Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
JUDY COPELAND
The Way I've Come
FROM
Legal Studies Forum
A
LONE ON THE
grassy airstrip, I empty my backpack and kneel to sort my supplies for the
climb up the mountain wall. I've landed in a tight little valley called Tekin, in Sandaun
Province, whose massive ranges straddle Papua New Guinea's border with Indonesia. The
plane, still droning faintly somewhere above the fog, will soon be gone. The grass is wet and
cold under my knees.
AsIsort,acrowdofmengathertowatchme,murmuringinPidgin,“Veryfatwoman!”and
“Em fall down, true!” They are all very short, less than five feet tall, thin and wiry, wearing
baseball caps and ragged T-shirts and scowling the same fierce scowls that startled me two
weeksagowhenIboardedtheflightfromManilatoPortMoresbyandlookedintothefacesof
the flight attendants. I've noticed that the expression doesn't necessarily signify anger. Some
New Guineans continue to knit their brows even when they smile.
Luckily,someofthemenspeakEnglish.WhenIaskthemaboutthelastbackpackertoleave
from Tekin, they aren't sure when he disappeared.
“A month ago,” one says.
“No, a year,” another shouts.
They talk about the ongoing police inquest, and debate what has become of him. Since
people disappear all the time in the bush and there are lots of possible explanations, I don't
really expect an answer. On one thing, however, the men agree: the backpacker was last seen
quarreling with his guides over their pay; afterward, the guides returned to Tekin without him.
As I listen to the story, I wish I didn't have to hire a guide.
I'vebeenasolohikerforalmost40years,eversinceIwastwo.AsanAmericanmissionary
kid in Japan, I used to run away from home every few days just for the thrill of it. By the time
I was three, my parents had grown used to policemen finding me and bringing me back. I re-
member clambering over our bamboo fence and whizzing through the college campus where
my parents taught, heedless of which way I ran, nearly colliding with students with shaved
headsandblackuniforms,reachingthetalldepartmentstoresofthebusinessdistrict10blocks
away, then ducking into the mysterious maze of alleys behind them.
After we moved to the States when I was nine, I felt so frightened by all the warnings about
kidnappers and child molesters that I stopped running away. It wasn't until I grew up and
began backpacking alone in the North American wilderness that I reclaimed some of that old
joy of running loose. Yet, two months ago, still haunted by a vague yearning for something
