Brave old world.

Things certainly work differently down here. Propriety is different, not so much snobby but more stylish. The classic Yacht Club outfit sported by Moresby upper crust will not do in Sydney. Where are the floral shirts? The stripes and saggy breast pockets? At least sandals and thongs are still OK, if somewhat less ragged and dusty. I find myself slipping into the old uniforms with surprising ease – new Bonds t-shirts are a comfort after not being able to wear them much, thanks to that swift Moresby slickness that comes up every time you step into the heat.

An iPhone in Sydney is part of the kit. Requisite. An iPhone in Moresby is a fatuous gesture, a joke, a trinket good for being thieved and not much else. Selecting a good kalamata olive leaves one boggled for choice. In Moresby, it is one kind or maybe the other and by God you’re happy to have it despite the clearly indulgent price. Bicycles and after-hours strolls. The ability to get snobbish over instant coffee and wallow in internet that loads like a breeze. Drinking beer with names like “Fat Yak” and in styles like “amber ale”, with the words “south” and “pacific” nowhere to be seen on the label.

On beer – a reunion BBQ in Brisbane by the river sees a pair of mates show up with the cheapest beer they could find in the bottle-o: a six pack of nothing less than the mighty SP brown. I made eyes at the free bottle opener that came with it, and am thankful for their generous gesture – nowhere in Moresby did I see one for sale. The memorabilia and the memories keep coming, like little shockwaves one month on, elegiac ripples of sorts (for isn’t nostalgia a kind of mourning in its own way?). I hope they keep coming, I really do.

Memory is tricky and motivation is fickle. I am no longer in PNG but Kit and I have aspirations to return – just not quite yet. In the meantime I hope to use this nether-space as a repository for the moments, images and stories that the last two-and-a-bit years have given me. Subject of course to the two factors mentioned above. There’s enough to keep this thing going a little while longer in any case. Until then – Manda. Apa kanda. Catch. Luuukkiiiiiiimm yuuuu.

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6 Responses to “Brave old world.”


  1. 1 Steve Bennett January 22, 2011 at 7:03 am

    I remember that feeling! Nice post!

  2. 2 Vicki Grima January 26, 2011 at 9:36 pm

    From one old Sydney gal… welcome back (sent from my iphone…)

  3. 3 Albion January 30, 2011 at 10:12 pm

    Onwards, upwards and outwards. Glad to see you are finding a new perspective and getting lost on the familiarities. Just remember, Do not fuck with my shit.

    Glad to hear your home.

  4. 4 Albion January 30, 2011 at 10:13 pm

    you are. fuck.

  5. 5 drivethru March 3, 2011 at 5:20 pm

    I think nostalgia might be a kind of mourning. Or is it melancholia that is (a kind of mourning)? Nostalgia seems to elude any attempts I make to define it. Anyway, Hi George! I enjoyed reading this post. Tim

  6. 6 Linald Smith June 2, 2014 at 8:27 pm

    I would like to get a passport to go to Australia


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