Connecting cultures across our region.
Most visitors arriving in Papua New Guinea notice betelnut almost immediately.
They see roadside markets piled high with bright green nuts. They notice people carrying small bags containing lime and mustard stems. Perhaps they also notice the familiar red stains left by those who chew it.
For many outsiders, that is where the story begins—and ends.
But the humble betelnut deserves another look.
Because it is much more than something people chew.
It is one of the oldest surviving cultural traditions still shared across our region.
What exactly is betelnut?
Strictly speaking, “betelnut” is something of a nickname.
The nut itself is the seed of the Areca palm (Areca catechu).
It is usually chewed together with a small amount of slaked lime and, in much of Melanesia—including Papua New Guinea—a piece of mustard stem (daka).
In many parts of Asia, a betel leaf is wrapped around the mixture, giving rise to the familiar English term “betel nut,” even though the leaf and the nut come from different plants.
The combination produces a mild stimulant effect, rather like coffee or tea, while also carrying centuries of social and ceremonial meaning.
A trail older than modern borders
When many people think of betelnut, they think of Papua New Guinea.
I used to think much the same.
Then, during a visit to Sanya in China’s Hainan Province, I wandered through a local market and found piles of fresh betelnuts for sale.
Years later, when I attended a Thai funeral, I learnt that betelnut has also been woven into Thai culture for centuries.
In Thai culture, betelnut (maak) is a traditional offering at funerals. Historically chewed by elders, it is often included as a gift for monks, placed on altars for spirits, or offered to the deceased as a symbol of respect, transition, and ancestral connection.
Throughout the rural areas of Thailand, particularly the northern and Issan regions, betelnut is also seen as a major cultural custom and symbol of hospitality.
Suddenly the betelnut trail became much longer than I had imagined.
The same story stretches across India, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Timor-Leste, Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands, Vanuatu and beyond.
The languages change.
The recipes change.
The customs change.
But the tradition continues.
Long before airlines connected our region, the humble betel nut already did.
More than something to chew
Every culture has objects that carry meaning beyond their practical use.
A bilum is more than a bag.
A wedding ring is more than a piece of metal.
A national flag is more than coloured cloth.
Betelnut belongs in the same category.
Across much of Asia and Melanesia it has long symbolised welcome, friendship, hospitality and conversation.
It is shared with guests.
It accompanies negotiations.
It appears in ceremonies and exchanges.
In many communities it has played a role in bride-price (sin sod in Thailand), reconciliation and traditional gatherings.
The act of sharing betelnut is often more important than the betelnut itself.
An economy beneath the palm trees
Betelnut is also an important livelihood.
Across Papua New Guinea, thousands of smallholder farmers cultivate areca palms. Families transport sacks of fresh nuts by dinghy, truck and bus to markets large and small.
The trade supports growers, transport operators, market vendors and countless household incomes.
Similar stories can be found across Indonesia, India and Southeast Asia.
For many rural communities, betelnut is not merely a tradition.
It is part of the local economy.
Seeing beyond the red stain
Visitors often remember the red stains left on city footpaths.
That reaction is understandable.
Public spitting is unpleasant, and many towns struggle to manage its impact.
But blaming betelnut for stained pavements would be a little like blaming coffee for discarded takeaway cups, or wine for broken bottles after a Saturday night.
The litter is real.
The human behaviour deserves attention.
Yet neither explains why generations of people across Asia and the Pacific chose to cultivate the areca palm, trade its fruit and preserve its customs for centuries.
To understand that story, we need to look beyond the footpath.
A different kind of highway
The betelnut trail throughout our region follows the footsteps of ordinary people.
Farmers.
Market vendors.
Families.
Coastal traders.
Neighbours.
It reminds us that not every connection between nations begins with governments.
Some begin with the quiet exchange of everyday things.
Another way of seeing
Australia often speaks of strengthening its relationships with Asia and the Pacific.
Trade agreements matter.
Defence partnerships matter.
Diplomacy matters.
But genuine understanding often begins somewhere much simpler.
Sometimes with food.
Sometimes with music.
Sometimes with a flower.
And sometimes with a humble green nut growing beneath a tropical palm.
We don’t have to adopt every tradition to appreciate why it matters to the people who practise it.
The betelnut trail reminds us that long before maps divided our region into countries, culture was already connecting it.
Perhaps that is its greatest lesson.
Sometimes the oldest highways are the ones we forget to see.
Where the betelnut trail pauses…
Despite thousands of years of contact across the Torres Strait, betelnut never became a widespread feature of traditional Aboriginal Australian culture. Instead, many Aboriginal peoples developed their own culturally significant stimulant—pituri—aka bush tobacco. The trail reached Australia’s doorstep, but another tradition was already waiting there.
… but it doesn’t end.
Today, the Betelnut Trail extends into northern Australia, where many Papua New Guineans and other migrant communities continue the tradition.
Around Cairns, a familiar greeting may still begin with the offer of a buai.
Australian law, however, sits uneasily with the practice. Owning and chewing betelnut is generally lawful, but buying and selling it is often restricted.
The trail reminds us that cultural traditions often cross borders more easily than the laws that surround them.
In PNG, not all buai are created equal
Just as wine lovers discuss grape varieties and coffee drinkers compare beans, experienced betelnut chewers often have strong opinions about where their buai comes from. Buka betelnut is prized for its large size, while other regions are valued for flavour, texture or “kick”.
Ask three buai sellers which province produces the best betelnut and you may receive four different answers. 😂
The betelnut trail reminds us that cultural traditions often cross borders more easily than the laws that surround them.
Kora: Another way of seeing.
Direction and editing by Glenn Armstrong
www.tlamediagroup.com
© 2026
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