This Time, Hold the Carrots

I'm home.

I am still coming off of having to look at my watch every ten minutes and as a result am very anxious just sitting down. So I thought I'd write about the last portion of my trip for both my sake and for your entertainment.

Spending times with the Hutchissons was great. Leaving felt too soon but alas planes wait for no one. I ended traveling with an old Korean missionary couple who was headed to Cairns as well. While waiting four hours in the Port Moresby Airport the old man decided to bestow upon me his entire life story starting in 1974 to present.

That killed three hours. He bought me french fries though so I felt obligated to listen.

The flight to Cairns was simple enough; we flew over the Great Barrier Reef while landing. Cairns is like Jurassic Park and the airport is like the Command Center. I went to walk to the domestic terminal (from the international) and not only was it humid but there were parrots calling from the trees, whole neighborhoods of birds living up there, bats, insects screeching, the whole nine yards. I thought about what I would say to a raptor, had I encountered one. "Clever girl" seemed appropriate.

But rather than meeting a raptor I met the man who vacuums the airport at night. I never actually got his name but we became quite good friends. He informed me that the domestic terminal was closing and he was trying to save me a walk. I thought to myself, "He's the vacuum guy, what does he know?"

Well it was indeed closed. Walking back, I avoided seeing him so I wouldn't have to admit my fault. I wandered upstairs and searched for a bench to call my bed for the night. Turns out Vacuum man was now cleaning that floor. He rides by and stops his little ride-vacuum in front of my bench.

"You should try and get a taxi into town. It's better than sitting here hungry," he says.

"Yeah, we'll see," I replied. "My flight leaves early tomorrow so I can't go far. Thanks though."

He started his vacuum car up again and rides off. He comes back.

"There's a coffee shop that stays open in the domestic terminal when people arrive. The next flight gets in at 10pm so I'd recommend heading over at 9pm," He informs me.

"Oh? Thanks, I may head over," I say with no intention of actually doing so.

He rides off. This goes on for several hours. He took a liking to me I guess. He didn't seem like the social type...he does vacuum an airport at night.

Anywho I got about two hours of sleep that night. The airport is horrible to sleep in kinda like a 747 is bad to sleep in. Speaking of which I didn't sleep on the plane ride home. I did watch 7 movies though.

I got about 90gigs of interviews and footage while there. I'm excited to start editing. Thanks for praying for me I truly felt it. I look forward to my future travels!

Oh the carrot reference in the title refers to the Subway I ate in Brisbane on the way home. Last time, in August, the Subway sandwich I ate was a Italian meatball sub that they put carrots on. Truly the most disgusting thing I've ingested. I ordered the BMT this time around and said to put eveything on it. I glanced over and saw the carrots. "Um, except the carrots," I said in a hurry before she got to them.

It was a much better sandwich.

Your friendly neighborhood giant,
~Alan

I Did Say That I Wanted an Adventure...

[The following was written in Sydney. I am now in Brisbane for the night]

Sitting in the Sydney Domestic Terminal, watching the planes come in and out along a backdrop of an Australian sunset, I am at ease. In Christ Alone is playing on repeat from my ipod, a song that both comforts me and stirs me, as I reflect on both the trip thus far and the trip ahead of me.

This carboard tube (the one mentioned earlier) has become a sort of friend to me (in the most sane manner possible). I think I'll be sad when I give it away.

"Jesus commands my destiny"

How true that line of the song is. When I departed three days ago I was excited for my adventure - I had no idea what kind of adventures God had in store for me.

"My Comforter, my All in All"

He has comforted me immensely thus far and has kept me from being alone for very long. He changes my plans and then takes care of me - I'm so down for that. It's times like these that remind me of the awesomeness of being God's kid.

"No power of Hell, no scheme of man, can ever pluck me from His hand"

So even on the otherside of the world I can maintain all confidence in God's plans. If this were all up to me I don't think I'd be where I am.

I bought this cool pen which is only cool because I bought it in Australia; otherwise I'd be compelled to just call it a pen. It writes nice I guess.

I get 2.5 days in PNG now which I am thankful for regardless of the time shortages. I missed the opportunity to speak to all the missionaries and show the trailer but the trailer was shown regardless and, rather than me speaking, I have gained the prayers of nearly every missionary in Ukarumpa - I'm humbled by the trade.

I had coffee today at the University of Sydney with my friend Nick (a native Sydney-sider who I met at UCSD last quarter). It was really hot outside but I had such a gnarly headache that it sounded good to drink some caffine - it worked alongside some Advil.

I'll be staying the night in the Brisbane airport (where I am currently sitting). I hope I can get some sleep tonight, though the idea of sleeping alone with all my stuff concerns me some.

Next stop: Port Moresby.

Your friendly neighborhood traveling giant,
~Alan

"Ladies and Gentlemen, We Have a Slight Problem"

That's how the captain greeted us after an unusally long wait on the runway. "The winds are reaching in excess of 55 mph, so we'll have to wait it out. We'll get to Sydney eventually."

Well, we sat there for two hours. Those were the two hours I had to get off the plane in Sydney and onto my plane to Port Moresby, otherwise it was a no go.

No go it is.

I missed the PNG flight by an hour and worked on getting a connecting flight to Brisbane tomorrow night (your Monday) and a PNG flight out of Brisbane the next morning at 8am (your Tuesday).

The little single-engine plane that might be able to fly me to Ukarumpa is packed and can't hold much weight so it's not even guarenteed that I will get on it. If that's the way things go down I will be on my first flight back home.

I'm trying to see God's hand in all this. This was all looking so good. I'm trying not to be a Job and start asking God why but rather have a willing heart to something new.

Which adds some spice to the whole shibang. On the bright side, being stuck in Sydney alone is better than being stuck in Port Moresby alone.

Stay tuned. I'm hungry and I need a hotel...

Your friendly neighborhood giant,
~Alan

San Francisco International

San Francisco is cool, I guess. I got through the TSA without them violating me; that's a plus. It's dark and rainy but I could see my ship pull into the tarmac from the second floor. I have my ipod in my ears and my stuff next to me three hours ahead of time. Somehow I got a suitcase, my camera bag, a tripod, and a cardboard tube to count as ONE carryon. Thank you, Lord.

Carboard tube, you ask? Allow me to express my hatred for this carboard tube. It was shipped to me from Canada and it contains two paintings by some Canadian lady who paints (clearly). This tube has been volunteered to join me on my quest to the other side of the world but we (the tube and I) have a bitter relationship. The paintings are for the missionaries I am going to stay with and rather than paying 400 dollar shipping it was sent to me to deliver by hand. I completely understand the practicality of this but it's such an awkward thing to lug around.

There are Australians all around me including a woman, who upon closer inspection, is a man. The guy in front of me at check-in had a tag on his bag with a picture of Australia on it. "That doesn't look like Australia," I thought. Then I rotated my head and realized it was upside down.

For the first time since yesterday morning, I am alone. I'm collected and currently redirecting my mind on course for what's ahead. I do believe God has some cool stuff in plan for this trip including showing several hundred missionaries the trailer and speaking to them about it. I got volunteered for that one.

Stay tuned. I'll try to say hi from Sydney but time could keep me from doing so.

Your friendly neighborhood giant,
~Alan

Kids with Big Knives

I have no experience being a parent, seeing that I am not one. Regardless, this entire post is going to revolve around parenting. I have watched my parents stress, toil, and work endless hours making sure that my two siblings and I are outstanding citizens and functioning young adults.

And may I say that they have succeeded.

Simply crack open a Guide to Parenting and you'll find countless chapters of do's and do not's when raising children. The Western way of parenting is a very intense ordeal if you desire to do it well. Our culture adds the pressure.

Then there is parenting in Papua New Guinea. Driving down an unpaved road into the Sursurunga village we were welcomed by little children (as young as three) standing on the side of the road smiling, waving, and wielding large machetes.

Yes, machetes. These little children simply held on to these monstrous weapons like they were pacifiers.

My first thought was "their parents simply let them HAVE machetes?" My parents wouldn't let me watch Ninja Turtles as a kid let alone hand me a knife. But as it turned out this was just my Western bias surfacing on the subject of parenting.

Parenting in PNG is not like parenting in the States...at all. In fact, the complete opposite is true. Parents do not and feel that they cannot tell their child what to do and what not to do. Superstitious as they are, the people there feel that doing so may alter the kid's "life-force" (or destiny) and ultimately lead them down paths they were not meant to go.

So the kid doesn't want to go to school? So be it. The kid wants to go into the jungle alone? So be it. The three year old wants a machete? So be it. The parenting is so hands-off that I could hardly call it parenting. In many ways the kids ruled over the parents. It blew my mind.

And yet! Here we had little gangs of naked kids running around with large knives and causing no trouble at all. They ruled amongst themselves, raised each other, and instilled their own values and methods of living.

But wait, doesn't that violate some - if not all the rules in the Western Guide to Parenting? Yeah, if you're a Westerner. These parents aren't wrong and neither are their methods; they are simply different than ours. And how often do Americans think "different" and "wrong" are synonymous? Too many times.

I invite you to think outside your cultural norms and see things from a different (not wrong) perspective and consider what out culture may look like if we did things like other people.

Your friendly neighborhood giant,
~Alan

Family Values and the Human Touch

I don't know about you guys but I am a fairly 'touchy' guy. I enjoy hugging people and expressing my friendship and love physically. I generally find that most people are the same minus the few who absolutely hate hugs. After a several weeks in the jungle, I discovered that this method of showing affection is very Western and I was left trying to find new methods of showing such love to people who see physicality in an entirely different light.

People in the Sursurunga tribe see physical touch as a sexual gesture. In their culture, a man and a woman holding hands in public is equivalent to a man and woman having sex in public in our culture in terms of shock value. Hugging is not even considered. 

Which makes you wonder what a family unite must look like.

Once a brother reaches puberty it is mandatory that he leave his house and never interact with his sister. This doesn't mean that he leaves the village, it simply means he can't go back into his house or involve himself in the privacy of his sister.

If a brother and sister are seen going into the same house together it is presumed that they are participating in something sexually deviant.

The men end up raising themselves in what they call "Men's Houses" where the village elders and young men meet, smoke, and discuss life.

If you are married in that tribe you may not engage in sexual activity in your house. Instead, you must take a trip to "the jungle" and finish your business there.

There is such an extreme sense of privacy and a distance from physical emotion in that culture even among family - so much so, that I began to go through emotional withdrawal. You are surrounded by people that you cannot communicate with and cannot interact with physically. How do you show them that you love them? That you care about them?

Emotional improvisation was a unique experience. I hugged and kissed my family when I got home.

Your friendly neighborhood giant,

~Alan

Justice and the Mob Mentality

American criminals have the lovely privilege of plummeting down the bottomless pit of justice laws and criminal rights that promise them a fair trial. Sometimes after falling so far, those criminals will be let off the hook and left to live normal lives regardless of past actions.

I'm not hating on the American justice system although I am not a huge advocate for it either but somewhere down the road there is a point when you want to skip all the legal mumbo jumbo and just beat the crap out of the guy that did you injustice.

Or at least I've thought that...

American law firms and citizens alike would probably agree that that method of justice is wrong. But is it wrong or merely different?

My first day in Port Moresby, the capital city of Papua New Guinea (and one the worst cities in the world), gave me a healthy dose of how Papua New Guineans deal with the common crime.

Walking down the busy street amidst street vendors, beggars, and pedestrians, I encountered some trouble. A man walking toward me threw a glass bottle at a car that had just passed in front of me shattering as it met the side of the vehicle; glass bounced off my legs. I stood still, not entirely sure what just happened or who that bottle was intended for.

I looked around and noticed that every person in that market place (about 300+) was looking toward me and this guy. One man from across the street pointed at the bottle thrower and yelled, "HEY! HEY!"

This was a battle cry that caused an entire mob to chase the bottle thrower and take him down. They beat the crap out of him. I couldn't help but watch.

Public justice. Wrong or just different?

I wonder if he still throws bottles...

Your friendly neighborhood giant,

~Alan