Riding in a PMV
There are certain 'you had to be there' type of experiences that come with living in PNG. This blog is often an attempt at trying to give you the reader, the next best thing. So let me take a moment and describe riding in a PMV.
A PMV is 'public motor vehicle'. What it truly is, is a private owner has purchased a vehicle and is charging people for rides back and forth. The most common type is a Toyota HiAce van which holds 15 people or so.
Over time the single vehicle yields enough profit that the owner can buy another, and so on until they have a fleet running different routes daily.
Each PMV has a name, usually it makes no sense to you (eg. Bully's Pit), but that is how you know its route. Reading the funny names has become a 'road game' people play as they drive the country. The trick is to know, which PMV goes where, and how much it costs. It is not advertised, it is not printed. It is something you come to learn experientially.
Ok, so you've somehow guessed or been told where to stand and wait for the PMV. There is nothing really to mark the spot, but you're standing there. Here it comes, you get on, and you ride.
On the bus you see the driver's eyes in the mirror. He's driven this route several times a day for years probably. His eyes are glassed over, his lips are bright red from buai. He will sometimes drink beer while he's driving, and he'll sometimes be on the cell phone.
You have crammed yourself into a thinly foamed seat which is your only protection against a very bumpy road. Underneath you are bone jarring, teeth splitting, back breaking bumps that come randomly. If you are tall, and somehow fall asleep, one of these bumps will send your head into the roof, which may bring you a different kind of sleep.
On your right is a young Papua New Guinean child. Because of the way they handle sickness, his nose is not wiped, so both nostrils are running. We call this number 11. He's also crying and not being stopped. Again this has to do with how children are cared for culturally.
On your left is an older man, who is somewhat talkative because of the color of your skin. He coughs, sneezes, wipes his nose with his hand, and then offers it to you to shake. Once you take it, he doesn't let go. You find yourself listening to him while he's holding your hand and having thoughts of 'will this guy ever let go of my hand?' You know you're not homophobic, but you don't even hold your wife's hand this long. Your head races to thoughts of where you last put the hand sanitizer.
The entire bus is filled with a body odor stench, that will make you swoon until you get used to it. That's the thing, you get used to all of it.
The bus comes to a stop, if you're tall like me, you have no idea where because you can't see out the windows. But thankfully it's a scheduled stop and not a hold up.
You get out, you walk across the street, and stand in the baking hot sun for another hour waiting for the connecting PMV to get you to where you wanted to go.
As wierd as all of this seems, you get used to it. It's normal.
Mankind has an enormous capacity to adapt.
The first PMV ride I was ever on, I actually got to share the Gospel. It can be a wonderful chance for a captive audience, or, it can be a quiet time when you're able to see the country and not have to worry about driving. You can worry about crashing, but it won't help you avoid it much.
That is the PMV experience. Some ex-pats in country use them daily, some hope to never use them, some have only used them once. Me personally, I've used them on several occasions but only special occasions when no transportation is available. Others use them more than ex-pat cars because they like the driver's pace and knowledge of the road better.
It's all up to you what kind of experience you want to have. But one thing is sure, it is definitely an experience you won't forget.
