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| Where the sky and sea merge lies Tong island in Manus Province |
Peering through the minuscule window of the Fokker 100, I found myself on the verge of a fainting spell. The vast expanse of the Bismark Sea stretched out before me in an enchanting display of deep blue hues, blending seamlessly with the azure skyline. As the aircraft nosedived at a daring 45-degree angle toward the seemingly infinite waters below, my heart threatened to leap out of my chest in terror. For a split second, I pondered whether our destination was the ocean itself, envisioning a crash landing that would rival the most dramatic scenes from a Hollywood blockbuster.
Just when panic was about to set in, a thin strip of land emerged on the horizon, an unexpected savior from the impending aquatic disaster. Initially appearing as though it could barely accommodate the weight of our 24-tonne flying metal tube, it soon revealed itself as the gateway to a tropical paradise.
The pilot, with a grace that would make a prima ballerina jealous, skillfully maneuvered the aircraft towards Momote airport. The modest strip of land transformed into a scene straight out of a fairy tale, a sight so breathtaking it could have been the masterpiece of the Almighty himself. The emerald green landscape sprawled out like a sunbathing giant, its hand gracefully shielding its eyes from the sun. Smaller islands acted as loyal sentinels, encircling the main island with a protective embrace.
As we descended, the sea transitioned from deep blue to a mesmerizing greenish-blue hue, enhancing the allure of the island. White beaches adorned the coastline in a rhythmic pattern, mirroring the dance of sea waves that painted a symphony of beauty along the shore. In my astonishment, the words of a mischievous Manus friend echoed in my mind, "Tsunam mystics!"
"Ahaya!" I exclaimed in my thoughts, a local expression of awe that escaped my lips in sheer wonder. My attempts to share my amazement were stifled by an empty seat beside me and a linguistic barrier with fellow passengers. But who needed words when the view itself was a language of beauty?
It was a homecoming that stirred emotions I never knew existed. Though lacking Manusian blood in my veins, I had visited the island as a child in 1989. The memory of that visit had planted a seed of longing, a desire to return to this idyllic haven. The uphill journey of completing my education had been the arduous climb, with the promise to myself that Manus would be my ultimate destination.
Finally, on a Saturday in January 2013, at around 12:20 pm, the wheels of PX 294 met Manusian soil. The jet came to a standstill, and the passenger stairway descended like the grand entrance to my dreams. Stepping out into the Manus air, I was bombarded with familiar sensations - the warmth, the smell, the sound, and the sights of my dreamland. Suppressing the urge to scream "hallelujah" for fear of startling the air hostess bidding us farewell, I felt a surge of gratitude and excitement.
In my momentary lapse of manners, I forgot to thank the aircrew, my senses too absorbed in recognizing a familiar sound. Regaining composure, I found myself gazing into a pair of rosy lips, presumably conveying gratitude for choosing Air Niugini. "Weso!" I almost blurted out, thanking them in my own language.
It was a feeling akin to a pilgrim visiting the Holy Land, as if the land itself recognized and welcomed me back. The adjustment from mainland life to Manusian bliss was seamless, as if my body had been in "Tsunami mode" all along, awaiting the return to paradise. I had made it, and here I stood, bursting with the same joy as a footballer scoring the winning goal in the 2014 FIFA World Cup.
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| Naringel, Los Negros, Manus Island |
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| Turgois waterfront along the road to Papitalai |
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