Participants sing and dance their way through Goroka on their way to Goroka Show
Island Hopping through Oceania - The Goroka Show in Papua New Guinea, the good, the bad and the ugly
Papua New Guinea is a land of contrasts, with over 800 languages, myriad tribes and cultures, and diverse landscapes; from alpine mountain peaks to tropical rainforests and scattered, jungle-clad volcanic islands.
We were flying into Papua New Guinea (PNG) to experience some of this diversity at the Goroka Show; a tribal sing-sing, or festival, of music, dance and tribal regalia. On this, our second trip to PNG, we got a lot more than we bargained for, and the visit was an intense blend of contrasting experiences: the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Goroka Show brings together tribes from across Papua New Guinea to this mountainous highland town
Airline troubles in Papua New Guinea
Travel in Papua New Guinea is rarely straightforward. Our problems began immediately: Rico’s bag was left behind in the Philippines, even though the flight was direct from Manila. This wasn’t the first time Air Niugini had lost our luggage while we were island hopping through Oceania; it must be among the most unreliable airlines in the world.
Our airline troubles continued from there. We were due to fly from Port Moresby, the capital of Papua New Guinea, to Goroka, later the same day. But when we returned to the airport for our domestic flight and finally reached the front of the scrum-of-a-line for check-in, we were told they were using a smaller plane and that there was no space for us. It didn’t help that all the flights to Goroka the previous day had been cancelled too.
Reduce, reuse, recycle. These men were using the bottoms of polystyrene cups as nose-pieces at the Goroka Show.
A long wait at Customer Services ensued, finally resulting in our transfer to a hotel for the night. Since there was no restaurant, our food was delivered by minibus from another hotel. The water was turned off overnight, so we couldn’t shower in the morning, and we were woken at 4:20am by the shuttle driver, ready to take us back to the airport for our promised 8:30am flight to Goroka.
Our Papua New Guinea airline troubles get more ridiculous
When we arrived back at Port Moresby’s chaotic domestic terminal, we split up. Rico queued for check-in (if you can call slowly battling your way through the crush of reeking bodies filling the departure hall queueing), while I gradually elbowed my way to the customer services counter.
There, the flustered Air Niugini representative confirmed what we could see online, that we weren’t on the 8:30am flight, but rather the midday flight. So nice of them to wake us up at 4:20am then! On triple confirming with her, she was adamant that we were definitely on the midday flight.
So, when we finally reached the check-in counter, it was impossible to hide our frustration on hearing that there was no space on the midday flight. We would now be on the 3pm flight the following day.
When we explained that that can’t be right, because customer services told us we were definitely confirmed on the flight, the check-in clerk explained, without a hint of irony, that “yes, you are confirmed on the flight, there’s just no seats for you.”
Exasperatedly, I argued that “we can’t be confirmed if there are no seats for us, surely we’re either confirmed with seats, or we don’t have seats, and we’re not confirmed.”
Sticking to his message, the check-in clerk responded, “You are confirmed on this flight; there just aren’t any seats for you.”
When we also ascertained that there were no seats for us on the 3pm flight the following day, on which we were also now ‘confirmed’, we began to despair of ever getting to Goroka.
Huli Wingmen chat between performances at the Goroka Show
Most of the action at the Goroka Show occurs in the mornings, and it runs from Friday to Sunday on the weekend closest to Papua New Guinea’s Independence Day. It was already Friday, and as such, we’d already missed the first day of the show, and even if by some miracle we did get a seat on the 3pm Saturday flight, we’d only make the final day. The next available seats, however, were on Monday, so it looked like we were going to miss the whole thing.
At this, we finally snapped, and I breathlessly explained that “we only came to Papua New Guinea for the Goroka Show. If we can’t fly today, we want our money back and to be put on the next flight back to Manila.”
Goroka Show is one of the world's most impressive tribal festivals and we didn't want to miss it
Obviously worried, the check-in clerk advised us to speak to the duty manager at customer services, who may be able to get us on the 3pm flight that day. For once, the customer service queue was short, and the attendant quickly came back to say they would get us on the midday flight (which was due to depart in less than an hour). They were just waiting for the ‘loadmaster’ to confirm our seats.
As such, after a mammoth 36-hour ordeal, we finally had tickets for our flight to Goroka…we were going to see the show!
Goroko Show is a colourful display of tribal regalia
The Goroka Show is a spectacle of Papua New Guinean tribal culture
The Goroka Show brings together tribes from across Papua New Guinea in a weekend of tribal song and dance. It’s a chaotic ensemble of grass skirts, painted masks, elaborate birds-of-paradise headdresses, traditional instruments, and almost-naked bodies.
Headdresses at the Goroka Show are often made up of a staggering number of birds
Participants perform at random on the large, grassy showground, surrounded by Goroka town and the peaks of the surrounding mountains. We had paid for VIP passes, which meant we could enter the site early in the morning to watch the performers arrive and gave us some time to enjoy the experience before the crowds of general admission arrived at midday.
Arriving early can give you a more intimate experience, before the crowds
Besides the traditional performances in the main arena, the show featured a stage showcasing modern Papua New Guinean artists popular with locals, as well as a food stall area and handicraft sellers.
The handicrafts and traditional items on sale in Papua New Guinea are impressive, wide-ranging and reliably locally made. At the show, there were beautifully painted tribal portraits, hand-woven cloth, masks, stone axes, and many other items either worn or used in the performances. Prices were a steal.
Without a guide, it was hard to keep track of where each group was from, and the meanings of the dances were somewhat lost on us. Despite that, it was a spectacular sight.
This tribe's performance involved lighting a fire by rubbing sticks together, fake death and some comedy, it was a hit with the local crowds
Tribesmen with brightly painted orange and red faces, metre-high feathered headdresses and stone axes in hand marched in army formation around the show ground. Others, with patterned blue aprons, stood in line, chanting and playing their long conical drums.
Performances ranged from well-ordered slow rhythmical chanting, seen here, to frenzied whirling masses of bodies
Skeleton-men snaked through the throng as Asaro mudmen patrolled with their bows and arrows, stopping to let us try on their heavy clay helmets. Huli wigmen chanted and bounced in parallel lines, feathers bobbing and grass skirts rustling in time with the chant.
Despite their intimidating appearance, these Asaro Mudmen were very friendly
Yellow grass-skirted family groups ran in circles as they sang, while the Sili Muli of Enga Province, with their wide hats of human hair and cloth aprons, thrust their hips in unison.
The Sili Muli thrust their hips in unison as they arrive at Goroka Show
Smaller groups lined the periphery of the showgrounds, playing guitars or large bamboo pipe instruments. Others, with black grass headdresses, sat on the ground as they waved their arms and threw their bodies backwards and forwards to the rhythm of their chants.
This small child stood serene as the women around him chanted and flailed
White-painted, bare-breasted bodies bobbed, and colourfully masked striped-torsoed archers prowled, between feathered headdresses made of more than 20 birds: extended owl wings, whole bodies of green arranged in dazzling array, all backed by metre-long fans of black feathers. Dreadlock-style skirts swished as they walked, and the air was filled with the sounds of drums, whistles, and rhythmic chanting. It was mesmerising.
Swishing skirts and elaborate feathered headdresses at the Goroka Show
Things in Papua New Guinea can get ugly, fast
In the evening, we went down to the dining room at the Lutheran Guesthouse, where we had a five-bed dorm to ourselves. It turned out that our dinner reservation had been missed, and there was an awkward moment when we were accused, holding plates freshly piled with food, of not having booked.
Sheepishly, we returned our plates to the buffet table and explained the situation. With no other option, we decided to walk the ten minutes into town for takeaway pizza. The streets were full of festival-goers – this being the busiest weekend of the year for Goroka – and we wandered amongst the crowds in the evening light.
The weekend of the Goroka Show is the busiest of the year in Goroka
The pizza took an age to make, and horror of horrors, when it was finally ready, we’d accidentally ordered one without a tomato base. Disappointed, we walked briskly through the now-dark but still-busy streets with our giant white pizza towards the guesthouse, set one street back from the main road.
“Empty your pockets, empty your pockets.”
The man had appeared from nowhere. The rest of the street was suddenly deserted. And what was he pointing at us? This must be a joke.
It was a gun. It wasn’t a joke. And the two men who had suddenly appeared behind us, also with hoods up, faces covered, were pointing guns at us too.
Should we shout for help? We were right outside the guesthouse, on the other side of the barbed-wire-topped fence, five metres from the gate. But would they shoot us?
I didn’t know what to do with the giant pizza. I went to put it on the ground, thought better of it and stood up. They emptied my pockets. Rico emptied his own. The men with guns ran off.
700 Kina, all my bank cards, my driver’s licenses from the UK and New Zealand, and both our phones. All this disappeared with them. We still had the pizza with no tomato base. And our lives.
Inside the guesthouse gate, the guards quickly understood our story and ran off to find the culprits. The manager, Alfonse, who had sent us on our way looking for food earlier, only asked us repeatedly if we wanted a plate for our pizza. We gave up trying to get him to phone the police, took a plate, and started eating the lukewarm white abomination of a giant pizza. Did I say there was no tomato base?
Papua New Guinea can be an intimidating place
A Papua New Guinea police chase
Tobias and Sandra, a German couple who had had their guesthouse meal cooked for them, sat with us while we ate and commiserated about our bad luck. Alfonse reappeared and, apparently now understanding our situation, berated us for going out alone and told us we should always go with a local. Ever the surly host, when we responded that he knew where we were going and had actually sent us on our way, he shot back, “So it’s all my fault then?”
In the end, Alfonse did call the police, after our multiple attempts were cut short when the operator hung up on us. After Alfonse’s call, it didn’t take long for a police vehicle full of armed policemen to show up at the guesthouse.
Huli Wigmen bounce in unison at the Goroka Show
With Rico’s laptop connected to Apple’s ‘Find My’ and Tobias’ phone – which he kindly lent us – connected to Google Maps, we squeezed into the back of the truck and settled in between the armed men.
The police were incapable of reading a map of their own town, and once we realised this we took control. Directing them through the dark streets of Goroka, as the icon on the ‘Find My’ map slowly made its way along one of Goroka’s main thoroughfares, we eventually pulled up directly in front of the three culprits.
Many people we met in Papua New Guinea were incredibly friendly
As the police bumbled out of the truck’s small back door, the thieves bolted across the rubbish-strewn wasteground that separated the road from a nearby slum. Thankfully, no one actioned the order to “shoot them, shoot them” that came from one of the policemen still trapped in the truck, and the raskols disappeared into the labyrinthine slum.
Ordered out by the police, we followed the thieves (with the laptop and the phone lighting us up like beacons in the dark) and directed the police through the maze of shacks.
As we tiptoed along the edge of the fetid stream that wound its way through the slum, crowds of slum dwellers began appearing, ogling the shining laptop. The cops melted away into the darkness as the numbers built up around us, and we were left, along with Alfonse, at the centre of the peering mass of people.
Thankfully, we managed to extricate ourselves – and the laptop – from the slum, and found our way back to the police truck – in a completely different spot to where we’d left it. Meanwhile, on the map, the iPhone was moving across some farmland, well away from any road.
The police showed no inclination to stray far from their truck again, and we cruised around town, stopping intermittently so they could buy coffee, betel nut, and snacks. At the same time, they kept impressing on us how urgently we needed to find the robbers, while the phone was still switched on.
Going undercover in Papua New Guinea
Eventually, the phone stopped moving and was turned off at a house on the far side of the farmland. At that point, the cops had the wonderful idea of sending Rico, Anfonse, and me undercover to scope out the property.
As such, we soon found ourselves in the surreal position of trundling down the dark dirtroad backstreets of Goroka in a beat-up taxi, with two armed policemen in the boot. Locals crowding around a communal TV spilt out into the road, and as we approached the house, it was hard to make anything out through the gloom.
I often felt like a giant while in Papua New Guinea
Eventually, the armed men got out of the boot and began poking around the property as a crowd began to form. At this point, they called in backup and made us enter the house, ostensibly to use our laptop to find which room the phone was in.
It was a communal house, one room per family, and one of the rooms was locked. Obviously, the ‘Find My’ app was not precise enough to say which room the phone was in, and we ended up in the scary situation of being surrounded by an angry group of locals, shouting in Pidgin about the “white man” as the police again slinked away.
It was after midnight by the time we were dropped back at the guesthouse. Alfonse was sure that after the police’s threats to the community, we’d have our belongings back the following day. “That’s how justice works in Papua New Guinea.” Everything is communal; the community would find our things for us.
Police brutality in Papua New Guinea
Against our better judgment, we found ourselves back in the police truck the following morning. The phone had moved to a different house, and on hearing this, Alfonse called the police and convinced us to go with them. It would only take 30 minutes, he said.
But the new house wasn’t near a road, and the police hate to stray far from their truck. So, instead of going to the new house, we went back to the house from the night before. And that’s when things got really ugly.
The armed police dragged a woman from the house and threw her in the back of the truck with us. With a bench down each side of the truck, she was made to sit on the floor between the two rows of policemen, while we sat at one end.
As she cowered by their feet, the police took it in turns to hit her, punching her face and slowly pulling out her hair, arranged into seven or eight tightly wound balls. The policeman by the door plucked them from her head, one by one. They were angry, and we drove around Goroka like this, as we repeatedly requested to go back to the guesthouse, and the woman whimpered with every fresh blow.
Happier scenes at Goroka Show
Eventually, the police picked up another woman, seemingly at random, from the street. She received the same treatment; the police even pulled a knife out and threatened her with it, too. Finally, they agreed to take us back to the police station, but despite our entreaties, they wouldn’t release the women, insisting they needed to take them in for ‘questioning’.
At the station, we could hear the blows of the ‘questioning’ from the adjacent room as we hurriedly filled out our police report and left for the guesthouse. We only made it to the last bit of the show that Sunday, and the crowds felt so much more intimidating than the previous day.
The air felt tense, and as we were leaving the show, we heard gunshots. The streets were packed but eerily quiet. Everyone stared as we wound our way through the silent, standing crowd amongst departing performers.
A father and son attend the Goroka Show
More flight troubles in Papua New Guinea
By the time the show finished, we just wanted to get out of Papua New Guinea. So, on Monday, we tried to move our departure flight forward. It turned out all the flights were cancelled that day, so we gave up, collected the police report for insurance, and lay low.
The following day, we walked the 20 minutes to the airport early to try to get as close as possible to the front of what we knew would be a crazy queue. However, as we joined the crowd around the pedestrian entrance to the airport grounds, we discovered that car traffic had priority.
Vehicles with a pass can enter before the airport officially opens, and we watched through the fence as a large crowd of westerners – delivered by hotel shuttle – gathered at the airport doors. We had to wait until 8am to enter with the locals at the pedestrian entrance.
At 8am, the gate and the terminal doors were opened simultaneously, and by the time we reached the terminal building, there was barely space to get inside. Rico stayed with our bags in the mass of bodies crushing forward for check-in, while I queued at customer services – we were well versed in the workings of Air Niugini by this point.
We had checked in online, but when I asked at customer services, they advised that our boarding passes were meaningless and we would be on a later flight. Eventually, one of the airport workers stood on the check-in counter and yelled that they were prioritising people with connections and those who had been cancelled the previous day.
He then began to shout names. All the names of the people on the flight. It was so farcical it was funny, and as the lucky names were called, cheers went up from those selected and their bags were passed over the heads of the other travellers to reach the counters at the front of the crush.
Luckily, we managed to force our way to the front of the crowd eventually and made a flight later in the day. Back in Port Moresby, we checked-in at Airways Hotel – with a killer view of the international runway – and didn’t leave until our departure flight the following day.
A final slap before departure from Papua New Guinea
“Two…”, the surly Air Niugini woman at check-in laconically drawled at us as we approached.
“Two what?”, I replied, unsure where to go with this.
“Where are you going to?” she replied with a huff and an eye roll.
God help us, I thought. “Manila.”
“Traveller declaration”, she demanded as she lazily proffered a hand.
Now, we didn’t have a Philippine traveller declaration form filled out. We’d already been through Manila a few times, and the declaration can be completed on arrival using the airport wifi. We explained this.
“No declaration, no check-in”, she stared back at us.
“Is there wifi here?” we enquired. Phoneless, we’d need the laptop to complete the form.
“No wifi”, she didn’t waste any of her obviously little energy on a non-essential word.
At this point, we explained the robbery, that we didn’t have any phones, and asked how she wanted us to fill out the form with no wifi.
“Get a SIM from Digicel”, couldn’t have been a less helpful response.
That tipped me over the edge I’d been teetering on basically non-stop since we’d arrived in Papua New Guinea the previous week, “Why can’t we just do it when we get there? What is wrong with this place? We get robbed and you cancel our flights and now you won’t even let us leave. We just want to get out of this stupid country.”
At that point, her look of complete disinterest changed slightly to one of subdued surprise. Briefly. She quickly returned to her original state, shrugged and stared until we left the queue to work out our next move.
Thankfully, the woman at the tourist information stand was more understanding, and after finding someone with a charger for her phone, she hotspotted us while we filled out the required forms on the laptop. Satisfied, the surly check-in lady let us pass, and we checked out of Papua New Guinea, checked out of Oceania, and checked out of Island Hopping through the watery continent.
Masks lined up on the ground as participants take a break at Goroka Show
This Leg
Days: 7
Flights: 4
Boats: 0
Islands: 1
Countries & Territories: 1
Total
Days: 95
Flights: 24
Boats: 32
Islands: 35
Countries & Territories: 12