![\"\"](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/09\/91460086.jpg\" "\\"91460086\\"")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Often overlooked for its more glamorous Pacific cousins, Papua New Guinea is finally coming into full bloom. Leading the charge is wild, volcano-strewn New Britain: the adventurer’s playground. <\/strong><\/p>\n High above the rugged green mountains of Rabaul, the flight attendant’s face is twisted in concern. She pauses, leaning across to peer out the cabin window to my left. “Volcano,”\u009d she murmurs. “Scary”\u009d. She flashes a nervous smile before heading down the aisle with a tray full of snacks.<\/p>\n The object of her consternation is hard to miss: A large, ink-coloured volcano gushing a steady stream of smoke, so close you could almost reach out and swat it. It’s not the most relaxing sight to see from a cabin portal, so I switch my focus to the tourist brochures I’ve collected instead. These deliver many bold claims about Papau New Guinea’s unblemished scenic wonders, which I take in with some hesitation.<\/p>\n I’m ready to believe this equatorial landmass will be many things: Tropical, remote, a little dangerous, probably run-down and poor. I’m less certain it will blossom into a true hidden delight, and possibly the best kept secret in the South Pacific, but that’s all about to change.<\/p>\n In truth, there have already been a few surprises. For one, access to the country is remarkably easy. It takes just two short flights from Cairns to deliver us to our first destination of Kokopo. The aircraft, far from the terrifying rust-buckets that bounce across other parts of Asia and the Pacific, are nearly new and flown almost entirely by pilots with thick Aussie accents. The most pleasing discovery is that despite the low volume of tourists, New Britain is well set up for travellers.<\/p>\n As the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\n Unearthing Rabaul <\/strong> Even today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\n Tavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n The deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\n A mighty mountain<\/strong> There are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n Tavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\n Clusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\n He and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n Underwater wonderland <\/strong> Kimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n <\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n
\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\n
\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n <\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n
\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\n
\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n <\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n
\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n\t\t\t\t \n \n <\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n
\nThe view from above <\/strong>
\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\n
\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\n
\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/1000653b.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/mg_3914.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/mg_3654.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/1000564b.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/91460086.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/91460016.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/mg_3730.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/mg_3738.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/1000419.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/91460052.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/1000547.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/mg_3871.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/1000428.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/mg_3602.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/1000816.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/mg_3599.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/mg_3679.jpg\"\n){kind=link}
![\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nAccommodation ranges from budget to boutique, food is cheap and plentiful, and locals welcome us with wide smiles and open arms.<\/p>\nAs the sun drops on our first day, we wander down to the strip of sand below the bungalows and spy out Mount Tavurvur, the smoking gun that literally destroyed the town at its doorstep.<\/p>\nUnearthing Rabaul <\/strong>\nThe next morning we set out to meet the beast up close. Rabaul, a once vibrant township, is today a desolate wasteland. The blast of September, 1994 sent residents scurrying for Kokopo, more than 20 kilometres down the road. Hundreds of businesses and homes were destroyed. Very few returned. Today, there are scarce few signs of life to be seen on this grey apocalyptic landscape, covered in thick layers of volcanic ash. Fourteen years ago, the main drag of Mango Street was a cultural centre, the beating heart of the most beautiful town in the region. If we were to dig deep, we might find this former jewel of the pacific, buried under two metres of dark grey dust beneath our feet.<\/p>\nEven today, the smoking mouth of Mount Tavurvur looms over the former downtown area, belching puffs of heavy powder into the sky. Only in the past few months have scientists observed that the volcano is finally starting to settle, fuelling hope that regeneration might soon be possible.<\/p>\nTavurvur had two accomplices when it erupted in 1994. Nearby Mount Vulcan and the smaller Mount Rabalanakaia, to the north, simultaneously spewed forth with toxic gases and raining ash. But it was Tavurvur that caused the most havoc, layering local buildings with enough ash to crush them with all the impact of several tonnes of concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThere are only glimpses left of the harbour city that was home to a thriving business district, music and art venues, shops, grocery stores and World War II relics. The empty shell of the former local government building lies useless and abandoned, while the concrete stairs of the old theatre now lead to an empty stage lying in the open air. The only building that remains in working condition is the tough, worn-looking Rabaul Hotel. Despite its facade, it has the feel of a wise old soul; enduring, resilient and calm. We stop for lunch and watch the skeletal remains of the town peek out at us. The uniform grey under our feet aside, the view is anything but dull.<\/p>\nThe deep aquamarine of the sea collides with white sulphur dust, burnt ochre lava stains and the light azure sky to create a striking palette of colours. Beyond the dark volcanic mounds, extinct peaks sprout with new green vegetation fed by the mineral-rich earth. It’s a sign of hope for locals, who are counting the days until their land glows with life again.<\/p>\nA mighty mountain<\/strong>\nAs we creep towards Tavurvur itself, the volcano dominates everything. Even the nearest section of harbour is given over to steaming hot springs, thermally charged and bubbling. It’s too hot to swim in, but our guidetells us of the old days, when villagers would lower their meat and vegetables into the steaming water to cook their evening meal.<\/p>\nThere are no roads left in this part of town. Instead, short sticks mark out a path in the vast black expanse. The former airfield runs along the harbour, where planes once taxied by the water before taking off in an arc above Tavurvur. It must have given a terrific, though terrifying, view to passengers, before the airport closed for good in 1994. On the other side of the airfield we find Matupit Island. Planted on a sandbar curling away from the town centre and directly opposite the volcano, it’s no longer an island at all. A deadly blast from Tavurvur in 1937 coated ash across the narrow harbour, creating a land bridge to connect the 800-person-strong village to Rabaul proper.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nDaniel Gire, an elder of Matupit Village, has lived under the shadow of Tavurvur his entire life. He remembers his home before the volcano erupted and sighs that life since has become “very, very hard”\u009d. Matupit was spared the fate of neighbouring villages \u2014 total devastation \u2014 by a roll of nature’s dice. The wind carried much of the ash towards the town centre instead.<\/p>\nTavurvur and Vulcan offer mixed blessings to Matupit, which, despite obvious hardship, is starkly beautiful beside the glittering harbour. Choking ash has poured over the village for more than a decade, making farming difficult and causing ongoing damage to the mall handcrafted huts, which require constant upkeep.<\/p>\nClusters of vegetable patches and the occasional pigpen dot the peninsula. Ironically, the bubbling mountain that destroyed so much of the town’s livelihood could be the very thing that saves it. In the long run, Tavurvur’s spectacular wrath might also prove the region’s lifeline, by layering rich minerals into the barren soil, and attracting hundreds of tourists drawn by the curious sight of a ghost town on the edge of the ocean. In the meantime, though, life remains tough. Fresh water and housing are daily concerns. “Permanent buildings are expensive at the moment so we get bush materials to build the houses,”\u009d says Gire.<\/p>\nHe and other locals take a bubble of optimism from the increasing trickle of tourists to the area. In Matupit, women sell handcrafted goods on woven mats laid over the ground. Other villages are home to wartime relics and are able to charge small fees to curious visitors. For about 5 Kina, or approximately $2, tourists can visit the wreck of a Japanese Betty bomber down by the airfield, or tour the deep tunnels used to house Japanese submarines from attacks from the sky. Around Rabaul, other kinds of entrepreneurialism are growing, bringing back pockets of life to the dusty, buried town. Villagers scour the harbour foreshore for plastic bottle tops, rubber thongs and other items able to be sold for scrap. Workers can often be seen digging scrap metal from the dark earth, their mouths red from chewing locally-grown Betel nut.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t<\/div>\t<\/div>\n<\/p>\n\nThe view from above <\/strong>\nUp at the volcano observatory on the hill, we are awarded a spectacular view. The flat arc of the harbour and former town stretch out beneath us, a dust storm visible below Tavurvur. Inside the observatory, we find the eruption that destroyed Rabaul was not the catastrophic global rarity one would expect, considering the damage. “On a world scale, it was small,”\u009d explains Hawaii-trained volcanologist Ima Itikarai. The tragic truth is that, with proper planning, the town could have been saved. “The last really big [explosion] was 1400 years ago,”\u009d he adds. Before we leave the centre, the seimometers flicker wildly. “That’s an earthquake,”\u009d says Itikarai, springing into action. After it has been determined the earthquake is far away, probably underwater and poses no immediate threat, we leave the centre. Rabaul is a beautiful, haunting city, but it’s time to say goodbye.<\/p>\nUnderwater wonderland <\/strong>\nAcross the island, the sleepy town of Kimbe Bay is waiting. At ground level, Kimbe is thick with lush jungles and giant, gnarled tree-trunks, leafy green vines and butterflies the size of my hand. Under the sea is a similar story. An ocean paradise of Nemo-like clownfish, pods of dolphins and turtles mill below the surface, all easily discovered with the aide of a snorkel and a mask. Less than an hour’s drive will take you to a caldera lake stuffed with freshwater crocodiles, and all around looms the peaked landscape of volcano country. It’s scenery ripe for child-like fantasies: pirates, castaways, island adventurers.<\/p>\nKimbe Bay is no secret to divers, who flock here to spend weeks lurking far below the waterline. To everyone else, this is uncharted territory. More than once, the awed whisper trickles through our quiet camp: “I can’t\nbelieve more people don’t know about this place”\u009d.<\/p>\n\n\n \t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n \n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div> \n\t\t\t\n \n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t \n](\"https:\/\/scienceillustrated.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/papua-new-guinea\/mg_3812b.jpg\"\n){kind=link}