Papua New Guinea

Day 1: Why Papua New Guinea?

After long flights and layovers in Hawaii and Australia, we arrived in Port Moresby, the capital and largest city of Papua New Guinea. We met Karl Grobl, the professional photographer guiding our trip, and a small group of fellow amateur photographers. We’re all excited to be here — though when we told friends back home about this trip, the most common response (after “where the heck is that?”) was “why Papua New Guinea?”

The answer: it’s one of the most culturally diverse countries on Earth. More than 800 spoken languages — more than any other country — and even more tribal groups, each with its own unique identity, art, costumes, music, dance, architecture, and rituals. There’s a certain thrill we get from immersing ourselves in cultures that are completely new to us, and we fully expected that thrill to be magnified here.

The reason for all this diversity is the terrain. Papua New Guinea is so mountainously rugged that tribes were historically isolated from one another, developing entirely separate traditions and languages in neighboring valleys. Even today, the geography makes travel within the country genuinely challenging — Port Moresby isn’t connected by road to any other major city, for example. As a consequence, Papua New Guinea remains one of the countries that is least explored by foreigners. Scientists believe there are still undiscovered species of plants and animals, and possibly even uncontacted people. That combination of cultural richness and raw remoteness is exactly what drew us here.

• Photography tour: Jim Cline photo tours
• Accommodation: Holiday Inn

Day 2: Tok Pisin

Our first real day in Papua New Guinea took us to a neighborhood in Port Moresby where the houses are built on piers and stilts over the water — an entire community suspended above the sea. It’s not a wealthy part of town, not by any measure, but because Karl and his local contact are friendly with the tribal leader here, we were welcomed warmly. Within minutes, kids were mugging for our cameras, adults were chatting with us through a mix of gestures and pidgin English, and we were wandering a maze of narrow wooden walkways connecting homes, feeling like guests rather than tourists.

The “pidgin English” part turned out to be its own fascination. With more than 800 languages across the country, Papua New Guineans developed Tok Pisin — an English-based pidgin — as a way to communicate across tribal lines. We couldn’t follow the spoken form at all, but the written version was a delight to decode: phonetic spellings on billboards, signs, and product labels that read like English run through a funhouse mirror. We also met fluent English speakers who were happy to chat or translate, making conversation surprisingly easy for a country where we’d expected a serious language barrier.

Day 3: Wewak

We flew from Port Moresby to Wewak, a small city on the northern coast — and when we say small, we mean it. Wewak feels like it exists at the edge of the map, a place where the jungle meets the sea and not much else competes for attention. But that’s exactly the point: Wewak is our staging ground for the Sepik River, one of the great river systems of the world and our destination for the next several days.

With the afternoon free, we walked to the nearby shore and settled beneath palm trees to watch the sun set over the Pacific. It was one of those evenings where the simplicity is the whole experience — warm air, the sound of waves, and the anticipation of what’s coming next. Tomorrow we head upriver to a remote village, and the trip is about to get very real.

• Accommodation: In Wewak Boutique Hotel

Day 4: Dugout canoes, a muddy landing, and arriving at the village

The journey to Kanganum village was half the adventure. We drove from Wewak to the small river town of Pagwi, where we switched to a traditional dugout canoe — a hollowed-out log fitted with a modern outboard motor, which is the standard mode of transport on the Sepik. For about an hour we motored upriver, the broad brown water winding through dense jungle on either side, until we pulled up to a muddy landing in the middle of nowhere. A few meters down a footpath through the bushes, though, we emerged into a clearing of traditional thatch-roofed houses, each raised on sturdy wooden posts above the ground. This is Kanganum village, our home for the next two nights. The village chief greeted us and showed us to the visitor house — a simple longhouse with a row of mosquito nets suspended over sleeping mats, and not much else.

In the afternoon we explored the village on foot, getting our bearings among the dozen or so houses and the spirit house, a larger ceremonial building that serves as the social and religious center of the community. Then we headed back to the river for a sunset cruise — the Sepik at dusk was broad, calm, and golden. It was so pleasant that it made us forget momentarily that we’re sleeping on a mat tonight (and we do mean “mat”, not “mattress”). After a simple dinner back at the village, we crawled into our sleeping bags — or rather, on top of them. The heat and humidity weren’t going anywhere.

Day 5: A gift we can’t accept

Today the village came alive. Residents of Kanganum and neighboring villages gathered outside the spirit house for a sing-sing — a festival of traditional music and dance. Throughout the day, small groups clustered together to help each other prepare: putting on costumes of specially selected leaves, woven bark, and grasses; painting faces, arms, and legs in intricate patterns; adding feathers and beads. We got to see all of this up close, which made it even more rewarding when the dances began — rhythmic, powerful, and completely captivating.

During the festival, we were approached by a man with a joyful grin and an oversized, disheveled shirt. “My name is Alfons Sak,” he said in a soft voice. “With a K, not with a C. It’s S-A-K, not S-A-C-K like a bag!” Alfons used to be an English teacher, and he was hoping to practice with us. We were more than happy to oblige. He told us stories about his father and grandfather, about the village in the old days, and about his family being among the first to settle in this part of the Sepik — which is why his land stretches farther than most. “I built my house with my own hands,” he said proudly.

Then he mentioned something that stopped us in our tracks. Previous generations had built their homes with sharpened stone axes, and when Alfons was building his house, he found an old stone axe head buried in the soil. “Would you like me to show it to you?” Before we’d finished saying yes, he was off to retrieve it, returning with a smooth, heavy stone tool that most likely belonged to his ancestors. He held it out to us and said, simply, “I would like you to have it.”

We were stunned. His generosity was overwhelming — but we also knew the history. Westerners had come to the Sepik for generations seeking traditional art, often paying local carvers next to nothing, sometimes just cigarettes that introduced addiction where none had existed before. We told Alfons we couldn’t accept. He insisted — “But you are good people.” We explained that he was holding a relic, a window into his family’s past and a culture that is disappearing. He insisted some more. We explained some more. In the end, we convinced him that bringing home a photo of the axe was, for us, as meaningful as the object itself. It was the most touching encounter of the trip so far.

In the evening, we joined the village chief and elders in the spirit house for a ceremony held by firelight. The chanting and rhythmic drumming echoed through the darkness — a fitting end to a day that had already given us more than we could have hoped for.

Day 6: Back down the Sepik

Leaving Kanganum was harder than expected. After two days immersed in village life — the sing-sing, the firelight ceremony, Alfons and his stone axe — it felt strange to climb back into the dugout canoe and motor downriver toward the modern world. The Sepik was just as beautiful in the opposite direction, broad and winding through walls of jungle, but this time the ride felt more reflective than anticipatory.

We drove the rest of the way back to Wewak, where a hot shower and a real bed felt like absurd luxuries after sleeping on mats in the longhouse. The contrast between village life and even a modest hotel room was striking — a reminder of how differently people live just a few hours apart in this country. We spent the evening walking along the waterfront, soaking in our last night on the coast before heading inland tomorrow.

• Accommodation: In Wewak Boutique Hotel

Day 7: No roads

Getting from Wewak to Mount Hagen should be simple — they’re only about 150 miles apart. But this is Papua New Guinea, where “no roads” isn’t just a figure of speech. The two cities are separated by pristine wilderness of thick jungle and jagged mountains, so the only option was to fly back to Port Moresby and then onward to Mount Hagen — a massive detour to cover a short distance on the map.

The flight into Mount Hagen added its own drama. The high-altitude airport was socked in with low clouds, and the pilot nearly turned us back. Then, just in time, the clouds parted enough for a safe landing. We’d traded the tropical coast and the Sepik’s lowland jungle for the cooler, greener highlands — a completely different landscape and, we expect, completely different cultures.

• Accommodation: Highlander Hotel

Day 8: Skeleton men, mud men, wig men

We spent the day at Paiya, a small village hosting a local festival that brought together tribes from across the highlands. After meeting the village chief and watching the preparations — which were fascinating in their own right — we settled in for a series of traditional dances, each performed by a different tribe with its own costumes, body paint, and choreography.

The “skeleton men” of the Narku tribe were unforgettable. They paint their bodies in black charcoal and white clay to resemble human skeletons — the idea being that by disguising themselves as the dead, they become invisible to the spirit responsible for killing their ancestors. Their dance is a jerky, staggering caricature of reanimated skeletons, and it builds to a climax where they surround a tribe member dressed as a huge, furry spirit monster and attack it with spears and axes to avenge those deaths. It was equal parts eerie, theatrical, and completely mesmerizing.

The “mud men” come from the same tribe but tell a different story. They cover their bodies in mud and wear heavy clay masks over their heads, then move in a slow, somber dance honoring the spirit that emerges from a cave after burying the dead. Where the skeleton men were frenetic, the mud men were haunting — the weight of the masks alone looked like a physical ordeal.

Then there were the wig men. Several tribes, including the Magara and Kaapupin, make elaborate wigs from their own hair — a process that takes two to three years of growing and a full day of assembly. Each tribe’s wigs have distinct shapes and decorations reflecting their identity, and the pride with which they wore them was obvious. Between the grass-skirted women, the painted faces, and everything else, the sheer variety of cultural expression on display in one small village was staggering.

Day 9: Fifty tribes, one football field

The Mount Hagen sing-sing is one of the largest cultural events in Papua New Guinea — an annual gathering where tribes from across the country converge for two days of traditional costumes, dances, and songs. We’d timed our entire trip to coincide with it, and it did not disappoint. Walking into the arena was overwhelming: an entire football field filled with more than 50 different tribal groups, all performing simultaneously, each with their own music, movements, and elaborate body paint.

We spent hours moving from group to group, watching preparations and performances alike. We had the chance to talk with members of several tribes, who passionately described their beliefs, patiently answered every question we threw at them, and generously let us photograph them up close. After the smaller village festivals earlier in the trip, seeing this many cultures side by side — coastal tribes with boat-shaped headdresses next to highland groups in full feathered regalia — drove home just how extraordinary this country’s diversity really is.

Day 10: Day two of the sing-sing

The Mount Hagen sing-sing continued for a second day, and this time we ventured beyond the main arena to explore everything happening around it. If the first day was about being overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the performances, the second was about the details — watching groups rehearse in the shade, catching quieter moments between dances, and noticing how even spectators had their faces painted for the occasion.

Outside the arena, the atmosphere felt more relaxed and accessible. We had longer conversations with performers, watched families preparing food, and got a better sense of the social side of the festival — this wasn’t just a show, it was a reunion, a marketplace, and a celebration all at once. Two days at the sing-sing barely felt like enough.

Day 11: The highland market

After the intensity of the sing-sing, today had a more relaxed pace. We spent the morning at a local market in Mount Hagen — a sprawling, colorful affair with piles of tropical fruits, root vegetables, cuts of meat, bundles of tobacco leaves, and clothing spread out on tarps and tables. It was a window into everyday highland life, far removed from the ceremonial spectacle of the previous days.

In the afternoon, we returned to Paiya village for a quieter visit. Without the crowds and energy of the festival, we had more time to photograph the chief and some of the tribal costumes in detail — the kind of unhurried, personal access that makes a small group trip like this worth it.

Day 12: Back to Port Moresby

We flew back to Port Moresby, trading the cool highlands for the coastal heat once more. After nearly a week of festivals, village stays, and nonstop photography, the sudden return to a city with paved roads and hotel amenities felt almost disorienting. We spent the rest of the day doing what any photographer does after a week like that — sorting through a staggering number of photos and trying to remember which skeleton man was which.

• Accommodation: Holiday Inn

Day 13: The easternmost tip

We flew from Port Moresby to Alotau, then drove to Tawali Resort — perched at the easternmost end of Papua New Guinea’s mainland, where the jungle meets the sea and the rest of the world feels very far away. After the highlands’ cool air and crowded sing-sings, arriving here felt like exhaling. The resort is small, remote, and surrounded by water and jungle in equal measure.

At sunset, we watched local villagers fishing from their canoes just offshore — silhouetted against the golden water in a scene that looked almost staged. A group of kids from a nearby village found us on the pier and decided we were the evening’s entertainment, laughing and mugging for the camera until it got dark. A very different Papua New Guinea, and a welcome change of pace.

• Accommodation: Tawali Resort

Day 14: An uninhabited island

We took a boat to an uninhabited island — privately owned, but open to visitors during the day. The snorkeling along the nearby coral reefs was fantastic, with the kind of water clarity and reef health that reminds you what the ocean is supposed to look like. Afterward, we had a picnic lunch on the beach, which is about as good as lunch gets.

We walked the entire perimeter of the island, meeting a family fishing from the rocks and a group of kids who were freediving for big shells with an ease that made our snorkeling gear feel like overkill. On the boat ride back, the skipper caught a wahoo — a big one — which the resort kitchen turned into our dinner that evening. We ended the day paddling a kayak out onto the bay at sunset.

Day 15: A village festival

The local village invited us to a festival — smaller and more intimate than the Mount Hagen sing-sing, but no less authentic. We watched traditional dances and food preparation up close, with none of the distance that comes with a larger event. The highlight for the younger kids, though, was Eric’s phone. He showed them videos of themselves running and jumping, and they went absolutely wild — replaying the clips over and over, shrieking with laughter, and then performing increasingly elaborate stunts for the camera.

The day took a darker turn on a short hike to a nearby waterfall, where we also visited a cave containing a pile of human skulls — a sobering reminder of the (hopefully long obsolete) practice of headhunting among warring tribes. Papua New Guinea has a way of swinging between charming and unsettling without much warning.

Day 16: Packing up

We flew back to Port Moresby for our final night in Papua New Guinea. In just over two weeks, we’d traveled from the stilt houses of the capital to the Sepik River’s remote villages, from the highland sing-sings to the coral reefs of Milne Bay — and somehow it still felt like we’d only scratched the surface. Tomorrow begins the long journey home: three flights, multiple time zones, and a slow reentry into a world where people don’t paint their faces or offer you ancestral stone axes. Papua New Guinea is not the easiest place to visit, but it’s certainly a very rewarding one.

• Accommodation: Holiday Inn