There just seems to be something about the places my mountain climbing takes me. When I climbed Kilimanjaro in 2008 there had just been a highly disputed election result in Kenya. Which is to say people were killing each other. In one particularly horrible incident a group of villagers were locked inside a church and it was set fire. Not fully aware of this, I was delighted to find my flight from Amsterdam to Nairobi half full. I stretched out across an entire row of seats and slept the sleep of babes. But in Nairobi we were led around the airport by well-armed military. Our departing flight was delayed until after sundown. We were ordered to run from the terminal to our waiting jet. Remarkably, all my bags arrived in Tanzania in good order, something Delta Airlines cannot accomplish even with an absence of hot whistling lead.
A year later I traveled to Russia to climb Mt Elbrus. A tense ceasefire was in effect between Russia and neighboring Georgia. Mt Elbrus sits on the border of these two countries. Though we got in and out without incident, a village near our base-camp was attacked a week after we left by Georgian rebels. The police station was bombed, killing 7.
There is no tourism in Papua. For the vast majority of Papuans, the only Caucasian people they have seen in Papua work for the Freeport Mine, an employer which is viewed to have taken much and given little to the residents of the world's second largest island. In some respects that same Freeport Mine may be viewed as having interests that are not consistent with an independant Papua. So I believe there was concern the members of our team might be mistaken as Freeport Proxies and become unwilling pawns in a volatile circumstance as a new round of elections was getting underway. I say "believe" because no one was willing to talk about the reasons for our hieghtened caution. When I asked our lead guide Jason about it he would simply comment "this is Papua and you need to be careful." He probably did not want us to get distracted from the climb or caught up in worries over things he and his team were addressing. But even the odd Taxi driver demured to discuss Papuan Politics. In one instance a driver expressed a few opinions then quickly added that I did not hear it from him. http://asopa.typepad.com/asopa_people/2012/06/elections-in-papua-new-guinea-are-just-different.html This link covers a story about the lengthy process of voting in Papua.
Our walled-in hotel had gated security. Whenever we traveled somewhere uniformed officers would stop traffic and our motorcade of three dark vans would leave the compound at a running start. At some point I realized that traffic lights did not apply to us. We were someone going somewhere and it was best to stay out of our way. One might reasonably ask if going to Papua is a wise choice during such times. But since the Independant Papua movement began in 1961 this has largely been the state of affairs. At various times access to Carstensz has been closed entirely. So this opportunity was better than some years, not as good as others. We are mountain climbers. This is what we do.
The morning we flew out of Timika for Sugapa our team dispatched in two groups. The first group, consisting of the Schmidt Family and lead guide Jason Edwards, got on the early morning flight. This was the third morning they had spent at the airport hoping to get seats. The rest of us loaded up a few hours later and drove to the airport. It was a busy scene with many locals sitting on the grass or curbs, carrying armloads of food or belongings they would take back to their village. Many of the men were chewing Beetle Nut, a red hard fruit that gives off similar sensations to smoking. It permanently dyes their teeth and gums orange. Like chewing tobacco, Beetle Nut is spat out afterward, leaving red splatters mindful of a slasher movie on the ground. We were told to wait in the vans as our local guide, Steven, tried to secure passage for us on the next flight. A half hour later we were led from the vans to a small crowded terminal. We were coached to keep a low profile, which was difficult given the spectacle of our gear and climbing clothes. As well, we towered in height over the average Indonesian. There was chatter and staring. We smiled. Then Roger , who had been absent-mindedly swinging his daypack around and bumping people, took out his camera. The next thing we knew security was removing us from the terminal to wait in a cargo shed out near the airstrip. There Roger tried to strike up a friendly conversation about firearms with the security guard standing watch over us. In general it is ill-advised to gesture toward the weapon of a man who does not speak your language. Again there was tension which we all labored to smother with smiles and light-hearted laughter.
Our flight to Sugapa gave us our first good look at the topography we would be working with, a lush green series of ridges that qued up like dinner plates in a drying rack. Rivers gathered from myriad tributaries reaching up the valley walls. There was no sign of civilization. Not even a village hut. The top of one hill had been scraped away to create a flat area. This was our landing strip, a dirt and gravel runway. We were greeted by an audience of local Dani tribe members, who still marvel at the sight of aircraft landing and taking off. One of the Schmidt boys, Nano, said a man shook his hand as he stepped off the plane and offered "Welcome to the other side of nowhere."
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