Peanutbutter, Rice and Tuna

As I stand on the end of the dock in Seghe, the most southern point on New Georgia Island with all my worldly posessions straped to my back, I can feel hat all too familiar feeling ball up inside of my stomach. I recognize it instantly as a twinge of insecurity as I watch the Solomon Express slowly turn, and with a belch of unhealthy black soot, groan away from me. A desparate re-apprasal of our current situationmakes me think that maybe, just maybe, the information that my attorney and I gathered from that guidebook that shall remain nameless, about Seghe being the "communications hub of the Morovo Lagoon", may be a bit overstated. It was only later that we found out that buy "communications hub" the author of "that guide book" must have ment word of mouth. Seghe had not an internet connectio nor a telephone. Hell, it didn't even have one of those nifth tincan and string phones that worked so well when I was a kid. Ahh, but a backup plan was soon hatched to get us out if need be. The fastest built Allied runway during WWII would suffice nicely should the Solomon Express, renowned for mechanical failure, decide to take the week off.

Our adventure in Seghe started before we actually arrived at the Morovo Lagoon outpost. It started at about 6:00am on a Sunday morning. This was the precise time that Buckskin and I were to catch the most expensivebus ride of our lives, 16km west from the village we had been staying in and diving from, Munda, to where the warf is. Just before giving up on the ride, the backfireing gold/rust colored bus appeared out of the mist like Shoeless Joe Jackson out of an Iowa cornfield, in that popular Kevin Costner flick from the early 90's. Hoppin onto the deathtrap of a bus exactly one hour late, we were sure that me were going to miss our boat ride. As it turned out, we were early...about a day early. Forced to either spend the night on the warf's dock, which did have a breathtaking view, or find accomodation in the thriving metropolis of Noro, we were plesently awarded when we chose the latter. Stepping out of the Solomon Express into the melee that is the Seghe market on a Monday, I should have known that this would be the last time we would see her.

Blindly tripping into what would be known as a blackhole as far as the communications world would be concerned, my attorney and I soon found our new digs in the Morovo Lagoon quite agreeable. Quite agreeable indeed. Seghe point is happens to be smack in the middle of the Lagoon, being quick access to some of the most diverse diving I have ever experienced. If you have never heard of the Marovo Lagoon, look it up in the Encyclopedia or better yet, I think is on that internet place. Known as the 8th wonder of the world, its needless to say that the both of us could have quite easily gone broke living the good life of diving and drinking piss warm beer, every single day.

Our host, Lolo, other than being a chief of his tribe, a former Peace Corps volunteer, fellow traveler, a consultant to the Solomon Islands government, the proprietor of the best lodge in the Western Province, and just being a helluva nice guy, has also lived and traveled through more of the United States than I have. With a reume like that, we couldn't have been in better hands. It was he who first pointed out the major flaw in our backup exit plan. Being one of the busiest airstrips in the Western Province, our odds of catching one of those Solomon Air flying busses were great. That is to say if there wasn't a 3 foot deep hole in the exact middle of the runway. Looks like we were hunkering down for the long haul with Lolo, Nimba, Timo, Vala, and the rest of the cast of characters.

Our days, while not diving, were spent learning the in's and out's of "simple island living" . I can say, without a hint of sarcasm, that The Benn and I are now capable of building traditional lodging from Sago Palm and Betelnut trees, hacking into coconuts with giant bush knives, making milked rice, hunting and killing wild boars, and downing warm SB, without breaking a sweat. We even had enough time at the Seghe Lodge to just zone out and enjoy some of the best sunsets in the South Pacific.

But, as with all good things, including this blog entry, our time in the Western Province was comming to an end. It was time for us to say our lukim ius and board that oh so faithful Solomon Express. So here is an interesting observation that Buckskin Benntucky an I have made. The concept of time seems to be a purely western idea. In countries where the vast majority of people live without power or any means of long distance communication, time starts to become sort of irrelivant. Things seem to happen when they happen, you get there when you get there, and it doesn't seem to be usefull enough to even remember your own age. Dont even try to do the math when trying to figure out how long ago something happened or the age of a person. That being said, I wasn't really too surprised when the Express failed to show up in Seghe. What can you do? Sitting around another day waiting for the last of three weekly ships to arrive, seemed like our only option.

The Tomoko, an ancient passenger ship originally from North Korea, was our very last hope of making it back to Honiara in time to catch our flight to Papua New Guinea. Without her, chances are that I would have just settled in, married one of the natives, built my own leaf house, and lived happily ever after in Seghe. And it seemed like that was almost the case. Scheduled to arrive at 4:00pm, the Tomoko showed up right at 7:15pm. Relieved to see it, we thanked our new extended family, grabbed our gear, and hopped into the bowels of the urine smelling ship. Figuring that the upper deck of the ship would give us respite from the unforgettable smell of urine mixed with body odor and rotting fish, we found a nice cozy spot on a wooden bench. My attorney and a smiled, popped open a can of tuna (by this point, the two of us had enough murcury in or system from eating tuna, that you could have easily used us a human thermometers)and several packs of butter crackers, and settled in for the 16hr journey back to Honiara.

See you in Papua New Guinea!

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