Play it Again, Sam. (And again, and again, and again, and ...)

(or “Fun in the Remote Highlands of New Guinea.” Vol. 3)

Almost every Sunday, after the kids have gone to Sunday School (there is no SS for adults here), Paul and I pull out the Scrabble board.  This frequently leads to visions of the two of us slowly rolling our wheelchairs into a common room and then moving our little wooden letters around with arthritic hands, while a kindly 20-something nurse hands us saltines and glasses of grapefruit juice.

I’m sure it will happen sooner than I think.

But I digress.

We used to play Cribbage, but after years of peg-moving and 15-and 31-counting, we graduated to Scrabble.  I won most of the time, until Paul caught on to all of my tricks.  It took a while, but within the last year he began to match me game for game. 

Of course, that meant we had to change the rules.  Couldn’t have him beating me that much, you know.

Last year, someone gave us one of those Scrabble sets with the turntable-style board and the little grid ridges that keep the letters in place.  Someone at Milton Bradley should have gotten early retirement with full benefits for that one.  But, even better than those upgrades, the set came with alternate rules. 

We adopted two of them at once:

<![if !supportLists]>1.       <![endif]>A player who has, or draws, a letter which is represented on the board by a blank, may, on his turn, substitute the letter and pick up the blank.

<![if !supportLists]>2.       <![endif]>A player, at the start of his turn and before adding any letters to the board, may replace any single letter already on the board with one from his or her own rack which will form an acceptable new word or words.  Any number of such substitutions may be made on a turn – but only one letter at a time, and only when correct words result from each individual change.

These changes shifted the balance of power.  I once again dominated the world of Scrabble, until he began to get wise to my strategies and implement them for his own gain.  The rat.  At this point, the scale still tips slightly in my favor, but it won’t be long before I’ll need to find some new rule adaptation that will again give me the upper hand.

Pinochle is a game that we played frequently before coming to PNG, but we have not met many people here who even know how to play.  We taught a couple several months ago, but they haven’t played since.  I think the complexity may have overloaded their circuits. 

In January, a new couple arrived (with our same last name, interestingly enough, but no relation) who enjoy pinochle as much as we do. One night in February, they invited six people over and introduced us to a new twist on the game.  I am not sure what the real name of this variation would be, but it was a rotational pinochle, where players play each hand with a different partner, and two games are going on simultaneously.  At the end, each player adds up all eight of the scores they helped attain to find an ultimate winner. 

Having nowhere else to go, Andie tagged along with us that night.  She took along a book and was looking forward to holding down the sofa for a while.  However, when we got there, the hosts were delighted because one of the players they had invited could not come at the last minute.  Now, Andie had never played pinochle before and she was less than half the age of the next oldest player, but she is a card shark.  She caught on very quickly, held her own, and had a great time.

Tonight, the first day of school term break, the four of us played a rousing game of Agricola (top picture above.)  Paul was introduced to this game at one of the numerous guy “let’s-play-games-and-stuff-food-in-our-faces” nights he’s attended over the last year.  Other G “LPGASFIOF” N activities have included classics such as Settlers of Catan, Dominion, and Carcassone.  No video games for these men, no siree.  Like I said, this is a community of academics. We are much too sophisticated for that.

Okay, maybe not. 

Anyway, this was the closest game of Agricola our family has played together.  After an hour of buying wood, clay, reed, and grain, sowing and harvesting grain and vegetables, expanding and upgrading houses and families, erecting fences and procuring cattle, pigs, and sheep, the scores were 20, 24, 26, and 28. 

I was declared the winner. 

That’s really all that matters, right? 

Oh yeah … and spending time together as a family, making our own entertainment here in the highlands of Papua New Guinea.

Yeah, that too.  :)

Horse Sense

(or “Fun in the Remote Highlands of New Guinea,” Vol. 2)           

Unlike in most other places, the largest animal indigenous to Papua New Guinea is not a mammal.

It’s a cassowary.

I know, I know.  Control your excitement.  :)

Yet, yesterday morning, right here in our little hamlet, horses and their riders put on a community event: a gymkhana.  You see, though not indigenous, horses do tend to be a little more tolerant of the saddle than cassowaries.

Several members of the Pony Club have quite a bit of experience with horsemanship, and some even with this type of horse show.  Several others do not, yet they participated anyway.  Fun times for all!

(Though Andie is a member of the Pony Club, she chose not to participate.  The horse she cares for is a 32-year old, stubborn, grumpy old mare.

Hold your jokes; I’ve got Phantasie by a good ten years.)

The day’s events included in-hand leading through and over obstacles, dressage, Parelli games, barrel racing, pole-bending, and the ever-popular “spud-n-spoon” race.

I am not sure if the Spud-n-Spoon race is a traditional horseback skill set, or if it was an infusion of fun in today’s very formal (ahem) events.  Either way, in this balancing race, the eggs normally carried on concave cutlery were replaced by potatoes.

The store was completely out of eggs.

As you may have assumed by now, this horse show was definitely for fun, rather than a serious equestrian meet.  At the very last minute I was asked to be a turnout judge, if that tells you anything.  I told the organizers that surely there was someone there who had more sense about these things than I did, but they still wanted me to do it.  Let’s just say that every entrant passed. 

I mean, they pretty much all looked like horses to me.  :)

Slip Slidin' Away

(or “Fun in the Remote Highlands of New Guinea,” Vol. 1)           

Papua New Guinea is known for its rain forests, and precipitation is one commodity we certainly do not lack … at least during much of the year.  While we don’t exactly live in a rain-forested area, we still get quite a bit of wet.  Over the last 30 years, the average annual rainfall here in the Aiyura valley has been 2,156 mm (for those of us cursed to have been raised under customary measurement systems, that about 86 inches … more than 7 feet.)

I’m pretty sure that in 2010, we had that reached that amount by sometime in May.

I have pictures of my kids and their friends last year, “watersliding” down the concrete culverts in front of our house.  And we have the torn shorts to prove it.   :)

This rainy season has been much drier, but that doesn’t stop people from having fun with water.

Behind one of the youth hostels here is a long hill, just perfect for a slip-n-slide … the extra-extra-extra large variety.  Last weekend, under the burn of the tropical sun, the center youth group held a fund-raiser there. Thanks to several water hoses and a case of Palmolive dish detergent, kids of all ages (literally) enjoyed the fruits of gravity.

No, I did not indulge.  I had a responsibility to get good pictures for the blog, you know.

The youngest I saw flying down the black rubber tarpaulin was about 2 years old.  The oldest, a PhD-holding high school teacher from Great Britian … I am guessing in his late 50s.  To see these individuals throw themselves onto the tarp and suddenly lose all control (literally) was quite a sight.  Once they got going, there was no stopping.  At least not at will.  Several teenage boys were at the end with another piece of plastic, trying to “net” those who reached the end of the tarp still going top speed before they slid off into the rocks and/or mud puddles below.

They weren’t always successful.

But I never heard anyone complain.   :)

Let Me Entertain You

We knew before coming to Papua New Guinea that we should not expect the same level of service and services that we were comfortable with back home.  After all, PNG is a third-world country.  If planting yams and telling stories over coffee in the dark is not your natural inclination, being here might take some getting used to.  (Understatement of the year, I know.)

I had a comment on my last post (Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow) suggesting that some people simply could not, or should not, as the case may be, give up professional hair services.  I suppose that’s true.  I’ve seen my share of “frumpy” missionaries.  Why, I may even aspire to become one someday!  (Okay, maybe not.)  But seriously … does it really matter?  In our Western thinking, in our resource-rich, idyllic Shangri-Las, yes, it does.  But here?  Not so much.  It’s all a matter of priorities and context.

Those that come here expecting too much, either from themselves or from the community, are setting themselves up for a great fall.  Expectations that are set too high are nothing but rich deposits of stress ore.

You do what you can with what you have and then you have to let the rest of it go, you know?

Some would look at our little hamlet and think that entertainment, in particular, is a rare commodity.  There are no movie theaters, no restaurants, no bowling alleys.  No malls, no department stores, no book stores.  No miniature golf, no state parks, no Starbucks. 

No fun, right?

I think the best justice I could do to the situation here would be to say, fun and leisure and entertainment is what you make it. 

Many people have others over for dinner.  (Of course, dinner might take two and a half hours to prepare, but that’s another post.)   Board and card games are all the rage.  DVDs are swapped around like germs. 

Every weekend you can see kids walking to each other’s houses carrying pillows and sleeping bags.  These are the same kids who play outside, explore, create, dig, and build, and otherwise make their own fun.  Think 1950s America.

In the great tradition of adolescent pranks, some (yes, generally teenagers) take it upon themselves to decorate people’s yards (see photo of our yard above.)  This is not your traditional TP-job.  No, sir. Toilet paper is too expensive.  This is old video tapes.  (Please tell me, why didn’t we think of doing this with eight tracks?)

So, other than planting yams and engaging in “vandalism lite” with reels of magnetic media, what is there to do here in the highlands of Papua New Guinea?

Well, I’m glad you asked.  Stay tuned.   :)