the prying eyes of the village’ s women, the dragon charges drunkenly into the sunlight and humidity. Its face is the blood red of the betel nut chewers, its beard a flow of white cockatoo features, and its body a long, winding chain of feet that weave behind, stumbling blindly through the Sepik River mud. As it passes through thighhigh reeds and winds its way between towering coconut palms, villagers take turns to whip at the dragon’ s brown feet, while children watch on from the shade of stilted huts, saucer eyed. We din dins, or white people, follow at a discrete distance, as respectful as we are wary of the beast’ s precarious behind. At the centre of the village the dragon comes to a halt, and we are officially welcome.
Papua New Guinea is a funny place. Wild and remote, it’ s not everyone’ s idea of a tropical holiday destination. Its infrastructure is limited, its population tribal, its villages scattered up rivers, perched on mountain tops, or hidden away on pearl-like islands wreathed by coral gardens. Languages, traditions, and mythology change frequently as you traverse the ruggedly beautiful coastline or delve into the deep jungle of the highlands, and little has changed since the first missionaries arrived to find head hunting tribes, wild landscapes and a biodiversity like nowhere else. It was, and remains, one of the world’ s last frontiers.
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