My first few days on Bougainville Island were quite frankly, a culture shock.

We arrived on Friday morning, were met by one couple who took us to our new home, (provided by the company), showed us our survival kit, four of everything in terms of crockery and cutlery, plus a few cooking utensils.

We then went to the supermarket.

I was supposed to shop there?

The shelves looked just like our Australian supermarkets when Covid was at its height and people were panic-buying…empty.

Bananas, pawpaw and pineapple were in plentiful supply. It was the tropics after all, but all vegetables were foreign to me. And there weren’t many.

To this day I can’t recall what I bought, nor do I remember what we ate over the weekend, but the feeling of being on an alien planet, was front and centre.

I later found out about the Tuesday morning markets, run by residents of Panguna, up in the mountains.

These people left home at midnight, trekked all the way down the mountains with their produce, and trekked all the way back when produce had been sold.

Sadly, there were no markets open on a weekend.

We were then left alone, ill-prepared for a long weekend, knowing not a soul, with no car, and no idea about the layout of the island.

Nobody called…

Nobody took pity on us…just the two of us, with some books, and an unspoken wish to hop on the next available plane.

We did a lot of walking, checking out the few stores available, the sailing club, the one hotel, and at least we tired ourselves out.

But it was still a long weekend and family and friends seemed so very far away.

Of course we learned later that this rarely happens to newcomers on the island. Dinners and drinks are organized, as well as food drop-offs, and potential friends dropping by to say hello.

We just scored a dud welcoming duo!

I can’t even imagine what was in their minds.

In a reversal of roles, I would have cooked up a storm (not from supermarket produce), left a few bottles of vino to drown their insecurities over, and ensured enough people would drop by with the required empathy to sink the Titanic.

But all good things do come to an end and it wasn’t long before we viewed the three days as little more than a bad dream.

Within a few weeks we’d bought a car, met some squash players, and had been invited out by people from our respective work places.

Life had taken on a whole new glow.

By the way, the only expat women who were allowed to work on the island were nurses, doctors, chemists and teachers.

Can you imagine the number of covert workers operating there (read hairdressers and dressmakers!)?

And so our lives churned happily on, as we worked, built up friendships, and engaged in sport. It truly was a blissful existence.

But on two occasions my husband had to return to Australia for business.

Isn’t it always the case that things go awry when you are left on your own?

Our new home just happened to be minus curtains

The tropics, with no curtains?

So I went to the only maker on the island. No need for measurements. Houses were either A, B, or C. This meant they were fully air-conditioned (for management), partly (for professionals), and C, for tradesmen. No air-conditioning for the C group! Don’t even ask me to explain that.

From memory I could choose from 4 different fabrics. Yippee!

My husband left for Sydney and my new curtains were being delivered that same day. They arrived as promised, the only problem being that the selvage that runs the length of the fabric was visible when the curtains were hung.

From memory there were markings and lettering on the selvage.

I pointed this flaw out to the business man, but somehow my words were lost in the translation, and in no time at all, a policeman was on my doorstep.

I was petrified.

He threatened jail for me if I didn’t pay on the spot.

Fortunately, by this time, I had met a woman from Adelaide. I asked if he knew Mary Kath.

He did.

She was married to an indigenous man, the town planner, who immediately left work and soon sorted out the curtain issues, and the payment.

I will be forever grateful to him.

And then…

The next event was the breakdown of the washing machine. Keep in mind there was no shopping for clothes on the island, as there were very few businesses, so if anything happened to your clothes you were in trouble.

This means that you should have come prepared for a shop-free year

Also, living on a tropical island meant that we changed our clothes a lot. Every piece of clothing held value! Every piece of clothing got worn.

So, the machine was not functioning, I called maintenance who assured me they’d have it fixed by the end of the day, and I headed off to work at the international school.

I came home to find the machine in working order, but all my clothes (from inside the machine, just to be clear!), were gone.

I contacted maintenance, who assured me they had found no clothes in the machine.

Remember…my husband was still missing in action…

Now the bulk of my clothes had been stolen, yet I couldn’t prove anything, and I had no idea what to do.

Of course these days you’d send that sort of event to the keeper, get online, order your pretty little heart out, and within a week have a whole new wardrobe.

But these were different times

Sure, we were in the tropics and needed summer clothes.

But in Adelaide it was winter. Not even a ghost of a chance of ordering dresses or shorts…or getting family to buy them.

Now on the horns of a dilemma.

And I was so homesick.

But word gets around on an island

And soon a covert seamstress having heard my story, arrived on my doorstep, a bunch of patterns and fabric in her arms.

One problem solved. I could have kissed her!

One problem solved, but then another rears its head.

Say hello to Jep!

Jep came knocking on our door just a few weeks before my husband left and we engaged him to do our garden once a week. Things seem to grow overnight in the tropics.

He seemed pretty good and we’d always pay him extra. It was the honourable thing to do.

But then one morning, still on my own, he arrived, but said he had no money to pay for petrol. I gave him money for that, plus his payment for his work, and left.

We never saw him again!

We also found out that his name was Jeff (no ’f’ sound in Pidgin), and he was notorious for screwing new expats and disappearing for a few months on end…waiting till things had been forgotten about, and do his same rounds on another part of the island, to new, unsuspecting expats.

So, now I’m without clothes, almost in jail, and feeling totally lost and abandoned.

But Lazarus returns bearing gifts

My husband returned armed with new running shoes, t-shirts and socks, some things we were unable to buy on the island.

We were participating in a fun run on the following Sunday, so the new shoes were perfect.

I’m a little hazy on details, but I do remember we won two gigantic umbrellas on the day. By the time the run was over, rain was pelting down so the umbrellas were a godsend.

We got home, stripped (almost) on the balcony, leaving behind the umbrellas, clothes and shoes, and went inside to have showers.

Half an hour later we went out to retrieve our things.

They were all gone!

Super-expensive shoes, socks, and t-shirts, worn once, plus new umbrellas, and despite having our door open, we heard nothing.

How could that be?

How could both of us not have heard?

Seems this is the work of highlanders. They’re also referred to as rascals.

They are incredibly deft. By comparison, we must have been incredibly deaf.

The rascals were also very much responsible for the petty crime that existed on the island.

Still we shrugged the experience off, determined to be super-vigilant in the future.

But watch out for the parties!

And then, the pièce de résistance…we held a large party to farewell friends who were returning to New Zealand.

All our windows had been opened up for cross-ventilation, but when we went to lock them, after everyone had left, all the little screws that my husband had so carefully sat on the window ledges, had been stolen.

If you guessed that their plan was to enter the house after we’d gone to bed, you’d be spot on.

The thing is, we personally had little that was worth stealing, but the rascals saw things differently. Any expat would have belongings worth selling.

So to secure what we had, meant that we had to wait up till 4 am for security to come and fix the whole locking system.

Had we had enough?

Of course not. I have simply highlighted what can go wrong in a foreign country.

We learned to live and socialize with the local people, and to love many of them, truth be told.

We still had the most amazing time on the island. This was an adventure, and you can’t classify it as such, unless you can relate all the happenings to friends back home, and have them reeling in horror.

I can tell you right now, the true Bougainvilleans are the gentlest, sweetest people you could ever meet.

I taught many of their children, and they were memorable for all the right reasons.

Still, things can and do go wrong when you are living in even the most beautiful of places.

Messages can be misinterpreted.

People can misconstrue the simplest of communications.

Doctors who have ventured to the tropics for a good time can have a devastating effect on a few, when they put their pleasure first.

And there are certainly times when you wish things had turned out differently.

But we two intrepid visitors, who left with no intention of returning, did in fact do so.

Stay tuned.

Running in the tropics is a great way to test endurance. It’s also a wonderful way to find your, YOU!