It is tricky to know where to start after two weeks in PNG. Life is fairly extreme in every respect except as far as we can see in terms of wealth. Some Papua New Guineans are very rich but we see little of that. I expect the greatest concentration is in Port Moresby, which is an amazing capital city in that it is not accessible by the rest if the country except by air or sea. There are no roads leading out of the city. It is only a rumour that this is a plot by Air New Guinea.

When we arrived in Madang it was hot and steamy. We had crossed an impressive mountain range in which we are now living. We tipped out of the plane and sheltered under a verandah whilst strong men lifted our luggage onto a rough wooden table for collection. No conveyor belt here. We showed our receipt and heaved them off the table, falling over the others clamouring for theirs. Easily recognizable as stark white we were greeted by Rich Jones the education programmer manager and bundled into the inevitable Toyota 4*4 and whisked off to Madang Lodge.

Madang Lodge, set by the ocean was an island of relative luxury and security. Many of the volunteers and the Country Director are housed there permanently in self contained houses. The weather was swelteringly hot with cloud and rain or swelteringly hot with sun. Visually the coast is stunning and characterful, the sea and boats being an integral part of life, with many living on islands. There were always men and children out on dugouts with an out-rig to stabilize them fishing by hand with a line.

We worked our way through a week's induction, just Heather and I, setting up a bank account, being warned of dangers at every turn and most fun of all failing to learn Tok Pisin (Talk Pigeon). Heather was of course so much better than me.

On Saturday we set off with 3 VSO staff for Kundiawa. A two day drive up into the highlands. The landscape changed as we drove forever upwards and then downwards and upwards again in tight twists never quite sure what would be round the next bend. We were stopped by a digger clearing a landslide which blocked the road. We passed through a rift valley newly planted out with palm for palm oil. As we climbed the road was lined with banana, coffee and small vegetable gardens which clung to steep valley sides. The road was meant to be metaled but often it had so broken down so it was little more than rubble. Huge heavy lorries large enough to carry two containers on a flat bed hauled themselves up the mountains. Traffic weaved all over the road to avoid the deepest of the pot holes. With painfully slow acceleration we would creep by a tanker hoping that another truck would not come round the bend on our side of the road.

Eventually we landed up at Goroko, a university town with three volunteers living and working in safe seclusion. We were welcomed with cake and tea into a lovely university home on stilts. Food is a major preoccupation in the volunteer world, what was in the market? Has anybody seen cheese? That type of thing.

We slept in a Lutheran guest house, really a hostel with self service breakfast (food again). If the road had been bad on the first day it was positively sabotaged as we entered our own province of Simbu. Gangs of men either repair pot holes and then stop traffic demanding a few Kina for the repairs or they water the steep hills making them too slippery for vehicles to get up so they are paid to haul the vehicles with chains. The Tories would love this private enterprise initiative to lift the country out of recession. Watch out next time you drive Telegraph Hill. It was Sunday, the police were out in force . So the only incident we saw was some men throwing extra water on the road when it rained. There were some canny truck drivers at the bottom of the hill, pulled over waiting for the rain to stop and the road to dry.

We reached our house, up another hill, which we go down and up at least two times a day. It is lovely, probably the best volunteer house in Kundiawa.